Page 73 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“No.”

Charles laughed, rolling forward. “I’m sorry, did you say no?”

“I said no.”

“Then I’ll go to your father.”

“And he’ll say no.”

“He can’t say no, Colin! This tradition you have such a hard-on for, it makes it so he can’t say no to me!”

“He can,” Colin said, fighting to stay calm. “And he will. There are provisions in the estate—”

“Oh, fuck provisions!”

“Provisions,” Colin went on, “that give Sullivan & Associates some degree of power of attorney if we feel the heir is acting in a manner that is not in the best interest of the estate. Power of attorney that can be further secured with cooperation from the second-in-line.”

“Augustus?” Charles laughed. “He would never turn on me.”

“Like me, he’s confused about your hot and cold relationship with a little boy who’s done nothing wrong.”

Charles threw out his arms. “And why should Nicolas get everything, just because he was first?”

Colin, without missing a beat, replied, “Then why should you?”

Charles sputtered through a series of half-formed words. Self-righteous Colin, once again, standing between him and a decision. Colin, whose marriage Charles had saved, and he’d never know it. Colin, who could wipe that smug look off his Irish face before Charles did it for him.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Huck, but for a while, I saw the man who was born to lead his family. Now, he’s gone away, gone on vacation, gone somewhere, and you need to get him back. For yourself. For the family. For Nicolas, and yes, even for your unborn child.” Colin leaned back and folded his hands, resuming his initial calm control. “You’re acting like a tyrant who’s gone off his rocker. Like… like Henry VIII, when he broke from the church and gutted the monasteries. Is that really what you want? To tear apart your family, because you look at that sweet, loving boy and you see Cordelia? Have you forgotten who you are? Who he is? Who your family is? Nothing is stronger than that. Don’t punish him and ruin what good you have in you, to punish her.”

The tremors started in his thighs and traveled out and up. Charles ground his fist into his quadriceps, squaring his jaw, searching for the control he brought into this goddamn office. All the while, Colin watched him. Colin, always fucking Colin. Colin, with the honor and the answers; with the moral compass that left no room for argument.

Charles pushed himself forward and left the room without another word.

Maureen curled up in her bed, tears staining her pillow. It would dry, just as her tears did, but that didn’t mean she was healed.

You have the power here. The power to go. To stop. To slow down. To speed up.

It was a lie, all of it. Soren meant the words, but they weren’t his to say. Not his promises to make. Agreeing to Edouard’s arrangement meant playing by his rules, and his rules had never been fair. They weren’t written to accommodate the other players, only himself and his whims, his cruelty buried in sexual expression.

And now, the experience burned within her in a way even that day in his office hadn’t. Edouard, standing in his pressed suit, arms folded. Edouard, always in command, even when you forgot it. Soren’s confidence faded and he became compliant, forgetting what he’d promised Maureen, or perhaps simply unable to deliver now that the moment was upon them and the power balance established.

Bend her over my desk. Panties off.

No, thought Maureen, though she slid her panties to the floor dutifully. As she, with nary a second’s hesitation, settled herself over the desk in his office, soft, cloying papers stuck to her face. Soren’s soft hands traveled across the arcs of her bottom, her one reminder that there was still love in this room.

Edouard, pacing, kneeling, like a contractor examining the work of his crew. He didn’t touch her, but she felt his breath against her exposed privates and realized he was just as close to Soren’s. Still kneeling, he gave the order. Fuck her. Slowly, at first. I’ll tell you when to move faster.

No, no, no this is all wrong. Maureen felt it and wanted to scream it, but it was too late, she’d agreed to this, and Soren, bless him, had no idea what consent meant to a man like Edouard, and was only just learning that he’d surrendered some of his own.

She sensed his hesitation. His cock tickled her, but didn’t push, not at first. And then, a stir of activity, and she felt first Soren, hard and ready, penetrate her, followed by the icy sting of Edouard’s flesh wrapped around the base of Soren’s cock as he guided him in.

Slow. Soren’s hands gripped her waist as he fell into an easy, but strained rhythm. She wished she could reach his mind, to talk to him there like she could her siblings. She needed an ally. Edouard knelt and watched, in, out, and then she heard the sound that still rang through her nightmares.

His zipper.

Maureen howled. Soren mistook it for pleasure and squeezed her hips, encouraged, perhaps forgetting, for a moment, that Edouard was inches away.

She was a fool. A fool for thinking this would work, but it was so much more than that! She was a fool for going forward with this marriage, for thinking she could make anything work with the man who’d raped her and taken something that could never be returned. For not taking Charles up on his offer to kill the man.

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