Page 52 of Crown of Steel

Her hands rub her mouth, her green gaze wet. “Oh, my god,chéri, I am so, so sorry.”

My fisted knuckles have turned white through the pressure. “Does anyone else know?”

She hurriedly shakes her head. “No, I would never have told the twins.”

“But Jean-Luc does?”

“No. Not of the cage. I would never share something so raw, so hurtful, with anyone else. But I’m hoping that one day you’ll open up and share your heart with me. I will always listen to you, my son, will always love you, no matter what.”

I suck in a deep breath, and let it linger in my constricted chest. My heart is bleeding, my mind broken, yet I can’t get myself to hate my mother.

But I am feeling lost. Small. Unloved. “You threw me into this world of the rich.”

“I had to. You are exceptionally bright.” Flashes of masked hoods and orgies breach the emptiness inside, rattling my oversensitive brain. “I wanted to give you the best possible future.”

“After taking away my past? You,maman. I needed you. And you weren’t there for me. You left me. And all these years, I wondered what I did wrong for you to just pack your bags and go. I searched for you, I—” I hold my hands in the air, desperation flooding deeply through my veins. My lips are trembling, cheeks scorching, and when I press my hands against them, I notice they are wet. “The memory of your voice kept me up every time he put me down. When he threw me in there and—” I swallow thickly, throat clicking but bile sticking too tight against my pharynx. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get it away. “Maybe if you’d stayed, he wouldn’t have become such a monster. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten the cage.”

My mother shakes her head. “He won’t see the daylight again,chéri. Please…” Her hand brushes past my shoulder, but I’m too caught up in my thoughts, too distressed, to stop her from cupping soft fingers around my cheek and tilting my face toward her. “Let him go, Régis. Stop calling him. What he did to you was the worst kind of crime.”

I huff, but it comes out as a broken choke. “And you? What you did, was that a crime?”

“I’m doing everything in my power to make up for those lostyears, my love. Everything. I want to give you the world. A father, two brothers, money, a fantastic house, the best education you can imagine.”

My eyes flick between hers. This is by far the most we have spoken ever since she forced her way back into my life. I want to shut her out—needto shut her out— but I can’t. Because I want her so badly, her loving words and soft smiles, her praise. Her love. After all those years of wondering, of suffering, I am getting my answers. I am getting my mother.

Back.

“Do you think you can ever forgive me?” She whispers. “I so, so wish for you to forgive me.”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. But I want to. God, I beg for a day where I’m not afraid. Where I can simply love and be loved.

The door opens and in comes Jean-Luc, followed by Arthur. I instantly look away, swallowing the excuse to get the hell out and flee. There’s nowhere to go now, and this conversation has left my emotions too raw, my heart bleeding.

I won’t show them.

Inhaling deeply through my clenched chest, I force my hurt away. It takes me a few, sharp puffs of air, but by the time I have myself back in shape, my mask has been placed across my face, fitting tightly. Hurting a little. It will have to do for now.

“Do you care about joining us for a glass of Moët?” Jean-Luc holds up the bottle of champagne, a small, tense smile on his face that makes it clear that he sees that I’ve been crying. He doesn’t comment. I silently thank him for that.

“Sure,amour. Régis?” My mother gives me a hesitant look. “Will you stay?”

I release a shuddering breadth. “D’accord.” There’s no point of running from this anyway.

“Merci.” My mother gives me a smile that has no business of making me feel as precious as I do, but still. The soft kiss she plants on my cheek makes my insides warm again.

Immediately after she had me back, my mother would constantly try to pull me in for a hug. She’d cry when I didn’t want her touch. It wasn’t until the psychiatrist told her that I needed time that she backed off. But time is relative, and I don’t know if our definitions are the same. When we all have a glass of champagne in our hands, Jean-Luc slides the bottle back in the ice-bucket before he raises his glass. We all follow suit.

“This is for you boys. Your mom and I are so proud of you. We’ll invite Louis in for a drink in a minute, I can’t wait to hear what he’s been up to. But we wanted to have a brief chat with you two first, to see how you’ve been doing.Santé.”

“Wanna sit?” I turn over my shoulder to find Arthur already seated on the couch. When our gazes meet, his narrows into what feels like a silent question, and I drop my gaze, feeling a little too raw to fight with him again. But fresh fire licks my veins when my gaze accidentally stumbles across the crook of that long, slender digit that’s rubbing the velvet padded spot next to him.

“Fuck you,” I mouth, then sit down anyway, a grimace plastered on my face. I am trying to ignore the way his hand still lingers somewhere behind me, far too close, but it’s fucking hard.

“It has been strange to live in an empty house,” Jean-Luc chuckles generously, “But we’re happy that you’re settling in, Régis.”

Ooh…there are many, many things I want to say to that. Such as why anyone thought that letting me take part in the initiations of some secret, masked, very privileged sex cult is okay?

“Actually—” I start, but when I take in my stepdad’s hopeful eyes, I swallow the rest of the words. It’s not fair to put this on him. No, this is on me. My battle to fight. To win. Next to me, Arthur’s hung back against the couch, one long, firm leg casually crossed over the other, while he casuallycomments on my mother’s question about the extra subjects he has taken on this year. I knew he was a clever guy, but even I am impressed with the number of courses he has taken, especially with its complicated combination. No wonder he’s always studying.

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