The first time Caleb spoke to Wren, he’d he’d padded into the kitchen in a pair of grey sweats sitting low on his hips. He’d just worked out in the fully equipped gym his father installed in the basement of the house and needed to get something to drink. The gym was outfitted with the best fitness equipment, a bag, and a complete set of free weights. He’d been lifting for thirty minutes followed by running five miles on the treadmill, and was dripping in sweat and dying of thirst.
The kitchen was massive and set up with all the best appliances; the industrial stuff you might find in a restaurant kitchen. He pulled open one side of the stainless steel double door refrigerator to examine the variety of beverages lined up neatly inside, along with yogurt, fresh fruit, cooked chicken breast, vegetables, and other healthy foods, stocked at his request by the housekeeper. Everything in that house was the finest, biggest, and newest. Caleb sometimes wondered if it was his father’s way of trying to make up for not being a real part of his life. He saw his father’s lawyer and the household staff more than he saw his own dad.
The house had always been amazing, but since his mother’s death, it was more sterile, somehow. It was missing the laughter, the warmth, the music Celine always had playing, the smell of his favorite cookies baking, and the expensive perfume she always wore were conspicuously absent.
The “stuff” aspect seemed to be more pronounced since she’d died as if his father was trying to compensate for her absence with material things. Practically every room had been remodeled, other than his mother’s suite, which he’d begged his father to leave as she had left it. On this, at least, they were in agreement, and Caleb had secretly rejoiced at the nasty argument that ensued when Edison had refused Veronica’s attempts to convert it into a giant closet and changing room. She was so fucking vain; Caleb couldn’t stand it. It may have been the moment that Edison had begun to regret his decision to marry her.
The light from the inside of the refrigerator flooded over his sweat-drenched torso as he leaned in to grab a bottle of water when a noise from about ten feet away caused him to pause and glance toward the table in one corner. Natural stone tiles covered the floors; and the walls were lined with mahogany cupboards and topped lighter granite counters, with darker backsplashes.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary to Caleb as he stood, casually propping open the door with an elbow while he unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and took a long pull. A chair leg grated against the stone tile as Wren shifted in her hiding place, causing him to stop drinking abruptly; water spilling and dripping down his chest.
“Shit!” It had been ice cold on his hot skin. He leaned down to look more closely in the direction of the noise; but the kitchen was huge and it was dark, other than a small light above one side of the counters by the sink, and that from the open refrigerator door. Everything was engulfed in shadows. The large, granite and mahogany island was lined with stools on one side and the oversized gas stovetop on the other; opposite the double ovens on one wall. He let the door of the refrigerator close and moved stealthily toward the table, crouching slightly to look under it.
Surely, there wouldn’t be vermin skittering around the Luxon house. The staff was on autopilot to care for the home and the grounds, and his father would tolerate nothing less than perfection.
There was a small, dark form cowering in the corner, on the floor. Caleb’s adrenaline began to flow, but he was smart enough not to make any sudden moves.
He glanced at the security panel by the door leading from the kitchen out into the giant garage. Nothing was amiss; the system was on and working, but there was definitely someone there.
He quietly moved to the island and set down his water, and opened a long drawer where the knives were kept. His hand folded around the handle of a particularly large chef’s knife, and he pulled it out silently, sliding the drawer shut simultaneously.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice harder than normal, taking three stealthy steps in the direction of the shadowy figure, his movements controlled. He’d put down bigger opponents than this with just his fists, but if this was an attempted robbery, there might be weapons to contend with. “I said who’s there?”
“Caleb, it’s just me. Wren.” Her voice was soft and she sounded frightened. Wren. Her name seemed to suit her tone, even if her general style was more in line with Satan.
He visibly relaxed, the hand holding the knife falling to his side, irritated that his stepsister would be sneaking around the house. “What are you doing hiding in corners, for fuck’s sake? I could have cut you.”
He hadn’t made any effort to talk to her or learn anything about her in the two months since she’d moved in with her horrible mother, and he didn’t intend to start then.
“I was—” she stopped. “I’m sorry. I was…”
“Spit it out, girl, and get up off of the floor, already.” Caleb walked back and put the knife away with a clang and slammed the drawer too hard. He was irritated that she was even living in his house, let alone lurking around like a scared rabbit.
She scrambled to her feet, and though Caleb hadn’t turned on the main light in the room, he could see she was dressed in some ungodly black tent of a shirt over baggy pajama pants. He frowned when he looked at her face, as he closed the drawer after replacing the knife. Why was she wearing that awful makeup at this time of night?
Wren was stunned just looking at Caleb. He stood there in the low light and she stared at him, unable to move. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I was just—”
Caleb’s face twisted as he went back and picked up his water to untwist the cap again. “You were just, what?”
She was holding something in her hand and she was trying to hide it; and then looked down toward the floor. “I was looking for something to eat.”
Yeah, he thought. She could use some meat on her bones.
“Have at it,” he said casually, his hand waving at the refrigerator. “And the pantry is through there. Jonesy keeps the place loaded. You don’t need to sneak around like that.”
Wren looked up at Caleb as he went to the pantry, threw open the doors loudly and went inside. It was a walk-in and he went in to rummage. After his workout, his stomach was rumbling, too.
He found some crackers, bananas, and cereal bars, then went to the refrigerator to get some sliced cheddar cheese, the chicken, and another bottle of water. Wren was still standing in the same place he’d left her and Caleb’s eyebrow shot up as he brought the food to the table. He pulled out one of the chairs, not caring about the noise he was making. “Well? Sit down, why don’t ya?” he asked, annoyed. He wasn’t used to someone acting so scared. “I’m not gonna bite you.”
He wondered if she was bulimic or had other issues considering her oversized clothes that hung on what, judging by her face, he could tell was a waif-like body.
“Shhhh!” Wren said softly.
“Why?” He asked wryly?
“Aren’t you afraid of waking everyone up?”
He shook his shaggy head with a wry grin and sat down. The sweat was drying, and sticking a few wayward tendrils of his dark hair to his forehead and side of his face.
“Um… no?” He shrugged, his tone laced with incredulous sarcasm. “I’d rather it bother the shit out of them, but it’s not likely. This house is way too big to hear what’s going on in here from way up in the bedrooms.”
“Oh,” Wren said quietly, and seemed to visibly relax. “Okay.”
He nodded at the food in front of him on the table. “Sit.”
She’d done as she was told and then reached for the plate he’d handed her helping herself to a few crackers and a piece of cheese, and placed them on it. “Thank you. Aren’t you having any?”
He hadn’t planned to eat, since he’d just worked out, but thought if he went back to his room, she might not eat anything, and she looked like she’d blow away. Besides, he’d already decided he was starving.
“I don’t usually eat after a workout.”
By then she’d taken a small bite, and he sat down. Her eyes glanced up, guiltily, as if she’d done something wrong by eating.
“Oh,” she said, using a hand to cover her mouth, full of food.
Caleb watched her as she shoved her mouth full. “But, I’ll make an exception.” He reached for a cereal bar and started to open the wrapper. “You look like you’re starving to death,” Caleb observed. “Why?” He’d heard about girls who starved themselves, or ate and then forced themselves to throw up. He’d never seen her eat much either time he’d had to suffer through dinner with the family since Wren and her mom moved in.
“Um… I don’t like to eat in front of my mother.”
Unexpected anger rushed over Caleb and it showed on his handsome face. “Why not? My dad’s rich enough to feed her, too.”
Wren shook her head, picking up another cracker. “She doesn’t want me to be fat.”
“Fat?” Caleb was incredulous. “She’s got more meat on her than you do, though, I guess not much.”
The girl shrugged. “She was a model by the time she was my age, and so I think she’s just trying to help me.”
“Are you into it? My mother was a model, too. She was always watching everything she ate. I think never being able to eat has to be depressing as hell.”
Even in the low light, Caleb could see the hollows in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and the frailty of the delicate bones of her hands and wrists she had exposed. She was painfully thin.
She stopped mid-chew and then continued, emptying her mouth before she answered. “I don’t know.” A slender shoulder rose in a shrug and the oversized neck of the shirt fell off down her arm. “I’d like to be a dancer.”
Caleb was taken aback. “What, like a stripper?”
Wren laughed softly, the sound strangely pleasing to Caleb.
“Why do guys always think all dancers are strippers? No. Like a ballerina or on Broadway. I had classes until I was eleven, but then I had to stop. I don’t think we had the money for me to keep going.”
“Wow. Were you any good?”
Wren nodded. “Yeah. I was in the Nutcracker with the Colorado Ballet for two years. Only one other girl from my ballet school was asked to perform with them. We were part of the studio competition team, too.”
Caleb’s eyes widened. He didn’t know much about dance teams and such, but it sounded impressive. “Holy shit! You must be really good.”
Wren nodded sadly. “Pretty good. I wish…” She let her regretful words trail off.
“I can speak to the asshole and ask him to cough up the dough,” Caleb offered.
Wren quickly shook her head. “Oh, no. Please don’t. I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could.”
“No, please. I’d be punished for even speaking about it.”
Caleb downed the last of his cereal bar, and then asked, “Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t remember him. I’ve had a couple of stepdads. Off and on.”
Caleb’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. “Rich stepdads?” he asked knowingly. If that were the case, though, Wren should have been able to remain in dance. Her mother had no issues spending his father’s money, so he decided Veronica was a worse bitch than he thought.
“Part of the time, I… I guess?” Wren made it sound like a question. “Where’s your mom?”
“She died when I was twelve. Cancer.”
She gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I thought they were divorced.”
He waved a hand to silence her. He didn’t talk about his mom with anyone. He didn’t share how his father had become a coldhearted bastard. The conversation was about to turn down a path he didn’t want it to. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go to bed.” He pushed back from the table, picking up his bottle of water. “Can you put shit away? I may want to piss off my dad, but Jonesy’s another story.”
“Jonesy? You mean Mrs. Jones?”
Caleb hadn’t called the housekeeper Mrs. Jones since forever, and no one did. “Yeah. She’s a cool old lady. Unless you call her Mrs. Jones, that is.”
“Caleb, can you wait for me to go? I mean, sure, I can put stuff away, but, um…”
“What?” He was getting impatient. This was more interaction than he’d wanted to have with her, but she looked so frail and scared, the protective instinct in him made him hesitate.
“I don’t want my mom to come down here and see me with this food. If you’re here, you can say you’re the one eating.”
In that conversation Caleb got the first glimpse of Wren’s true relationship with Veronica, and it would soon become even clearer.
When the cab pulled up to the gate of his family home, Caleb had to lean out of the window to talk to the security guards to get them to open the gate. The house was enormous, the grounds still perfectly manicured, and just as he remembered, like a fortress. As the cab drove up the lane to the front, the sun was dipping to hide behind the low clouds over the mountains, making the late afternoon seem like twilight.
“Here you go,” the cabby said, and then informed Caleb of the fare total.
Caleb took a roll of cash out of his front jean pocket and peeled off two bills. “Thanks, man. Keep the rest.”
“Thank you, son. Again, sorry about your dad.”
“Yeah,” Caleb answered as he pulled on the door handle. “So am I.”
The cabby was unaware of the double meaning behind Caleb’s words.
THE HUGE HOUSE felt like a tomb.
How fitting, Caleb thought. He wasn’t sure what to expect out of the day or week in front of him. The house was empty when he arrived late yesterday afternoon, and he’d spent the evening in his mother’s old room, laying on her bed and watching TV. Surprisingly, it was still untouched; though he wondered how his father managed that all these years… he thought for sure the hag would have won out eventually. It still held the faint scent of Celine’s favorite perfume, which was one of his father’s first formulas for Lux. Caleb lived in that house until he left for college, but his mother’s rooms were the only places he felt at ease.
His mother’s death had been one of those moments that change you. 60 little seconds and boom; your life will never ever be the same. He could think of a few others that occurred since, and again, images of Wren raced through his thoughts, but he tried to push them down and focus on the task at hand.
As Caleb sat on the large, expensive leather sofa in his father’s study, he was faced with another of those horrible, unforgettable situations.
These were the kind of events that are burned on your mind forever and you remember exactly where you were, what scent surrounded you, how you felt, or what music was playing… because they were that powerful.
Some of these times left an indelible stamp that Caleb resented, rebelled against, and wanted to forget. Most of them were agonizing, but a slight few had been like the most amazing dreams. Yet, still... even those could still cause incredible, irreversible regret.
He glanced up; his dark blue eyes meeting older, sadder ones. Finally, though he’d fought it, the question had to be asked.
“Is she coming?”
His father’s friend, and long-time lawyer, Jonathan Westwood, was as distinguished, polished, and stoic as his father had been. He’d been a prominent figure around the Luxon household since Caleb’s adolescence, shortly after Caleb’s mother got sick and Edison virtually disappeared. Nothing seemed to rattle Jonathan; his demeanor was always steady, calm and kind.
Caleb huffed softly. Everything in the house reminded him of why he never returned; hard, and cold; silent, and lifeless… and the conspicuous lack of Wren’s presence. He supposed that on the surface, the structure was elegant and posh, the kind of home most only dreamed of having, but he hated every fucking brick in this place! There may have been moments of happiness, bought at years of misery, and Caleb didn’t need to be reminded.
Jonathan cleared his throat and scooted forward on the second leather c
ouch opposite Caleb, then opened the expensive Gucci briefcase sitting on the stone coffee table between them.
The old man contemplated the younger one in front of him. He could see the same proud arrogance in Caleb that his friend, Edison, had been known for. Though Caleb’s hair was thicker and he was much tougher than Edison had been, there were definitely some similarities. The circumstances of his youth had made him harder, and knowing what Jonathan knew, it was completely understandable.
“I placed a call to Wren’s ballet company right after I spoke with you yesterday. Your stepsister was in Bali on vacation, but I was able to get in touch with her office,” Jonathan said, carefully monitoring Caleb’s response. “She should have the message by now.”
Stepsister. Jesus Christ!
Caleb ran an agitated hand through his dark hair, broke eye contact, and then physically balked at Jonathan’s words. Wren was a prima ballerina with the New York City Ballet.
Stepsister, his mind screamed again.
He’d come to despise that word more than any other in the English language. He’d fought the implications of that goddamned word for years, and it still made bile rise in his throat.
“Wren doesn’t need to be here,” Caleb said tiredly, rubbing a weary hand down over his face to his jaw.
“Yes, she does, Caleb,” Jonathan responded. “She’s part of this. If you choose, that is.”
Caleb’s eyes snapped to the other man’s face.
What the fuck? he thought. What did his control-hungry father have in store for him this time? After everything, what else could he do to him? He’d already ripped he and Wren apart years before this.
“If I choose? What does that mean?” His voice took on an angry timber. “I don’t choose for Wren, Jonathan!”
“You do this time, Caleb. Maybe you should consider that for a while.”
Caleb’s brow furrowed and he wanted to growl at the other man. “You said you called her already, so how in the hell was that my choice?”