Page 4 of Kyle
"He's your bloody son." She had to tamp down the anger rising inside her. "Grandfather cannot hold control over you spending time with him. His lifestyle is not contagious, Dad."
He had the grace to look ashamed. "You make me sound like an eel."
"I have no control over that either. Matthew is hurting. His family, you and mother, have all but deserted him."
He ducked his head to stare into the amber liquid. "He was always her favorite. Ever since he was born, she took one look at him." He lifted his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "He was such a beautiful baby, and she adored him. It was always 'Matthew this or Matthew that.' He was hers and you were mine. That's the way it was. Until."
"Until you both discovered he was gay."
He winced at that and took a fortifying sip of his drink. "You have to understand the pressure of being part of a family like ours. We always have eyes trained on us, especially with our association with the McCrearys." His voice turned bitter. "High profile families, we are, always in the spotlight, always have the press dogging our steps."
"You used to love it."
He shrugged. "I still do." His smile came. "I'm shallow that way. Your mother is the same." For an instant, the pain flashed across his face. "We're supposed to portray perfection."
"How unrealistic." Her tone was sarcastic. "No one is perfect, no damn family is. Every bloody person has their issues, including us."
"Some more than others." He hated when she was mad at him and wanted to erase the anger from her beautiful face. She was the only one in his corner, and he could not afford to have her upset with him. She was also the one standing between him and his tyrannical old man.
He knew he could credit her for him being here in this suite and not some place out of the city. He had to have people around him and be able to step out and go to the theater and the many parties he loved to attend. And he owed her.
He could not help who he was, or so he kept telling himself, and had accepted it a long time ago. He was getting a monthly allowance, a generous one that suited his lifestyle, and was okay with it. He knew his limitations and accepted them. He was a disappointment to his old man, and it pained his heart, but he had learned to live with that too.
Yet in quieter moments, he sometimes wondered what it would feel like to chase real ambition, to risk the comfort of his routine for something that might actually make him proud beyond the family's expectations. He watched his daughter with a mix of admiration and envy. She moved through the world with a confidence he'd only ever managed to feign.
Her determination reminded him that somewhere, deep down, desire for more still lingered, buried beneath layers of resignation and the relentless pursuit of fleeting pleasures.
Shaking away the philosophical thoughts, he forced a smile. "Your mother is seeing an actor."
Tossing back the rest of the drink like water, Ingrid slammed the glass down on the countertop and made her way back to the sofa. Sitting, she searched his face. "How does that make you feel?"
He lifted his glass, sipped. "Weary." He laughed softly. "At least she's being discreet. And we're talking. Really talking. Who knows? We might end up being friends."
He stared at her. "Have you spoken to her?"
"No." She leaned back and crossed her feet at the ankles. "Mother and I don't really see eye to eye, and we both prefer it that way."
Chapter 2
The meeting was being held at the McCreary's ranch type mansion. The weathered rosy structure always reminded Ingrid of a well-adorned lady who had seen better days. The ground was immaculate and precisely landscaped.
The wide sweeping cobbled drive already had several vehicles parked. Ignoring the clutch of her heart, she parked behind a silver Benz she knew belonged to her mother.
Taking a deep breath, she exited the vehicle and handed the key fob to the smiling attendant. Tugging on her cashmere jacket, she made her way up the steps and onto the gleaming wraparound porch.
The double redwood doors swung open by the housekeeper, a tall stick of a woman dressed all in black and wearing a sour expression on her bony face. Ingrid had never liked her and always had the impression the woman did not approve of anyone of a different race.
Not letting that bother her, and because of the sour expression, she did something she abhorred usually. Shrugging out of her jacket, she tossed it to the woman with a haughty expression on her face.
"Padded hanger only," she said coldly.
Ignoring the curled lips, she sailed into the wide hallway that smelled of pine and peat burning and made her way towards the Great Hall. The clutch became a tear when she stepped inside the room and saw that it was filled with both sides of the family. She had been held up on the way and called to make her apologies.
Her eyes skimmed over her father, standing by the mantle, a nervous look on his handsome face. The stilted conversation came to a stop as soon as she stepped inside.
Her mother, looking like the drama queen, was draped on a comfortable tan sofa next to Kyle, one hand gliding over his arm intimately. Her lips curled in utter dislike and disdain. Looking up, that was what Kyle saw and felt himself stiffening.
To hell with her, he thought viciously and in response, turned up the charm as he ducked his head and whispered something in her mother's ear. Apart from Kyle and Iona Ryder sitting close together, the room was clearly divided. McCreary over one side and Ryder to the other.
