Page 29 of Van Cort

“About thirty minutes after I was born. I don’t remember her.

Father dearest did nothing to preserve any kind memory of her that he might have kept.

” His eyes turn cold when he says that, and another pang of hurt hits my chest. And I realise that while I might have grown up in relative poverty, second-hand clothes and handouts, there was never a lack of love in our house.

“What was it like having a mother?” My eyes widen, throat constricting.

“Everett, that’s a hard question to answer when…”

“It isn’t. Talk. I wonder sometimes if everything I am and everything I’ve done would have been different if she’d lived. Did you get smothered in love, held, told you were precious?”

“Yes.” He asked for honesty, and a part of me wants to share my experience, as if it might help.

My eyes sting at the thought of never having my mom in my life.

Never having her read to me before bed, telling me she loved me every day, every chance she got.

His loss takes my breath away. My eyes blink rapidly to stop the misty tears from gathering.

Everett wouldn’t want my emotion. “She didn’t smother me, though.

” I clear my throat. “She and my father believed in me and gave me courage to want for the things I couldn’t afford.

Material possessions aren’t what matter to me, because of their values, their love.

” Emotion rises, and I can hear my voice straining, so I stop.

He just stands, no move to push for more, and I hope that glimpse is enough.

My view of everything he’s done, how he’s acted, the walls around him, suddenly shifts in my mind now I have this fragment of information. A fragment that answers many riddles.

The quiet stretches, and I want to break it, afraid of what might be running through his mind.

“Why do you still keep this place? If the bad outweighs any good memories.” His lip curves at the question, not the response I would have thought.

“We’ll need the good stuff if you’re going to keep asking questions. So, before I go ransack the cellar for a proper bottle, do you want to keep asking questions?” He gives me a pointed glare, weighted with promise.

“I didn’t realise I could?” I perch on the edge of the sofa, ignoring the creaking springs and upholstery. Considering the rest of the place, this could be a relic from his grandfather’s time.

“For every truthful answer you want, you’ll have to take a drink. We can play and get better acquainted at the same time.” My eyes widen again at his suggestion.

“A drinking game?” I smile.

“This place certainly draws out the worst in me. Wait here. I’ll be back.

” He leaves the room, and I listen carefully, wondering if this place might actually be haunted, given what happened earlier.

I take the moment of solace to look around the room, skipping over the piano for the moment, and try to picture a young, childish boy, taking lessons and learning to play, stuck away in here. Alone.

He returns with an unopened bottle of another amber liquid. I prefer wine, but I’m enjoying this side of him. Whether he’s exercising some family demons or not, I can get on board with a little fun if it means getting another puzzle piece of him.

“Should we really be playing in here? It feels a little dirty to think what we did, given this was your favourite room in the house as a child.”

“You should have worked out by now that I’m not adverse to dirty. Now, where were we?” He pulls the cork stopper free of the new bottle, pours into my glass and tops his off. “If you want me to answer your question, drink.” He sits down next to me and cocks his head to the side to watch me.

“Fine.” I knock back the whiskey, savouring the rich warmth in comparison to the tart, bitter taste of the other liquid he poured.

“Good girl.”

The heat hits my chest, but his words hit much lower. “Right. Why keep the house?”

“The simple answer is that this place has been in the family for generations and is worth more than its marketable value for varying reasons. So, while it might hold some unpleasant memories, selling it feels like he’ll have won. And he can take that satisfaction over my cold dead body.”

Okay. I can get that.

“My turn.” He downs the drink and pours another for both of us. I can already feel my head turning fuzzy. First, the wine, and with no proper dinner, I’m going to be drunk before I get through many more questions. “When did you lose your virginity?”

“Oh, wow! Really?” My cheeks heat, and I hide my face in my hands for a moment before I shift in my seat.

“Really. And, it’s a bit late to be embarrassed around me, darlin’. Or would you like me to remind you of exactly how dirty you could be?”

I hold my hand up, giggling. “I was seventeen. At college.”

“Well, that’s hardly a lot of details. I thought we were being open and honest.”

“You want our positions?” I gawk.

“Let me guess, missionary?”

“It was my first time,” I say defensively.

“And I’m glad your tastes have widened. Your turn.”

“Fine.” I hold my glass out, and he tips a large splash in, which I then knock back. “Who else have you brought here?”

“As in, spent the weekend here and showed my family home to?”

“Yes.” The glow of the alcohol starts to roll through me.

“No one. Do you think, given the type of person I am, I’d freely offer this? And given what I’ve just told you, do you think I’d share a very personal, very private part of myself with many?”

“Maybe not.” I flush again, not sure if it’s from his words, the fire, or realising that at least with this, he’s being honest. I can see it in his eyes.

My lips twitch, and I want to lean over to kiss him, but the alcohol is working too fast, and I’m greedy for more information when he’s being so accommodating.

He tips the liquid in his glass down his throat and grins at me.

“Right. This is a big one. How many times have you come in one night?” Good god.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I remember the night, holding up two fingers, then add one more because I’m sure he made me come three times the other night. “That’s all?”

“I think I nearly passed out with three. I’d die if I tried any more.” Another drink, and I know I’ve had way too much. My head is swimming.

“No you wouldn’t.”

I slump back in the chair, staring at his gorgeous face and annoyed he’s still looking just as good as always. “Why does it feel like you’re a different person here?” My eyes start to dip and flutter.

“Probably because I’m beginning to trust you. Let you see the real me. The Everett you see in the suit is only half of who I am.”

“I like the Everett you are here just as much. You’re easier to talk to,” I murmur.

“Am I? Good.” He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. “And as much as I’d like to take advantage of you in this state, I think drinking on an empty stomach is a bad move for you.”

I smile in agreement as my eyelids flutter again, no matter how desperate I am for them to stay open and stay in this moment with him. And then I’m against his chest. Warmth. His arms around me. And we’re swaying.

“What?” I urge my eyes to focus, but they just blur my vision instead. “Are we moving? Are you carrying me?” I giggle. “Everett!”

“Yes. And you’ll forget just what a gentleman I’m being.”

“Hmmm.” I lean my head against his shoulder, wanting to stay conscious long enough to enjoy being carried in his arms.

“Oh, the things I could do to you.” The low rumble of his voice vibrates through me, and I giggle again, remembering the piano.

“Drink.” He passes me a glass, and I blink at it. “It’s just water.”

“Where am I?”

“In bed. Now, drink.” I reach for the glass and savour the cool, crisp water on my lips.

The heavy puffed pillows swallow me up as I fall back, and my eyes shut instantly.

I can feel his fingers in my hair, maybe twirling it, playing with it.

And as the darkness of sleep starts to pull, I think I hear him talking, but the darkness wins like a heavy weight pulling me under.