I can’t believe this is really happening today. I can’t believe I set myself up for this. And it truly is all my fault. I was the one who got arrogant. Who was stubborn. Who refused to be cautious when clearly it was needed. This is my fault, and I will deal with the pending consequences on public fucking television.
Adjusting the sleeve to my jacket, I ask, “And how did the board take it?”
J.T. hums and leans against the hotel room wall. “They understand any shift of shares will be coming from the portion that was bestowed on you from your family and that any negative press will be directed at you, Weston Wilcox the billionaire philanthropist, not Wilcox Enterprises. Aside from that there seemed to be a collective agreement they really don’t give a shit as long you keep making them richer.”
I shake my head and mumble under my breath, “The rich get richer and the poor are still barely being helped.”
“Not true,” Brynley argues from beside me. “Thanks to people like you, they are getting help. Plus, you’re also backing smaller companies with big dreams, leading them to great things.”
“And making the rich, once again, richer in the process.”
She glares at my comment yet J.T. chuckles, “It’s the circle of life, Simba.”
“If he’s Simba then that makes you Timon.”
“You two are not actually having this conversation,” Evie fusses from the dining room chair.
I lightly laugh. “Oh…but they are.”
All of sudden, Brynley gasps, “Holy shit! You know what I just realized? Monica’s basically like our own fucked up female version of Khan.”
J.T. snaps his finger at her and points. “Yes!”
“I don’t remember a Khan in The Lion King,” Evie mumbles her confusion.
“This is now a Star Trek thing.”
Brynley’s hand strokes my thigh. “You have no idea how fucking sexy it is that you know that.”
Our eyes lock, and I helplessly smirk at the compliment.
“You’re a very weird woman,” Evie sighs at the same time I press our lips together.
She is strange. And beautiful. And powerful. And much more forgiving than what I deserve. We’ve spent the last couple of days in this unfamiliar realm of constant sex and communicating. Despite the work debacle, she took time off to give me the same dedication to fixing this that I gave to her. She made it abundantly clear what she expects from me and what is completely unacceptable. In return, I expressed the fears I have of not being good enough for our child, her, or the family I have left. We exchanged what we want for “Little Thing” growing inside of her, as well as agreeing on a much more open approach to shit that bothers us. Like the way she feels I don’t trust her around other men. Or the way I hate I feel like I have to compete with Calen for attention. We still have some shit to wade through, but I’m relieved we’re doing it together.
“Save something for the cameras,” Evie scolds on her way over to us. After a brief look of contemplation, she instructs, “Lose the tie. It’s too much. Delivers a powerful dickhead message rather than the compassionate big brother vibe we’re trying to establish.”
Hearing the word ignites a familiar craving.
Just a shot of whiskey would calm my nerves. Make all of this easier to swallow. Wash away the animosity I’m still harboring for my deceased father and my soul sucking sister.
There’s no excuse for the hell she has put my relationship through. Hating me, I can understand, but using my fiancée’s best friend to collect leverage was beyond out of line. She harmed innocent people in her pilgrimage for retribution. People whose only crime was being in proximity to me. For that she will apologize whether she realizes it or not.
Another craving for the dark colored liquid invades my senses, and I grind my teeth to fight through it.
“You okay?” Brynley cautiously questions.
I toy with the idea of hiding it from her, not wanting her to view me as weak, but I resist the instinct. I can’t lock her out. I swore I wouldn’t. Not even if I think it would spare her stress. “Having a craving. It’ll pass.”
Her hand gives my thigh a soft stroke at the same time she teases, “I told you to use my pussy like a nicotine patch. When will you listen?”
The crass comment causes displeased groans, yet I find solace in the humor. She’s behaving as she normally would, which is exactly what I need. With so many changes in progress, having her distasteful humor to rely on is refreshing and appreciated.
“Thank God, you’re not going on television with him.” Evie folds her arms firmly across her chest. “The light blue was a good choice. You look sensitive. Accepting. Now show me the rehearsed look for when they read the results.”
Instantly, I force a surprised yet sweet expression. One that looks like I’m stunned but excited.
“And then you say….”
“I’m glad the Wilcox family is finally gaining a sister.”
“Rally cries of the feminazis, grumbles of the power hungry, and of course awes of the dramatic.” Evie’s explanation is accompanied with her head bouncing back and forth. “Then we cue the hug and your line….”
“Welcome home, sis.”
She nods her approval while Brynley taunts, “And here I thought it was just J.T. who liked a hand up the ass. You make quite the puppet yourself, babe.”
I hit her with an irritated smirk.
“I do not like a hand up the ass,” J.T. announces loudly.
“Should we be concerned you emphasized hand?” My fiancée playfully points out.
His face flushes, and the room fills with much needed laughter. From the minute the needle touched my skin late last night none of us have been at ease. Evie spent all night and most of this morning prepping me and preparing the press statements she is going to release while Jenni was on caffeine, food, and wardrobe runs. J.T. dealt with the board this morning and I handled normal business as a way to keep myself distracted. Brynley mainly spent time at my side, keeping me distracted from the life changing events and urges to drown in alcohol with licks to my earlobe and dick rubs. I rented us all the penthouse suite of the hotel that is broadcasting the reveal in their event room. It’ll make for easy access to slip to and from the pending publicized announcement. It also made the declaration to the world that is watching I am dedicated to this spectacle. That won me popularity points.
There’s a knock at the door, and all the laughter ceases.
Nathaniel looks at me for confirmation to open the door before making the effort.
Once he’s accepted the person on the other side is not a threat he opens it wide to reveal one of the show’s crew members. “Um…Mr. Wilcox? It’s time.”
Brynley gives my leg a loving squeeze. I nod my understanding, stand, and connect hands with the support system I was once too stubborn to appreciate. Together, me and my team take the elevator down to the event room where there is a live crowd waiting.
“God, it’s like Maury, the billionaire edition,” Bryn mumbles under her breath clutching my hand tighter. “Remember not to drop to your knees and cry when you find out he was the father.”
Evie hushes her with a stern look and a finger to the lips. They part from me to take their seats in the front row as I join Monica who is already settled in her chair, having her makeup reapplied. She offers me a smug smirk, and I swallow the instinct to remind her I could have her destroyed without lifting a finger.
I am not my father. I will not be cruel. I will be better than that.
“You ready to finally admit to the entire world the shameful secret your parents kept hidden?”
Whiskey desires begin to burn again. “Yes.”
“Good. Because I plan on having this run on multiple networks around the world and want you to be prepared to have this coverage trending for the next several weeks.”
My eyes cut to Evie’s who is imploring I bend to her whim rather than put up a fight.
I skip the risk of saying the wrong thing and simply nod.
Not surprised there isn’t a host, I focus all my attention on the woman I’m about to call my sister and the suffering I’m about to endure as I wade through a sea of probing questions I don’t have answers for. I don’t know why my father fucking cheated. I don’t know why he didn’t leave it in his will or leave a legal document for me to acknowledge her when the time came. No, I don’t know why she felt she had to do this like a tacky VMA performance.
Without further delay, we’re live.
“Thank you so much for joining me Yea! channel viewers for today’s very special occasion. I am Monica Simmons with the Global Laundry, and I am here with Weston Wilcox, billionaire, philanthropist, and sole heir to the Wilcox Whiskey fortune.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Or is he?”
The crowd as if rehearsed slightly gasps, and I catch Brynley rolling her eyes.
“Recent evidence has been discovered indicating that not only he may not be the only heir to the vast majority of shares in Wilcox Enterprises, but that the sibling in question is me.”
More collected gasps and this time J.T. rolls his eyes.
I just need this to be over.
I need her to have the results read, endure the fifteen minutes of incessant questioning, and move past this. Move forward as Clark encouraged. We have lives that need us. I have a fiancée who I want to marry me again. A company waiting for me to announce the next new profitable investments. Baby names to search through, though I’m still holding out hope for Weston William Wilcox junior.
“We had our DNA tested and the results are in.” She waves over the objective third party. “This is Doctor Ramirez, the objective, agreed upon third party. Doctor whenever you’re ready, so are we.”
The man thankfully doesn’t waste time announcing his results. “We tested to match their genetic markers. We took swab samples from them as well as blood. We also had the tests ran simultaneously in three separate facilities in which we did not disclose to either party. All three results were identical. Monica Simmons and Weston Wilcox are not genetically related.”
Our jaws drop in unison.
Her words stumble as they rush out of her mouth, “What do you mean- not- there’s isn’t- we have to be- he- What?!”
Doctor Ramirez expresses his empathy with a slow nod. “The labs results were all the same.”
“There has to be some sort of mistake!”
“No mistake.”
Monica’s breath hitches, and the most unpredictable thing happens. She runs away out one of the side doors completely abandoning all of us.
Unsure of what to do, I try to meet Evie’s eyes, but she’s busy demanding they cut the feed. Once they have, the man answers, “We’re clear.”
At that point, she’s up on her feet, and announcing, “Thank you all for coming! I am sorry to have to wrap this up short, but given our missing ‘star’, there is no reason for you to stay. Please feel free to help yourselves to the refreshments in the back, and we apologize again for the unexpected change.”
The crowd begins to voice its complaints, which is when she gives me a slight head nod to get the hell out of dodge.
I don’t hesitate to grab Brynley’s hand and allow Nathaniel to leads us as well as J.T. away from the building commotion. We’re hastily guided to the nearest set of elevators, but when we get inside, I hit the button for Monica’s floor rather than ours.
“These episodes are less fun when no one flips over a chair in excitement,” Brynley attempts to make light of the situation. Her voice changes to a manly one. “KeeShawn is not the father.” She then gives an overly dramatic cry and continues, “Oh Lawd, I never saw this coming! I only had sex with seventeen men!”
Everyone’s attention diverts to her yet I’m the one who speaks, “Are you implying Monica’s mother was a whore?”
She frowns. “I was just acting out an episode to help distract from the nightmare we’re still stuck in.”
“What are you gonna do?” J.T. questions from the other side of me.
That’s a damn good question. According to our agreement she’s done reporting, though I feel at this point that goes without saying. Despite us not being biological siblings, it doesn’t change the fact my father did have an affair with her mother. He was around when she was born. Did he bail when he found out the child wasn’t his? Was the money funneled as actual hush funds or more out of guilt for cheating on his wife? Or perhaps he sent it out of shame for leaving a new mother completely abandoned and alone with a new baby.
The doors ding allowing us access to Monica’s floor. Everyone prepares to exit when I shake my head and instruct, “J.T. go and meet Evie back at the hotel penthouse. Nathaniel you can wait outside the door while we talk to Monica.”
Brynley’s voice cracks. “We?”
I nod profusely. “I need you by my side. Hell, I want you there.”
“To help hide the body?” Her joke is accompanied with a wink and smirk.
Another reason to keep her in my life. She’s mastered the art of defeating the awkward.
The three of us head to her room in the middle of the hall.
I give the door a gentle knock to which she shouts, “Go away!”
In a calm voice, I command, “Open the door, Monica.”
“No.” The pause she delivers is brief. “I’ve been humiliated enough in public. I will fucking fax you a copy of my resignation letter and the drafted apology I agreed to run. Now go!”
Brynley begs with her eyes to just abandon the situation.
Hasn’t she been abandoned enough? Isn’t that what all this was really about? Fighting for a chance to no longer be alone? Alone like her mother was? Alone like she’s probably been since her death?
Recalling the pain of an isolated existence, I glance down at Brynley, and remember how good it felt the first time I finally felt I wasn’t any more. With our eyes glued together, I knock on the door again, feeling compelled to pass on even an inkling of that feeling.
The sound of her stomping to the door causes us to take a step back. It flies open revealing her makeup smeared face. “What! You wanted to see me cry?!”
“A little,” Brynley mumbles, quickly receiving a nudge from me.
“Can we please come in?” She prepares to deny when I add, “I’d rather those lurking around the corner waiting to capitalize on this moment not be given the opportunity.”
“You know, similar to the way you had my boss snooping around on me.”
I deliver a firm stare to Brynley who backs down once more.
After Monica lets the two of us enter her room, she braces herself against the door with folded arms. “Is that what you’re here for? To gloat?”
My fiancée opens her mouth for a snarky retort when she’s met with a glower. She instantly surrenders her hands and flops down onto the edge of Monica’s hotel bed.
“I’m sorry the results were not more favorable for you.”
Her eyebrows twitch in confusion.
“Obsessing over this…over you…over our parents almost ruined my life, and I only had to deal with it for a month. I imagine having dealt with it for almost a year drove you insane. Having more questions than answers. Having more accusations than those to hold accountable. Feeling completely alone because the only person you had been counting on in your life died before you were truly ready.”
She sniffles. “Breast cancer.”
“My condolences.”
Monica clears her throat and tightens her arms. “Thank you.”
“Despite the fact you are not my family, I would like to help you find yours.”
“I don’t…I mean…I…What?”
“The P.I. I hired to investigate my father’s affair with your mother was great, especially considering the constant walls he was forced to scale. I will pay him to help you find your actual father and any possible siblings you may have.”
Her gasp is audible. “Why would you do that?”
“Because contrary to your belief, Wes is not a monster. He’s a good man. With a good heart. And believes in making lives better not worse like you fucking lived to do,” Brynley chimes in.
Monica bottom lip begins to tremble. “I don’t deserve your help.”
“You don’t,” I agree. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to offer it.”
“What are the terms? I run the announcement of your generosity alongside my retraction? Have Global Laundry vow to never publish another bad word about the Wilcox family? My first-born baby?”
“Oh God no. Little Thing I’m growing inside me is plenty.”
The odd nickname she’s given to our unborn child causes me to smirk. “I don’t want anything in return.”
“No one wants something for nothing. At the very least I’m sure you want good press-”
“No, Monica. Despite what it is you have spent months printing, everything I do isn’t for publicity. It isn’t for a price. Some things are done for the basic sake of helping others. And while my father was not always the most responsible man, that was one principle he relied on heavily and passed down to me. Acts of kindness are their own reward if you let them be.”
My words seem to tip the tears over the edge of her eyelids. “He sounded like such a good man, Wes.”
“He was.”
Even if he made a mistake I can’t imagine ever making myself.
“All of my mom’s journals and the photos and their keepsakes and her unsent letters just held him so high on this pedestal that part of me desperately wanted him to fall from grace. To have my mother be wrong for keeping his secrets and protecting him for my entire life.” She slowly shakes her head. “I guess when she died claiming he was the most important man in my life it wasn’t because he was my father…it was because he was the closest thing she could ever give me to one.”
Photographs I spent weeks staring at cycle through my memory. Ones from her childhood birthday parties on the ranch having extravagant gifts and cakes. Albums filled with her horseback riding competitions and modeling expensive prom dresses. I remember making the correlation for my father sending additional money near her birthday and random increased intervals for what I imagine would match her equestrian training. Somehow they communicated in secret through the years, and he continued to provide for their family as best he could, like penance for leaving her for my mother.
“I’ll arrange for the P.I. to have a meeting with you. If you are uncomfortable with doing it in a public place, you may use our penthouse for discretion.”
“That’s awfully generous of you….”
“Yeah, this is the part where you say thank you,” Brynley sasses.
Monica immediately says with sincerity, “Thank you, Wes.”
Unsure of what else to do I simply offer her a nod.
After receiving a heartfelt apology for trying to ruin our lives out of spite, we spend the remainder of the day talking to Evie, other press outlets she coordinated with to clean up my name and place the focus back on the good things going on like the high performing success of the Morgan brand rather than the paternity party gone wrong. Brynley and I finally manage to relocate to the manor for the night a little after lunch, not only needing to avoid the press, but a break from the constant commotion of the city.
She slips away to spend time with her mother while I retreat to my office for some space. For hours I avoid anything that can relay to me how I’m trending in the world and focus on something positive. Trenton’s nephew’s program seems promising. It appears to be a great place to donate and actually witness the funds make a difference. Unlike traditional, larger name foundations, Kellan appears to be completely hands on. I trail through testimonies from other donors. Pictures. Their website. Reports from newspapers and magazines all commending him on his excellence.
The idea of funding him to run something similar on a much larger scale creeps into my mind just as there’s a light tap on my open office door.
Seeing Lauren’s face surprises me. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Not at all.”
I watch her shut the door behind her and cross in front of my desk. “Busy?”
“Just looking over a new charity I may be donating to.”
“Ocean?”
“Children.”
She smiles proudly. “They are the future and certainly worth protecting.”
Her word choice sends me back into my chair. Remorse over mistreating hers snakes around my vocal chords. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you and Brynley. You deserve an apology not only for putting you in the middle of Clark and I’s disagreement, but for forcing you to witness your daughter in so much pain and not being able to help. I’m sure seeing her upset wasn’t easy.”
Lauren pulls over a chair and shrugs. “She’s always been one to cry alone rather than let many people see her true feelings. It’s why the way she opens up to you and Calen is so significant. My daughter is hard headed, stubborn, and guarded, even from me most of the time.”
I offer her a soft smile.
“Brynley explained to me what happened today. She also mentioned you were still unsettled about the situation regardless of now having answers.”
“I honestly don’t have enough.”
“Do you think shy of asking him every little detail possible you ever will?”
My face unconsciously twitches a glare.
“Do you know what a parable is, Weston?”
“A made-up story to teach a moral lesson?”
“Very good. I’m going to tell you one.”
I fold my hands tightly together in my lap at the same time my head tilts in confusion. “You do know I’m an adult who can understand pure advice offered to them?”
She ignores my statement and begins, “Once upon a time there was a king who had been bitten by the Golden Bug. It turned him into a cold, cruel, and uncaring king. He sought ruthless ways to acquire riches upon riches and conquer kingdoms upon kingdoms.”
Obviously I see where this is going….
“Even after the queen bore him an heir, his greedy ways continued. He spent ludicrous amounts on extravagant clothing she did not want. Insisted every night be accompanied with the most expensive alcohol he could find. His drinking was the real nursing of his evil ways. Most of the kingdom had no idea about the battle he faced with the bottle, but it was as real as any adversary he sent his men to face. As the young prince got older, the queen often feared for his life because of the drinking. One night, it all became too much for her to handle any longer. During dinner, he grabbed the prince too roughly for refusing to eat his peas.”
Now confused, I press my lips tightly together.
“He almost snapped the young prince’s wrist and the queen knew, she knew, she had to do whatever it took to protect her son. So, she gave the king a choice. When morning came, he could leave or she would. The next day he made the sober decision not to rip his child and wife away from the palace so long as she agreed that after enough time had passed they would talk. Attempt to reconcile. She promised and off he went.”
Is this….Is she telling me….
“The ruthless king realized during his fleeing from the castle he had a problem that he needed to be solved, so he set out on the quest to do it. To give up the treacherous ways of greed and alcohol. To rid his system of the Golden Bug poison. He bought a small home in a very poor village. He went to extreme lengths to keep the kingdom from knowing why he had stepped away from his throne and continued the façade everything was as perfect as ever. However, the ruthless king knew he couldn’t defeat the poison in his system all alone and hired help, including a homeless woman who had recently become pregnant.”
Oh shit.
“The two quickly built a beautiful friendship. She helped keep him sober, and he helped keep her healthy. He had the local doctor tend to her pregnancy in private as to not start new rumors about her in the village. He kept her fed. Loved. And in return she reminded him of the man he was before he had been bitten by the Golden Bug. Eventually, their relationship turned into something more than just friendship. However, shortly after the village woman gave birth to her child, the king realized something very important. He longed for his own child. The one who bared his name. The one he had with the queen. The one he had big dreams of ruling the kingdom with passion and purpose. He then realized it wasn’t the young village woman he loved, but the queen. He came to the conclusion the woman he had spent months caring for, who had spent months helping him get past the sickness from the Golden Bug, was nothing more than an angel sent to assist him in finding his way home. So, the king left the young woman with promises to be there the best he could. Upon his return to the palace and reconciliation with the queen, it was decreed for the household to never speak about the time or what they knew. The king and the queen also came to an agreement, feeling indebted to the village woman for bringing them back together, to give her riches for all her living years to help with the child. Her thanks was her silence about the king’s journey back to his queen.”
My mouth moves yet not a single word seeps out.
“After the king and the queen were together again, the entire kingdom changed. The king spent more time with his son and his queen. He allowed for his riches to continue to grow plentiful but made it a mission to give back to the towns he reigned over. He became known as a great king, loved and adored by many rather than a ruthless one. He went to great lengths to assure his only son was never bitten by the Golden Bug. He didn’t want him to suffer through the same fate. He wanted more for his son, but not in the financial aspect. He wanted the prince to be a better man than he was. He wanted him to keep his eyes on making the kingdom better for all rather than getting wrapped up in keeping it better for just himself. He didn’t want greed or alcohol to lead him astray.”
I swallow the forming knot in my throat.
Lauren gives me a soft smile. “Do you understand the moral of the story, Wes?”
“To understand no one’s perfect, and we all make mistakes?” Giving my face a brief scrub, I add, “To understand a real father goes to extreme lengths to protect his son from the pain whether it’s physical or psychological.”
An all-knowing hum comes from her, “Or perhaps it’s just telling you to be satisfied with having the answers you already do because greed can destroy your life.”
Her retort causes me to question, “Is that what happened between my parents or did you just make all that shit up?”
Lauren smirks as she stands. “I thought you knew what a parable was.”
“Made up.”
“Yes, but even made up stories often pull from some sort of truth.” I start to ask more questions when she suggests, “Take the lesson of spending more time with your future wife and child, Wes. Let go of the past before it once again wrecks your future.”
She gives me a wink before exiting the way she came.
With my mind whirling around the story she just told, I shut my eyes for a moment, hoping to gain some perspective.
Was any of it true? Was all of it? Lauren wasn’t around, but Clark was. Did he tell her this story as a way to give her answers without breaking clauses? What lesson is Lauren expecting me to grab from it? Don’t be a money hungry bastard? Because she’s right, if that story is based on my father, he did push me to focus on giving as much as getting. Hm. Maybe the lesson is about making family a priority above all else….
The thought propels me to my feet and down the hall to our bedroom. I stroll in immediately seeing Brynley curled on her side completely engulfed in the ocean documentary she’s watching on the flat screen. Her hair is draped around her face. Her curvy naked body barely hidden by the black sheet. Her blue eyes are dancing with so much excitement I almost feel guilty for interrupting.
“Want some company?”
She shoots me a playful expression. “Depends. Are you gonna cry like a bitch the way J.T. does when a baby animal gets eaten?”
Her question causes me to cringe. “We talkin’ baby fish or baby squid or-”
“Penguins.”
“What kinda Nightmare on Ocean Street shit are you watching?”
Brynley lightly laughs. “It’s about leopard seals. They’re fucking ruthless. Did you know not only do they eat penguins, sometimes they’ll toy with them, just for fun, like a mind fuck situation type of thing? Kind of like that scene in Happy Feet, but way fucking worse.”
Her vast knowledge of the ocean fills me with warmth and admiration. I have no doubt “Little Thing” will follow in her footsteps.
The idea pushes me to announce, “We’re not naming Little Thing after anything aquatic or ocean related.”
She purses her lips together into a pout.
“Or anything related to Aquaman or Aquawoman or any of their Aqua children.”
Her eyes harshly roll but the hint of a smile lets me know it’s all in good fun. “Come on, Bruce. I don’t wanna miss anything else.”
Quickly, I discard everything but my boxers and climb in beside her. She rearranges herself to rest her body against mine yet leaves me room to touch her stomach. I take the opening and lightly stroke the swelling area. Her attention diverts back to the creatures swimming around on television while I let mine wander elsewhere.
Maybe the story didn’t have a direct lesson. Maybe it was Lauren’s gentle reminder to never take my own queen or what she gives to me for granted. Maybe she wanted to suggest that I keep proving I’m the man her daughter deserves regardless if we are in private or public. Our relationship will always continue to grow and face new challenges, but never again will I let the public dictate how a Wilcox treats his family. My father ultimately did what he thought was best to protect the ones he loved and those are the footsteps I’ll be following.