Chapter Eighteen
Teddy
I shouldn't have been surprised that the party continued at my estate without me. High society had a way of ignoring any scenes that might interrupt an otherwise lovely night. There was music, dancing, more bottles being opened for the wine tasting, and fresh pizzas coming from the kitchen. I didn't want to go inside.
Instead, I stood on the portico outside the ballroom and thought about the ultimatum my father had given me. It was tempting to turn away from this glittery world completely and see what else the world had to offer.
I knew that people lived in one-room apartments, like my mother and I had when I was a child, and there was happiness to be found there. I looked through the windows and wondered if the opposite was true. Would I really be happy if I stayed tied to our family fortune?
I knew where I really wanted to be, but I didn't have the heart to turn around and look at the cottage again. Kiara had her own problems to deal with. She didn't need me. It felt like the only thing I had to offer her was money, and money was the one thing that Kiara had learned to live without.
Turning away from the clinking wine glasses and brittle laughter, I walked around to the kitchen door. Pappy had it propped open with one foot as he brought out the crates that held his cooking implements. I ducked as the wooden paddle he used to retrieve pizzas from the oven swung dangerously close to my head.
"Sorry, didn't see you there," Pappy said.
I knew he was lying by the quirk of his lips, so I stopped to hold the door open for him. "I still don't meet with your approval?"
"Does that bother you?" He swung another crate out onto the step.
I shrugged. "It seems to be going around tonight."
"And feeling bad for yourself," he said. "I can see why Kiara was so happy to be in Brooklyn. We might work in a tiny pizzeria half the size of your kitchen, but maybe that's why it's better. Too much space, and people start to think they’re more important. They forget they’re just human."
"Humans make mistakes," I said.
"And decisions."
I helped Pappy carry his equipment to the van. He scanned my mansion and lawns. I was jealous of the way he swept over the mansion's facade without a flicker of awe. To Pappy, the large estate was just a big house. It didn't have anything that he needed. That kind of contentment gave him a strength that I wished I had.
He paused by the driver's side door and looked me right in the eye. "You gonna make the right choice?"
I opened my mouth to let out my torrent of confusion and conflicts, but the bright, flashing lights of a squad car distracted me. The police officer I had seen helping Kiara before popped out of the car and marched towards the servants' entrance.
"Can I help you, officer?" I called.
Pappy patted me on the shoulder, climbed into his van, and started the rattling engine. "We'll see you in Brooklyn."
"Mr. Brickman," the young officer said. "We're here because one of your guests claims there was an attempted robbery."
I steered him back towards his squad car. "It was all a big misunderstanding. Mixing wine, jealousy, and a bracelet with a broken clasp is never a good idea. We've worked it all out."
He pulled back and glanced towards the door. "Ms. Barnes was adamant that someone come out to discuss pressing charges."
"Kiara was trying to return the bracelet when the misunderstanding occurred." I crossed my arms and watched the young officer.
His chin crinkled as he realized the predicament. "Kiara wouldn't steal," he said.
I loosened my arms and patted him on the back. "Like I said, it was all just a misunderstanding."
"Is Kiara, I mean, Ms. Davies, here?" His voice took on a hopeful lilt.
It felt like I had swallowed a live coal. He was a nice man, a public servant, and he clearly adored her. It was impossible not to hate him. I cleared my throat. "No. Kiara had to take her stepsisters home."
Again, I felt a hard pull towards the little cottage. As the police officer climbed back into his squad car, I let myself take one glance over the lawns to where the light shone from her window.
There was no decision for me to make; I knew what I wanted. Then I remembered what Pappy had said about people making decisions instead of mistakes.
I waved to the departing policeman and turned back towards the garden path. Behind me, Vincent Jeffry coughed politely. I saw him holding open the kitchen door with a stern look on his face.
"Yes?" I snapped.
"Your father and his colleagues are preparing to depart," he said.
"Thank God." I crossed my arms and rooted myself to the garden path. "Is there something else?"
The butler's forehead creased, and his eyes flicked up to the distant cottage light. He balanced on the thin rope between keeping his job and protecting his friend from more drama. My muscles turned to jelly.
Vincent Jeffry was right. All I had done for Kiara was allow her cottage to be burned to the ground. That had triggered her getting fired from her law school internship and ruining her career. Then, I had hired her as a chef and gotten her entangled in all the drama that came with my group of “friends.”
"There is, ah, speculation, sir. It may be better if you make another appearance."
I grumbled, but passed Vincent Jeffry and strode into the kitchen. "Better tell me all the gossip," I said.
My stoic butler softened for just a moment. "Mr. Dallas has been very attentive to Ms. Barnes. I've heard it said they make an excellent couple."
"Roger and Whitney?" My smile wouldn't be suppressed. "That might be the best thing I've heard all night."
Vincent Jeffry frowned. "I believe it is supposed to reflect poorly on you."
"Getting dumped by Whitney Barnes?" I rubbed my hands together. "It'll be like a feather in my cap."
"Does your father agree?"
My jaw gaped open at Vincent Jeffry's inappropriate question. He looked equally horrified at his own overstep, but he couldn't take it back now. Of course, he knew about my father's ultimatum. I wondered how quickly that would spread through the gossip-hungry party guests.
I waved it away. "How about Cameron Falcon? How'd he come out of these little scenes?"
"Mr. Falcon is having a lovely time by all accounts. He and his fiancée are enjoying the wine-tasting."
"Thanks," I said and ducked into the narrow servants' hallway. It popped me out in the dining hall where it was easy to spot Falcon.
The young man stifled a yawn as his picture-perfect fiancée chattered on with her friends. Falcon was all but ignored, basically an accessory with a good pedigree and an acceptable bank account. He looked miserable.
I felt bad for him for all of three seconds, and then I remembered what he'd done. Making Madison believe they were in love, possibly, from the rumors I heard, getting her pregnant, and then tossing her away when a better offer came along was despicable.
With that in mind, I marched up and flashed him my charming host smile. "Enjoying yourself?"
His fiancée spoke for him, but I didn't hear a word she said. Falcon was looking at me like a man in open water might stare at a buoy. I was happy to oblige.
"Would you mind if I borrowed your fiancé for a moment?" I asked her. "I could use a fresh opinion on an old vintage."
She gave him up reluctantly, but then turned to her friends with a glow of ownership. "Cameron does have a good palate."
I steered the young man over to a quiet corner. He grinned at me and said, "Thanks, Mr. Brickman."
"Please," I said, "call me Teddy. We can't be too formal when you tell me what the hell you think you're doing."
Falcon's eyes rounded. "You mean getting engaged? My parents arranged it; I had nothing to do with it. Are you interested in her?"
I smacked him upside the head. "Are you hearing yourself? You're not in love with Ms. Perfect over there; you're just doing what your parents told you to do. Is that really the kind of man you want to be?"
"You wouldn't understand," he said.
I fought the urge to smack him again and instead, wound his shirt front into my fist, pulling him closer. "No, I can't understand. Why would you make Madison fall in love with you if you were already tied into an arranged marriage?"
Falcon tried to reclaim his shirt, but my grip was too tight. "It's not an arranged marriage. That's just how it's done."
I gave him a shake. "Do you even have a spine? Tell me right now that you don't love Madison. Tell me."
Falcon gulped. "She's crazy. You saw her. She made the biggest scene."
"Love makes you do crazy things. Especially when there's a baby involved."
The young man went limp, and I struggled to hold him up as he slumped against the wall. "She's pregnant? She didn't tell me. Maddy's having my baby?"
The ridiculous smile that spread over his face finally loosened my grip. "You didn't know?"
His face crumpled as his fiancée waved at him from across the room. "I wish I didn't know. It doesn't change anything. My family expects me to marry someone from our social circle. You understand."
I wished I didn't. As much as I wanted to pummel the heartless weakling, I knew it was useless. I was only mad at myself. The only reason I was attacking Falcon is that we both faced the same ultimatum. The only difference was Falcon knew Madison loved him. He had somewhere to go if he left his rich, comfortable world. All I had were more question marks.
Vincent Jeffry brought us both a glass of wine. "Perhaps you would like to say goodbye to your guests from the foyer, sir?" he asked me.
"Excellent idea. Thank you. I'll be along in a moment," I said.
Falcon gulped his wine and gave me a goofy smile. "You throw awesome parties."
I looked around the dining hall and marveled at all the happy guests. Somehow, the majority of people were able to skim along the surface, enjoying the perfect look of everything, but everywhere I looked were cold, empty rooms and cold, shallow people.
"You had a good time?" I asked Falcon.
He smirked. "Yeah, it was a little dramatic, but that just means people will talk about me. You know how important an interesting reputation is."
"Good for you, but what about Madison?" I put down my wine glass before I cracked it.
"She's having my baby," Falcon said with another dreamy smile. "I hope it has her big, blue eyes. I love her eyes."
I pounced. "You love her, don't you, you weak, little shit?"
His eyes widened. "So what? I can have a mistress. I know it's a little old-fashioned, but I don't see why not."
I grabbed his shirt with two hands and pushed him up hard against the wall. His toes scrabbled to reach the floor as his hands flailed at my grip.
"Do you even know what love is, you smug, spoiled son of a bitch?" I asked.
The remaining guests turned to watch, and I knew I was making a scene. Falcon flailed around above me and choked out an answer. "That's not how the world works, is it?"
I let him down and smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. "Maybe it's better this way. A father is supposed to teach his child how the world works, but you'll only warp that little baby into being a spineless, spoiled brat, just like you."
"So she's having the baby?" Falcon was surprised.
I was going to walk away, but his casual question made me swing back. "It's more than a new handbag. She's having your baby, so no matter what you are, you're going to be a father."
"Crazy," he said.
He started to walk away, but I slammed him back against the wall with one hand. "Think about that for a minute, Falcon."
Now I knew why Madison had made such a scene. Cameron Falcon was the product of years and years of privileged living. He was one of the party guests that could just skim along the surface and be happy that he never had to touch the real world. I knew he loved Madison—I had seen it in his face—but he was too immature to do anything about it.
It was much easier to hate him than to hate myself.
He tried to shrug off my hand. "Just because she's having the baby doesn't mean I have to be a father."
"Oh, but you will," I threatened him.
The young man stuck out his chin. "What does it matter, anyway? I already explained to Madison that I can't marry her. The baby doesn't change anything."
"Why don't we go tell your parents, then?" I asked. I hauled Falcon out into the doorway of the dining hall. "They might be interested in knowing their little heir already has a baby on the way. Families like yours don't look too kindly on bastards."
Falcon pried my hand off his shirt. "Exactly. No matter what happens, the kid is still going to be a bastard."
"Not if you claim him."
"Why would I do that?" he asked. "Madison is great, she's more than great, but you know that she doesn't really fit in to our world. And neither will her kid."
"Your child," I said.
"Why does this bother you so much, man?"
I tried to get a hold of myself. I tried to take a different course.
"You're going to be miserable. You already are. You've only been engaged a few days, and you've already admitted to me that you plan to have a mistress. By the way, Madison's too good for you, and she'll never be your mistress. In fact, you'll be lucky if you ever meet your child."
"My little bastard?" Falcon asked with a joking smile. "I'm sure it'll turn up one of these days. Probably asking for money, am I right?"
My father caught my fist before I could ram it through Cameron Falcon's smug smile. "Hold on, son. You're making a scene."
"You'll regret this, Falcon. I was right about you already being miserable, but maybe that's exactly what you deserve. That kid is better off without you and without this whole circus. I was born a bastard, and I can tell you there's a better world out there waiting for your kid that you'll never get to be a part of."
That hit home. Falcon knew he was trapped by his family, the expectations of their fortune, and his own weak decisions. His casual mask slipped, and I saw him glance at the door. He knew this was his chance to do something different with his life: escape.
"Teddy, you're making a scene," my father said again. He hauled me down the hallway and through the foyer.
Before we hit the library doors, I knew what I had done. Guests were no longer leaving, but standing around in tight knots. Gossip was flying faster than we could walk, and I heard what they were saying.
"I always suspected. I mean, do you remember what his mother was like?" The woman shook her head in disapproval and tugged on her diamond earrings.
Two men shook their heads, giving my father pitying looks. "He tried to do the right thing, but the truth was bound to come out," one said.
"Guess that's where the phrase 'ungrateful bastard' comes from," another woman quipped.
My father shoved me into the library and shut the doors behind us. Before he could even turn to face me, there was an insistent knock. "The board chairman would like a word, Mr. Brickman," Vincent Jeffry said.
My father's face was pale, but he nodded. "In a moment."
Vincent Jeffry pulled the door closed. I watched as my father took two deep breaths before he turned to face me. The private library was deathly quiet, and my ears were ringing with my own words. I had just told all of New York that I was born a commoner and revealed my father had left me unclaimed for years.
"I wasn't comparing you to Cameron Falcon," I said.
My father nodded. "It's natural that he upset you."
"And none of it matters. You did the right thing. You claimed me as your son." A hard rock was weighing down the pit of my stomach.
"You will always be my son," he said, "but you are no longer my heir."
"I know, I know. I heard you when you gave me that ultimatum," I said. "But you didn't say anything about what would happen if Whitney Barnes dumped me. I mean, that's pretty much guaranteed now that everyone knows I'm a bastard."
My father flinched away from the distasteful title. "The ultimatum is void," he said.
"Then we should celebrate." I clapped a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when he caught it in a tight grip.
"No, Teddy," he said. "The board has been looking for a loophole in order to gain more control. They never thought to look at your legitimacy until now. Because I did not claim you for the first few years of your life, you are no longer eligible to inherit my shares of the company."
Everything my father had worked for, all the long hours, a whole lifetime of dedication to the company our family started, was gone. He had fought my stubborn mother and finally won her over only to lose her to a tragic car accident. He had raised me himself, never pursuing another family, and making me his sole heir. Not only had I ruined my own future, but I had torn apart the legacy he had so carefully preserved.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." I swallowed hard, but the rock in my stomach did not budge.
He rubbed a hand over his exhausted face. "I need to go speak with the board."
I followed him out the library doors to discover that the party had evaporated. The board chair and a handful of my father's top colleagues waited for him down the hall, but the mansion was otherwise abandoned.
I slipped out the door, unable to bear the ringing silence of the large estate. The only place I could think to go was the garage, but as soon as I turned on the lights, I knew I had made a mistake. Row after row of shining sports cars glared at me. How could I have been so ungrateful?
My father had given everything to me the day he found out I existed. My mother fought him, her pride and heartache colossal obstacles for him to overcome. I remembered his staunch belief that we all belonged together had made him strong enough to crumble her stubborn defenses. We had almost been a happy family.
Her car, an ancient and mistreated Mercedes, stood in the far corner under a cover. I pulled off the dusty shroud and slipped into the passenger seat. In it, I felt like I was five years old again, getting my first glimpse of the estate.
"She loved this pile of junk," my father said. He slipped into the driver's seat. "I wouldn't let her drive it anymore. I told her she deserved better. She hated the fancy car I got her, but drove it anyway. If I had let her keep driving this, she might never have gotten into that accident."
It hurt. Playing the “what if” game never gave us any comfort, but I didn't feel like I deserved any. "What do you think I'd be right now if you hadn't found out about me?"
My father sighed. "Maybe I was selfish wanting you to be part of this world. Your mother would have made sure you had a choice."
"Maybe I could have tried harder to be the son you wanted," I said.
My father gripped the steering wheel and shook his head. "We can't think like that."
"When's the board making a decision?"
"They aren't," my father said. "I am. If I let them buy me out, the Brickmans will have more money than Midas for the next half century. Maybe it's time for a change."
I worked my mouth, but the words were choked. One careless, angry comment from me, and my father was considering selling his family's company? Over a century of hard work, pride, and building a reputation that towered over Manhattan, and I had shattered it in one fit of frustration.
"You can't do that," I rasped. "I don't know what got into me. I deserve to be disowned."
My father's stern mouth curved into a smile. "I know exactly what got into you. Just like your mother. She was under my skin the first few seconds we talked. I thought of her every day all five of those years. Then, there you were. The day she drove this pile of junk up the driveway with you peering over the dashboard was the best day of my life."
"And I ruined it all," I said.
He laughed, the deep chuckle rocking the car. "Always so dramatic. Just like your mother."
"How can you laugh?"
"Your mother was right. God, I hope she can hear me saying that." He grinned. "She knew you'd turn out braver than me, and she was right. You stood up for a mother just like your own. Good thing Madison happened to have the right stepsister."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, on guard again.
"I'm proud of you, Teddy. I'm proud that you are my son."
The interior of the old Mercedes felt tight and too hot. The smudged windshield blurred in front of my eyes, and I had to blink hard to clear my vision. I shook my head and used my most sarcastic tone to clear the air.
"You're getting soft, old man. I'm surprised the board hasn't tried to put you out to pasture before."
My father grinned and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Exactly what your mother would have said."
"Yeah, she loved you, too."
His eyes misted over and he shoved open the car door. It took a moment before he was able to turn back to the car and to me. Then he bent over and said, "I'll inform the board of my decision. That should take most of the attention off of you. Spend a couple of months in Europe, and it'll all be forgotten."
My father was right. I owed him that much, but we both knew I wasn't going anywhere.