Page 22 of Behind These Four Walls
“You know how hard Bennett works for the company around the clock. But I’m relieved to at least have Myles join us for dinner.” Brooke’s voice was saccharine, though she was being anything but. The conversations dimmed as her voice rose above the rest. “It’s good that at least one of you can be with the family while the other continues to be so dedicated to keeping the company up and running. We’re lucky you have so much time to spend with us.”
Isla shivered at the drop in temperature. She was confused because Brooke came across like she didn’t like her oldest son. For the first time, she felt bad for Myles as she watched him concentrate on the wine he sipped. The sibling rivalry had to be intense. The temperature dropped. The only person who didn’t seem to care was Victor, who continued to enjoy his rib eye and speak quietly to Brian Dixon beside him, though Victor was listening to every word being said at the table.
Each moment that passed before Myles attempted to acknowledge Brooke was agony, until Isla could no longer stand the deafening silence. “I for one am grateful that your son was able to hang out tonight with the family. Better to be a loyal son to the family than out there running the streets doing ... whatever.” Isla gave them a conspiratorial look.
“Son?” Brooke wasn’t sure what she wanted to respond to first.
Holland leaned in, whispering, “Myles is my mother’s stepson from Dad’s first wife.”
Isla’s mouth dropped dramatically. Her hand flew to cover it, tapping it lightly in faux admonishment of her mix-up. “Whoops.” She didn’t miss Victor looking away in amusement or Dixon’s uncomfortable cough. Or the way both Jackson and Myles considered her—one with intrigue, the other like she hadn’t done him any favors.
Chapter Sixteen
Myles waited a beat and shifted to Brooke, locking in on her. If Brooke hadn’t been trying to provoke her stepson and tear him down in front of Victor while building her own son up, Isla might have felt sorry for her being the subject of Myles’s withering glare, cold enough to make Isla uncomfortable.
The corners of Myles’s dark eyes crinkled as if his private thoughts amused him. “I mean, Bennett has a lot to clean up right now at the Foundation, what with the loss of an employee at the LA office under Bennett’s leadership and all. I truly aspire to be more like my overachieving little brother when I grow up.” Then Myles raised his wineglass in mock salute before downing its contents, his expression remaining the same all the while.
Isla choked on the sip of water she’d drunk from the crystal goblet to keep from laughing and immediately wished she’d had more control of herself, because Brooke’s attention snapped to her with such ferocity—she was the easiest mark to pick on.
“It’s not like Bennett’s the only one missing from dinner,” Holland began, her voice suddenly shaky as staff swept in to switch out dinner for dessert, a raspberry torte that looked delicious. Isla couldn’t wait to dig into it, but Holland wasn’t finished.
“I don’t know why all of a sudden, but I wish Edie were here.” She peeked over at Isla, whose spoon stopped midway to her torte when she heard her name. “Maybe it’s because Isla’s here like Edie used to be.” Holland sounded so wistful, so sad.
There was an audible gasp from Brooke and a clatter as Jackson’s fork hit his plate. The mood at the table shifted from an impending duel between gladiators to a chilling frost.
Even Victor set the glass of water he was drinking on the table with a hard thud. Emotions filtered over his face as he breathed, and everyone waited for his next move.
Holland’s hand slammed over her mouth like she was stanching the flow of any more errant words. Her eyes were wide and instantly apologetic. The name, this Edie, had the power to send the room to subzero degrees. Holland attempted to apologize, but the words died on her lips as she looked helplessly from him to her mother and then to Myles, who could only offer a wry smile in an attempt to make his sister feel a little better.
What if? Isla sat back in her seat, observing the group with keen attention, registering every stiff gesture and every tense expression they wore.
This Edie ... the name sounded coincidentally, strangely, too much like Eden. What were the chances?
Victor stood, his chair scraping hard against the floor. He tossed his linen napkin on the table. Isla chanced a look. He was unreadable, a stony mask replacing all the unrestrained emotion from a second ago. He rumbled out something about needing to make some overseas calls, an obvious excuse to leave early, and no one stopped him. He left without another word, with Dixon close in step. He regarded his daughter as if she had wounded him. The air was thicker than the torte Isla wasn’t allowed to finish because the staff swooped in to take her plate too quickly, sensing correctly that dinner was over.
In the aftermath Isla felt like she was somehow to blame. Even though Holland had uttered a name that seemed to be stricken from the Corrigan annals and could stop their world on its axis. Was this Edie her Eden? Had she been Holland’s friend, a playmate, driven away because her mother had been fired by Victor Corrigan? Was the reason Victor didn’t want her name mentioned that something bad had happened and everyone knew the answers except the outsider who wasn’t even supposed to be there?
Chapter Seventeen
Holland’s insistence that after dinner Isla might as well stay the night, and Isla’s too-quick agreement, was now a decision she regretted. The idea that she was already steps closer to finding out something had been too enticing. When reality had begun to hit as she sat in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by unfamiliar people, some of whom didn’t care for her, it had been unnerving. But she’d asked for this, hadn’t she? So did she have the right to feel as freaked out as she was? Nat and Rey had warned her about this. Nat had said that what Isla was stepping into wasn’t improv and she wasn’t on a stage.
“This is real life,” Nat had said. “And Rey and I won’t be around to jump in if things go left. Be careful.”
Maybe staying the night on her first night wasn’t being careful.
The mansion had settled into an uneasy quiet, with everyone in their respective places.
Even if she wanted to, she didn’t know how to leave, and she couldn’t just leave, and that realization set off waves of panic that forced her off the bed. She downed the bottle of water that had been sitting on a tray on the nightstand next to her, but she needed more than that. She needed air, too, and maybe if she got a feel for her surroundings on her own terms, she’d feel more in control. Holland was one thing, but Victor was the key. He was her whole reason for coming back to this damn town.
She was out of her room and heading toward the front of the hall, trying to recall the home’s schematics she’d committed to memory. She passed Holland’s room, hearing low music coming from the other side of the doors. She crossed into another hall, not remembering whose hall it might be. Isla seemed to walk for ages, hoping she’d be able to get back to hers without getting lost.
She rounded another corner, passing artwork and decor she knew cost more than she’d ever make in her lifetime. She was now in another area of the expansive home that faced the back, she guessed, from the number of corners she’d turned. This hall was designed differently, like all the others. Each branch, or wing, was different according to the resident’s preference. This section was familiar, furnished in more traditional, simplistic, understated decor, but Isla had no doubt everything she was seeing cost thousands at least.
Isla was doing what came naturally to her, a survival instinct kicking in as it did whenever she had to know where she was and how to get around. She’d done the same thing after she had arrived at Union Station, riding around LA by bus until she knew the city and its surroundings like the back of her hand.
Isla recalled how the mere mention of this Edie had ended dinner, driving Victor out and causing Brooke to shoot daggers at her as if she had been the one to speak this infamous name.
Edie.It pressed heavily on her chest. The next question followed. Could she really be Eden, or was it wishful thinking and too much of a coincidence?