Page 13

Thirteen

Dash

Briar is on a tear, determined to figure out why my kitchen is such a mess and what happened. If I let her think I fell and dropped everything, she won’t give me a moment’s peace. Nothing else will make sense, though, so I’m glad when I hear Frankie’s footsteps tapping on the floor.

“Mommy!” Frankie’s eyes are wide.

“You okay?” Briar looks up from where she’s wiping down the counter—despite me asking her not to.

“There’s a princess in the guest room!” Frankie announces triumphantly.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I nearly groan but manage to keep my emotions in check.

“There’s what?” Briar’s brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“ Cinderella is in the guest room.”

If my life wasn’t about to get hella complicated, I would have laughed at the excitement on Frankie’s face.

Briar isn’t stupid.

She also knows that Frankie is incredibly bright. She doesn’t just make stuff up like this, so if she says there’s someone in the guest room—even if she insists it’s Cinderella—there has to be at least a modicum of truth to it.

Briar dries her hands and turns to leave the kitchen.

“Briar. Stop.” My voice is low but firm. “I said stop .”

She turns slowly, hands on her hips, the question in her eyes unmistakable. “Hudson?”

There’s no way out of this.

She expects—and deserves—an explanation.

“I’m allowed to have guests,” I say in an even tone that keeps Frankie from catching on to my frustration but gives Briar the clear indication that I’m not kidding around.

“Yes. You are.” Briar seems confused. “But you’ve never hidden one before. Is this—oh shit.” I don’t know what conclusion she’s come to, but it makes her glance down at Frankie worriedly.

“Briar, just let me?—”

“Who’s in the guest room?” Her eyes meet mine, hers filled with a combination of worry and curiosity.

“It’s not—” I’m cut off by movement in the doorway.

“Hello. I’m Willow.” And she breezes in like my sister and niece aren’t about to lose their minds.

In a blue dress I’ve never seen before.

It’s light and flowy, elegant, and probably the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen on a woman.

Or maybe she’s just the prettiest woman I’ve ever been this close to.

Whatever it is, I’m momentarily incapable of thought. The most breathtaking woman in the world is just five feet away from me, and no one moves for a beat.

Frankie because she thinks it’s literally Cinderella, and Briar because there’s no way she doesn’t recognize Willow St. Claire.

“Holy…” Briar’s voice trails, leaving her speechless for what’s probably the first time in her life.

“I told you Cinderella was here!” Frankie snaps out of it and claps her hands in excitement.

“Please don’t blame Hudson,” Willow continues in a soft, friendly voice that shows no sign of her previous concern.

“I asked him not to give me away. I’m trying to stay under the radar because…

” She glances down at Frankie. “Well, I have some stuff going on in my personal life and Hudson has been kind enough to give me somewhere to lie low until I’m ready to go public. ”

“You were… I mean… when did…” Briar is sputtering, which would be hilarious under any other circumstances. My sister is rarely speechless. Nor does she sputter. She’s the executive assistant to one of the toughest, most cutthroat businessmen in the world—Briar is always at the top of her game.

Except now.

“How about some ice cream, kiddo?” I ask Frankie since I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yes!” Frankie climbs up onto one of the stools next to the island, and I absently dump what’s probably too much ice cream into a bowl.

“You should take that and watch some TV,” Briar says, reaching for her daughter’s hand.

“No. I’m good.” Frankie grabs a spoon and takes a big bite of ice cream.

Yeah, she knows something is up and isn’t about to leave the room.

The kid cracks me up sometimes.

If only this wasn’t such a serious situation.

“I’m sorry about this,” I whisper to Willow.

She gives me a quick nod and holds out her hand to Briar. “You must be Briar. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” Briar cuts a dirty look in my direction. No doubt she’s annoyed. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same.”

“Again, that’s on me. I’ve been trying to stay off the radar. I made Hudson promise.”

Like anyone can make me do something I’m not willing to do.

And Briar knows that.

But right now, I think she’s a bit starstruck.

“You… you’re Willow St. Claire.” Briar blinks a few times. “And you’re staying with my brother. You were…in a coma… How did…” She shakes her head and then snaps her fingers. “You were in the hospital together.”

“Yes.” Willow seems more at ease than I thought she’d be, but if Frankie found her, what else can she do? I’m actually kind of impressed at how quickly she’s adapted to this unexpected turn of events.

“The press is reporting that you’re in some kind of rehab facility.”

“ Dylan is reporting that,” I mutter.

Briar’s eyes snap to mine and I can see the wheels turning.

“No one knows where I am,” Willow reiterates quietly. Her gaze travels to Frankie, who’s happily slurping up the last of her ice cream. “And it has to stay that way. For my safety—and for Hudson’s.”

I snort. “I’m not in danger from that punk. Bum hip or not, I’ll snap him in half if he even looks at me wrong.”

“Dash.” Briar’s voice is quiet but she looks over at Frankie, reminding me that she’s in the room.

Like Frankie’s never heard me talk that way before.

“Time for some TV,” Briar says quickly, simultaneously scooping Frankie up and wiping her face. “Uncle Dash and I have to have some grown-up talk with our new friend.”

Frankie frowns, looking to Willow. “Can I call you Cinderella?”

“You can call me anything you like,” Willow says light-heartedly, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Willow when Briar and Frankie leave the kitchen.

“It’s all right. She found me, so there was no point in pretending like she didn’t see me. Now it’s simply a matter of making sure they don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“She’s a baby,” Willow whispers. “You have no way to control what she says—or to whom.”

“She is and she’s not,” I say. “Frankie is incredibly mature for her age. Briar and I will figure out a way to explain it to her so she understands, without scaring her.”

“Yeah, after you explain it to me ,” Briar says, joining us again. “From the beginning.”

I give her an abbreviated version of events at the hospital, leading up to when Willow woke up.

“I knew I couldn’t leave with Dylan,” Willow says after a moment. “There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll find a way to kill me—and make it either look like an accident or like someone else did it. Well, after he gets what he wants.”

“Which is what?” Briar asks in confusion.

“A baby.” Willow shudders slightly.

Briar looks horrified. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah. I had a similar reaction.” Willow shakes her head. “I’ll die before I have his child. I’m not even kidding. I’m not suicidal, but I’d rather die than bring a child into his world.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I say gently. “I can promise you that.”

Briar rubs the bridge of her nose. “There has to be something we can do.”

That’s my sister—always ready to take action.

One of many things I love about her.

“Have you read what the media is saying?” Willow asks, looking a little dejected.

“What Dylan has told them about me? That I woke up from the coma in an altered state. Distinct personality changes. Unable to care for myself. That he hopes rehab works… but that he’ll remain by my side indefinitely, no matter how handicapped or incapacitated I am.

He’s laying the groundwork to declare me insane or have me institutionalized, or worse—make me a prisoner in my own home. Where no one can get to me.”

“But why?” Briar looks mystified now, as if she can’t quite wrap her head around any of this. It’s the same feeling I’ve had—minus the anger that always brews just beneath the surface.

“I don't know,” Willow admits. “It’s a power thing, I guess. He knows that if he can’t find a way to keep me against my will, I’ll leave. And he can’t bear the thought of losing. Not of losing me , but of losing whatever it is that he so desperately wants.”

Briar makes a face. “He sounds… awful.”

“You have no idea,” I interject. “Which is why you can’t tell anyone that she’s here. I mean it, sis. It’s not a game. And we have to find a way to keep Frankie quiet too.”

Briar waves a hand. “She’s the least of our worries. Lean into being Princess Cinderella and she won’t remember that your name is Willow, much less your last name.”

“We should talk to her anyway,” I suggest quietly.

Briar nods. “We will. But my question to Willow is—how long can you hide out here? At some point, you have to start living your life again, you know?”

That’s the million-dollar question.

And I’m pretty sure neither of us has an answer.