Page 12 of Masked in Deception
Chapter fifteen
28 years old
I’m not sure how I expected Ledger to react to his father’s death, but indifference was definitely not it. He resented Mr. Sinclair his whole life, and as the years passed, that seemed to turn into full-fledged hatred. After my own breakdown for a man I barely even knew, I think I certainly expected Ledger to feelsomething. But as I sit here watching Henry and Ledger casually sip their scotch on our way to the gravesite, I can’t help wondering what’s going through his head. For someone who usually wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s as cool as a cucumber.
Henry has always been able to conceal his emotions—if he even has any to begin with these days—but not Ledger. He’s never been able to channel his feelings inward like I do. Or did. If my time at the wellness retreat taught me anything, it’s that keeping everything inside can lead to very dangerous six-month benders.
Ledger finally breaks his silence with a question I wasn’t expecting today. “What do you think, Jack? Are you ready to start our club? Dad was really the only thing stopping us.”
From the time we graduated from college and started slutting around globally, Ledger and I learned quickly that the best places for a good, no-strings-attached fuck were kink clubs. We’ve talked for years about opening one, but something always held him back. He would blame it on Mr. Sinclair but never give a reason. It wasn’t like he needed any help financially. His substantial trust fund could run a small country, so opening a club would barely be a drop in the bucket.
“I don’t think Father would’ve stopped you from opening a club,” Henry responds, suddenly taking interest in our conversation.
As much as Ledger liked to say otherwise, the truth is that his father’s approval really did matter to him. I know he would have never risked Mr. Sinclair’s reputation by opening a sex club.
“Oh, trust me, he would have stopped the kind of club we’re talking about,” Ledger replies, a devious grin forming behind his glass as he takes a sip of his drink.
Henry raises his eyebrow, letting a smirk grow on his usually stoic face, but doesn’t question any further.
Before the conversation can continue, the door opens, and we’re escorted to where the remainder of the family is waiting to watch this titan of a man be lowered into the ground.
As expected, Blanche and Margot aren’t handling the loss of Mr. Sinclair quite as well as his sons. I’ve given them both countless hugs today, but there’s something different about the finality of this moment that’s showing in their faces. Ledger wraps his mom in a bear hug as I feel drawn to the stoic beauty mourning her beloved father.
“How’re you holding up, Princess?” I ask, walking up behind Margot and wrapping her in a hug of my own.
She spins in my arms and holds on to me like her life depends on it as her sobs begin to pick up. “Hey now, Jack hugs are supposed to make you stop crying, not cry harder.”
A muffled chuckle comes from where her head is buried in my chest. I use one hand to gently tilt her head up toward me before quickly replacing it at her waist and almost melt as her beautiful eyes lock with my own. Like always, it feels like I’m programmed to comfort her.
“It’s going to be okay, baby girl,” I say, gently stroking up and down her spine.
Her eyes flash with something other than grief, but it’s short-lived as the most annoying voice I’ve ever heard starts calling her name. Before I know what’s happening, she’s pulled out of my arms into the embrace of another man. My first reaction is to knock this guy out, but it's quick lived as she awkwardly stumbles over an introduction.
“Um, Jack, this is my…boyfriend, Brad. Brad, this is Jack, he’s, erm…pretty much like my adopted brother.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack,” he holds a hand out to shake, but his other arm is still wrapped around Margot. I’m using every ounce of strength I have to keep my fists balled and glued to my side to keep from punchingBradfor having the audacity to touch my princess.
Margot clears her throat, and my attention goes to her, eyes pleading for me to respond. “Nice to meet you, Brad.”
That's all I can manage. I turn and head to the back of the small crowd of people. Watching as another man comforts her in her time of grief.It should be me.She used to wantme. What would I give to have her want me again? I feel myself slipping into that empty pit I used to know all too well when she turns around and immediately finds me in the crowd.Fuck me, she’s beautiful. I wink at her, and a smile lights up her face. As long as I can still make her smile, it’s enough.
Chapter sixteen
22 years old
As happy as I am about graduating from Harvard—cum laude, thank you very much—and as beautiful as this party is, I think my mother invited everyone who’s ever known a single Sinclair. I would have been much happier with just the family having a quiet movie night in, like the old days, but Mom’s right—certain things are expected to be celebrated a certain way in society. It’s fine. I’ve been promised time with just the five of us soon, but everyone is so busy these days. Mom is always on the go, Henry has Daddy’s whole empire to run now, and Ledger and Jack are still in the midst of their wildly successful club’s first year.
I’ve always had a knack for conjuring Jack with my thoughts, and sure enough, before I know it, he’s holding two drinks and a small basket and looking up at my hiding spot where I sit in my favorite tree.
“Why are you sitting in my least favorite tree, Princess?” he says, handing me the drinks and the basket and climbing up to sit next to me on my branch.
“Because it’s my favorite tree, of course.” I laugh, sipping the champagne he’s brought me in a plastic cup and opening the basket to see he’s grabbed a selection of sweets from the dessert table inside.
“This tree broke your leg!” he exclaims. “I fought hard to have it cut down after that.”
“I know you did,” I say, still laughing, “but I cried, and you gave that fight up immediately. This tree builds character. Every bone it’s broken has been well deserved by an idiot kid.”
Stealing one of my cookies, he shakes his head. “I still think if we could’ve kept you bubble wrapped until you turned eighteen, it would have solved a whole lot of problems.”
