Twisted Palace Page 2

  The twins blink in bewilderment.

  “What? The baby?” Seb asks. “Why would Reed care about Brooke’s demon spawn?”

  Crap. I forgot that the twins weren’t in the loop. They know that Brooke was pregnant—we were all there for that horrible announcement—but they’re in the dark about Brooke’s other claim.

  “Brooke was threatening to say that Reed was the father of the kid,” I admit.

  Two sets of identical blue eyes widen.

  “He wasn’t,” I say firmly. “He only slept with her a couple times, and that was more than six months ago. She wasn’t that far along.”

  “Whatever.” Seb shrugs. “So you’re saying Reed knocked up Dad’s child bride and then offed her because he doesn’t want to have a little Reed running around?”

  “It wasn’t his!” I yell.

  “Then it’s really Dad’s?” Sawyer says slowly.

  I hesitate. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…”

  Ugh. The secrets in this house could fill half the ocean. But I’m done with holding any of them back. It hasn’t done us any good.

  “He had a vasectomy.”

  Seb narrows his eyes. “Dad told you this?”

  I nod. “He said he did it after you guys were born because your mom wanted more kids and couldn’t have them because of some medical condition.”

  The twins look at each other again, communicating silently.

  Easton rubs his chin. “Mom always wanted a girl. She talked about it a lot, said a girl would’ve softened us up.” His lips twitch. “But I don’t think girls make me soft in any way.”

  Frustration jams in my throat. Of course Easton’s going somewhere sexual. He always does.

  Sawyer smothers a laugh behind his hand while Seb grins openly. “So let’s assume that Reed and Dad are both telling the truth—who’s the baby daddy then?”

  “Maybe there isn’t one?” Easton suggests.

  “There has to be,” I say. Both Reed and Callum never doubted Brooke’s pregnancy claim, so it had to be true.

  “Not necessarily,” Easton counters. “She could’ve been lying. Maybe her plan was to fake a miscarriage after Dad married her.”

  “Sick, but possible.” Seb is nodding, clearly on board with this idea.

  “Why don’t you think Reed killed her?” Easton asks me, his blue eyes flickering with curiosity.

  “Why do you believe he’s capable of that?” I shoot back.

  He shrugs and looks at the twins instead of me. “If she was threatening the family, maybe he is. Maybe they got into an argument and there was an accident. There’s lots of explanations.”

  The sick feeling in my stomach threatens to erupt. The image Easton is casually painting is…possible. Reed’s stitches were ripped out. He had blood on him. What if he…

  “No,” I choke out. “He didn’t do it. And I don’t want us to even talk about it anymore. He’s innocent. End of story.”

  “Then why are you getting ready to skip town?”

  Easton’s quiet question hangs in the bedroom. I swallow a moan of agony and rub my eyes with both hands. He’s right. A part of me has already decided that Reed could be guilty. Isn’t that why I have his suitcase and my backpack all ready to go?

  The silence drags on, until it’s finally broken by the unmistakable sound of footsteps somewhere below us. Since the Royals don’t have live-in staff, the boys instantly tense up at the signs of life downstairs.

  “Was that the front door?” Seb asks.

  “Are they back?” Sawyer demands.

  I bite my lip. “No, that wasn’t the front door. That was…” My throat closes up again. God. I forgot about Steve. How could I forget about him, damn it?

  “That’s what?” Easton pushes.

  “Steve,” I confess.

  They all stare at me.

  “Steve’s downstairs. He showed up at the door just as Reed was taken away.”

  “Steve,” Easton echoes, slightly dazed. “Uncle Steve?”

  Sebastian makes a croaky sound. “Dead Uncle Steve?”

  I grit my teeth. “He’s not dead. He looks like Tom Hanks from Castaway, though. Minus the volleyball.”

  “Holy shit.”

  When Easton starts for the door, I grab his wrist and try to haul him back. I don’t have the strength for that, but the contact gives him pause.

  He tilts his head to study me for a second. “You don’t want to go down there and talk to him? This is your dad, Ella.”

  My panic returns in full force. “No. He’s just a guy who knocked up my mom. I can’t deal with him right now. I…” I gulp again. “I don’t think he realizes I’m his daughter.”

  “You didn’t tell him?” Sawyer exclaims.

  I slowly shake my head. “Can one of you go downstairs and…I don’t know…take him to a guest room or something?”

  “I’ll do it,” Seb instantly replies.

  “I’m coming with you,” his brother pipes up. “I’ve gotta see this.”

  As the twins race for the door, I quickly call out to them. “Guys, don’t say anything about me. Seriously, I’m not ready for that. Let’s wait until Callum gets home.”

  The twins exchange another one of those glances where a whole conversation takes place in a second.

  “Sure,” says Seb, and then they’re gone, galloping down the stairs to greet their not-dead uncle.

  Easton steps closer to me. His gaze lands on the suitcase near the closet, then locks onto my face. In a heartbeat, he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “You’re not running, little sis. You have to know it’s a stupid idea.”

  I stare at our entwined fingers. “I’m a runner, East.”

  “No. You’re a fighter.”

  “I can fight for other people. Like my mom or Reed or you, but…I’m not good with conflict at my door.” I chew harder on my bottom lip. “Why is Steve here? He’s supposed to be dead. And how could they arrest Reed?” My voice trembles wildly. “What if he actually goes to jail for this?”

  “He won’t.” His hand tightens on mine. “Reed’s going to be back, Ella. Dad will take care of everything.”

  “What if he can’t?”

  “He will.”

  But what if he can’t?

  3

  Ella

  After a sleepless night, I find myself in the sitting room that overlooks the front courtyard. There’s a plush bench tucked beneath the enormous expanse of windows that make up the front of the house. I throw myself onto the cushion, fixing my gaze on the circular driveway beyond the windowpane. My phone is in my lap, but it hasn’t made a peep all night or morning. Not a phone call, not a text. Nothing.

  My imagination is running wild, conjuring up all kinds of scenarios. He’s in a cell. He’s in an interrogation room. His wrists and ankles are shackled. He’s being beaten by a cop for not answering questions. Does he have to stay in jail until the trial? I don’t know how this whole arrest, charge, trial thing works.

  What I do know is that the longer Reed and Callum are gone, the lower my spirits sink.

  “Good morning.”

  I nearly fall off the bench at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. For a second I think that someone broke into the house, or that maybe the detectives are back to do a search. But when I glance at the door, I find Steve O’Halloran standing there.

  The beard’s shaved off and he’s dressed in a pair of slacks and a polo shirt, looking a lot less like a homeless person and a lot more like the students’ fathers you see around Astor Park, the private school the Royals and I attend.

  “Ella, right?” There’s a hesitant smile on his face.

  I nod abruptly and place my phone facedown as I turn back to the window. I don’t know how to act around him.

  Last night, I hid in my bedroom while Easton and the twins took care of Steve. I don’t know what story they told him about me, but it’s obvious he has no recollection of me
or the letter he received from my mom before he left on the hang-gliding trip where he supposedly died.

  Easton stopped by before he went to bed and informed me that Steve was in the green guest room. I didn’t even know there was a green guest room or where it was located.

  A crippling sense of anxiety makes me want to run and hide. I am hiding. But he found me anyway, and facing my father is more intimidating than beating back a hundred mean girls at school.

  “Well. Ella. I’m a tad confused.”

  I startle at the nearness of his voice. Looking over my shoulder again, I find him standing only a couple feet away.

  I dig my heels into the cushion of the bench, forcing myself not to move. He’s just a man. Two legs, two arms. Just a man who got a letter from a dying woman about a long-lost daughter, and instead of tracking that woman and that child down, he went on an adventure. That kind of man.

  “Did you hear me?” He sounds even more bewildered now, as if he can’t figure out if I’m ignoring him, or just hard of hearing.

  I cast a desperate glance toward the door. Where’s Easton? And why isn’t Reed home yet? What if he never comes home?

  I almost choke on the raw panic that burns my throat. “I heard you,” I finally mutter.

  Steve moves even closer. I can smell whatever soap or shampoo he used this morning. “I’m not sure what I expected when I got out of that taxi last night, but…” His tone becomes wry. “It sure as hell wasn’t this. From what East told me, I gather Reed was arrested?”

  My head jerks in another nod. And for some reason, it bugs me to hear him call Easton “East.” The nickname feels wrong leaving the mouth of a stranger.

  He’s not a stranger. He’s known them since they were born.

  I gulp. Yeah, I guess he has. I guess if anyone is a stranger to the Royals, it’s me and not Steve O’Halloran. I think Callum once told me that Steve is the godfather to all the boys.

  “But nobody has thought to explain to me who you are. I know I’ve been gone for a while, but the Royal household has been a bachelor residence for years.”

  A chill flies up my spine. No. God, no. I can’t have this conversation right now. But Steve’s light blue eyes are probing my face. He’s waiting for an answer, and I know I have to give him something.

  “I’m Callum’s ward.”

  “Callum’s ward,” he echoes in disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  “Who are your parents? Friends of Callum’s? Do I know them?” he wonders, half to himself.

  Panic jolts through me, but luckily I don’t have to answer, because I suddenly glimpse a black Town Car pulling into the driveway.

  They’re back!

  I lunge off the bench and make it to the parlor in two seconds flat. A weary Callum and an equally tired Reed trudge inside, but both stop in their tracks when they spot me.

  Reed turns. His vivid blue eyes slowly find mine and lock on.

  My heart stutters, then careens into a gallop. Without a word, I launch myself at him.

  He catches me, one strong hand burying itself in my hair and the other wrapping around my waist. I cling to him, mashing myself chest to chest, thigh to thigh, as if I can keep him safe with this simple embrace.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper against his left pec.

  “I’m fine.” His voice is low, gruff.

  Tears sting my eyes. “I was scared.”

  “I know.” His breath wafts over my ear. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll explain everything.”

  “No, you won’t,” Callum says tersely, overhearing Reed’s promise. “No talking to anyone unless you want to make Ella a witness.”

  A witness? Oh God. The police are talking to witnesses and Reed is trying to tell me everything is okay?

  Another set of footsteps echoes behind us. Reed releases me, and his eyes widen at the tall, blond man who enters the foyer.

  “Uncle Steve?” he blurts out.

  “Reed.” Steve nods in greeting.

  Callum spins toward my father. “Steve, Christ, I forgot you showed up. I was thinking I’d dreamt the damn thing.” His gaze swings between Steve and me. “Did you two meet?”

  I nod vigorously and try to convey with wide eyes that I don’t want the whole daddy/daughter thing coming out. Callum’s brow furrows, but his attention is dragged away when Steve says, “We were just getting acquainted when you arrived. And no, you didn’t dream it. I survived.”

  The two men eye each other for a moment. Then they both step forward, meet halfway, and exchange a manly hug that includes several good-natured back slaps.

  “Damn, it’s good to be home,” Steve tells his old friend.

  “How are you even here?” Callum shoots back, looking dismayed. “Where the hell have you been the last nine months?” In a voice that’s half angry, half awed, he adds, “I spent five million dollars on a search and rescue effort.”

  “It’s a long story,” Steve admits. “Why don’t we go sit down somewhere and I’ll fill you in—”

  A pounding of feet on the stairs interrupts him. The three youngest Royal brothers appear on the second-floor landing, their blue-eyed gazes instantly homing in on Reed.

  “Told you he’d be back!” Easton crows as he takes the steps two at a time. He has a serious case of bedhead and he’s wearing nothing but boxers, but that doesn’t stop him from dragging Reed in for a quick hug. “You okay, bro?”

  “Fine,” Reed grunts.

  Sawyer and Sebastian round out the group, focusing on their father. “What happened at the police station?” Sawyer demands.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Seb chimes in.

  Callum sighs. “I got a friend out of bed—a judge I know—and he came down this morning to set bail for Reed. I need to deliver Reed’s passport to the clerk of court tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we wait. You might have to stay here a while longer, Steve,” he informs my father. “Your place is currently being held as a crime scene.”

  “Why? Did someone finally off my beloved wife?” Steve asks in a dry voice.

  I jerk in surprise. Steve’s wife, Dinah, is a terrible, venomous woman, but I can’t believe he’s joking about someone killing her.

  Callum can’t believe it either, because he responds in a sharp voice. “Hardly something to joke about, Steve. But no, it’s Brooke who died. And Reed here is being falsely accused of having a hand in that death.”

  Reed’s fingers tighten through mine.

  “Brooke?” Steve’s eyebrows soar up to his hairline. “How did that happen?”

  “Head injury,” Reed says coolly. “And no, I didn’t do it.”

  Callum glares at his son.

  “What?” Reed growls. “Those are facts and I’m not afraid of the facts. I went there last night after a phone call from Brooke. You were all gone and I felt okay, so I went. We argued. I left. When I left, she was unhappy but alive. That’s the story.”

  What about your stitches? I want to scream. What about the blood I saw on your waist when I came home from dinner?

  The words stick in my throat, making me cough violently. Everyone stares at me for a moment, before Easton finally speaks.

  “Okay, if that’s the story, I’m on board.”

  Reed’s expression darkens. “It’s not a story—it’s the truth.”

  Easton nods. “Like I said, totally on board, bro.” His gaze travels to the newcomer in our midst. “I’d way rather hear Uncle Steve’s story, anyway. Coming back from the dead? That’s badass.”

  “Yeah, he wouldn’t tell us a thing last night,” Sebastian grumbles, glancing at his dad. “He wanted to wait for you.”

  Callum lets out another sigh. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen? I could use a cup of coffee. The coffee at the police station gave me heartburn.”

  We all follow the head of the Royal household into the massive, modern kitchen that I fell in love with the moment I moved in. As Callum walks over to the coffeemaker, the rest o
f us gather at the table. We all sit down as if this is just any other normal Sunday, not the Sunday after Reed was arrested for murder and a dead man walked out of the ocean to our front door.

  It’s so surreal. I can’t make sense of this. Any of it.

  In the chair beside mine, Reed rests a hand on my thigh, although I’m not sure if it’s to comfort me or himself. Or maybe he’s comforting us both.

  After he’s settled in his seat, Easton gets right down to business. “So are you finally gonna tell us why aren’t you dead?” he asks my father.

  Steve smiles faintly. “I still can’t tell if you’re happy or sad about that fact.”

  Neither, I almost blurt out. I manage to tamp down the response at the last second, but it’s the truth. Steve’s reappearance is more confusing than anything. And maybe a bit terrifying.

  “Happy,” the twins reply in unison.

  “Obvs,” Easton agrees.

  “How are you alive?” Reed, this time. His voice is sharp, and his hand moves soothingly over my thigh, as if he knows how on edge I am.

  Steve leans back in his chair. “I don’t know what Dinah’s told you, if anything, about our little trip.”

  “You went hang-gliding and both harnesses failed,” Callum says as he joins us at the table. He sets a cup of coffee in front of Steve, then sits down and sips his own cup. “Dinah was able to deploy her emergency ’chute. You dropped into the ocean. I spent four weeks searching for your body.”

  A crooked grin pops up on Steve’s face. “And only five million, you said. Did you cheap out on me, old man?”

  Callum doesn’t find this amusing. His expression grows as stony as the face of a cliff. “Why didn’t you come straight home after you’d been rescued? It’s been nine months, for Pete’s sake.”

  Steve runs a shaky hand over his jaw. “Because I didn’t get rescued until a few days ago.”

  “What?” Callum looks startled. “So where the hell were you for all those months?”

  “I don’t know if it was the illness or malnourishment, but I can’t remember everything. I washed up on shore on Tavi—a tiny island about two hundred miles east of Tonga. I was severely dehydrated and in and out of consciousness for weeks. The natives took care of me, and I would have returned earlier except the only way off the island was via a fishing boat that comes around twice a year to trade with the islanders.”