Page 4 of Thick and Thin

Oh, God, I wanted nothing more than to cradle his head in my arms, soothe him and tell him that was all past—but I knew better. All I could do was allow him to hold me tight and hope he could feel my love and support through all that.

And to think that just last night I’d thought I could turn all that off. Telling myself I had to stop loving Sinclair would have been like asking winter to skip its appearance that year or to stop breathing.

Impossible.

Finally, he resumed speaking. “One time, Augie had a girlfriend over. He was in high school then but home for the summer—and they were in his bedroom a long time and the door was locked. When I pounded on the door, he told me to fuck off. But I knew where the keys were.” Was he talking about that old ring of keys he’d stored in his desk drawer? “And I marched right back up there and unlocked the door.”

I couldn’t help but picture the room I knew had belonged to his oldest brother—the one on the second floor of the east wing, that blue room with the pale curtains that the light shone through. But I couldn’t quite picture the man I’d seen the night before as a teenager.

“And I caught them in his bed, completely naked. Augustus threatened to beat the shit out of me. I was just staring at the girl’s breasts until she pulled the covers up over herself but when Augie started climbing out of bed, I turned and ran. And I never said a word—but that didn’t stop him from hunting me down later that day. He told me I wasn’t our father’s son—and if I said a word about what he’d been doing in his room with that girl, he’d tell our father and I’d be kicked out, forced to live on the streets.”

I couldn’t help myself. Although I knew his father was a heartless man, I also understood that he had a reputation to maintain. “Do you really think he would have—”

“No, of course not. But eight-year-old me didn’t have a clue. When I was older—sixteen—I’d been carrying that secret for half my life, that maybe I had a different father, and it made me feel like an outcast in my own home. My father was always so proud of Augie and Warren—well, Augie mostly—and he never bragged about me. Not once. After you live that way for a lifetime, you begin to wonder why. And I was sure I knew why. If Augie thought my dad was someone else, surely my father felt the same way.

“Dad and I were having a huge argument. I got my driver’s license the summer after I’d turned sixteen, and I wanted to have my new car with me at boarding school. Dad refused—and so I finally told him I was sure it was because he knew I wasn’t his son.”

Although I remained still, Sinclair’s grip loosened. I so wanted to look in his eyes but instead settled on hoping that my hand against his chest would communicate all my love and support.

“I have never seen my father so angry. He actually broke a lamp in the great room as he began one of his classic rants. I was ungrateful, he said, spoiled and babied my whole life. He’d been the best father he could be and here I was demanding everything on a silver platter, being a little asshole just because I wasn’t getting my way.

“Needless to say, I shut my mouth—but after I graduated high school, I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. I decided to have a rational, calm discussion with my father then. But when I asked if we could have DNA testing just to be sure, he refused. So I said I’d have my brothers take a test, not knowing if that would work and my dad shut me down.

“He said, ‘Do you really want that? If I find out you’re not my son, I’ll have to disown you.’ And that was that. I never asked again. Even though I’ve wondered all these years, I haven’t pushed it. If my father is another man, he hasn’t come forward to claim me. This here…this is all I’ve ever known. And I despise a good deal of it—this fucking mansion, working for my dad…but it’s the devil I know. And I’ve become accustomed to most of it. I’ve got Edna, probably my saving grace…and I’ve found satisfaction heading the foundation. It…almost feels like my calling.”

Finally, his tight hold on me relaxed enough that I could squirm out of it—and I brought my head up to the pillow so that I could look in his eyes. In them, I could see flecks of pain but a perseverance as well, a strength born from suffering.

It was a look I knew well.

Stroking his whiskery cheek with my hand, I rubbed the tip of my nose on his.

But I couldn’t find any words—so I told him with my body as I put my lips on his and got lost in the language our bodies spoke fluently.

Chapter 2

When I awoke the next morning, Sinclair was gone, working out upstairs. So I went to my room and showered before heading to the kitchen to meet him for breakfast.

As I walked down the stairs toward the main hallway, I smiled—because yesterday morning, I’d been miserable, trying to find a way to sever my feelings from this man. Now I knew that was impossible, even though I had no idea how I would reconcile my previous life with my present. And that didn’t even account for the fact that I had no idea how Sinclair felt. I knew he was sexually attracted to me—but was that it?

When I entered the kitchen, Sinclair was at the stove. “Just in the nick of time. I’m making omelets again. Would you like one?”

“No, thanks. I think I saw some grapefruit in the fridge yesterday. I haven’t had one in ages.”

“That’s not much.”

“I can make some toast if I’m still hungry after.” As I poured a cup of coffee, I glanced over at him. He was folding one half of the egg mixture over the other half, hiding the chopped veggies, ham, and cheese inside.

Soon, we were seated at the big table in our usual spots. As Sinclair tackled his omelet, I slid a spoon in between two wedges of grapefruit in a sliced half. Juice sprayed as I scooped out the first bite. My mind continued turning over everything he’d told me the night before and I could almost feel my heart constricting in my chest on his behalf. I decided to ask a question that could potentially reveal how he felt about me—because if he were gentler, kinder, I would know his heart had truly softened.

After I swallowed the piece of grapefruit, I asked, “Was Augie’s room the blue one? One closest to the end of the hallway?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Sinclair looked up from his plate—but I couldn’t read his face. Had I made a misstep? He already knew I’d been in the second floor east wing hallway—and he’d caught me with keys. Had it been a mistake to remind him? But he said, “Yes.” Then, as he picked up his coffee, he asked, “Did you look through all the rooms?”

Wait—he didn’t know? “Almost. Do the cameras not go all the way down the hallway?” Those stupid cameras I’d been too foolish to anticipate. Ever since getting caught the second time, I’d simply assumed they were everywhere but in my bedroom.

“Cameras?”

“Don’t you have cameras? Isn’t that how you caught me?”

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