Chapter 2 - The Two Boys Who Didn’t Want a New Mother
Richard Lancaster had faced armed men without blinking.
At least, that was what people said.
Standing beneath the enormous staircase while his eight-year-old son stared at him, however, he looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit.
Alex pointed at me.
“Who is she?”
I opened my mouth.
Richard beat me to it.
“Her name is Sophie.”
That was technically true.
“Why is Sophie here?”
Richard glanced at me.
I stared back.
Your children, I thought.
Your explanation.
The younger boy, Max, came halfway down the stairs.
“Is she sleeping here?”
“Yes,” Richard said.
Alex's face changed instantly.
“No.”
Richard's voice stayed calm.
“Alex.”
“No.”
He turned and started upstairs.
I had known him for roughly forty seconds, and somehow I already recognized what was happening.
“Wait.”
Alex stopped.
Richard looked at me.
So did everyone else.
Including two bodyguards who had entered carrying my suitcases.
I crouched until I was closer to the boys' height.
“I don't know what your dad planned to tell you.”
Richard looked offended.
I ignored him.
“But I'm going to tell you something first.”
Alex remained rigid.
“I'm not here to replace your mom.”
Silence.
Max looked quickly toward Richard.
Alex's face went pale.
“Who told you about Mom?”
“Your dad.”
“I didn't—” Richard started.
“I asked.”
Alex's voice sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because I'm supposed to stay here for a while.”
“How long?”
“I don't know yet.”
That was not exactly true, but one year sounded horrifying when delivered to an eight-year-old.
“And why?”
I looked at Richard.
He gave a small nod.
“Your dad thinks you two could use some help.”
“We have Maria.”
A woman standing near the hallway suddenly appeared deeply interested in a vase.
I assumed Maria was the housekeeper.
“And she's probably wonderful,” I said. “But apparently your father has decided his life isn't complicated enough.”
Max giggled.
Richard sighed.
Alex did not.
“We don't need you.”
The words were blunt.
Children usually were.
“That's fair.”
He blinked.
Apparently he'd expected an argument.
“You don't know me,” I continued. “You don't have to like me tonight.”
“Or tomorrow.”
“Or tomorrow.”
“Or ever.”
“Let's not get dramatic.”
Max laughed again.
Alex looked annoyed that his brother had betrayed him.
I stood.
“I'm wet, freezing, and wearing a shoe that's technically committing a crime against my ankle. Could somebody please show me where I'm supposed to go?”
Maria immediately stepped forward.
“I'll take you upstairs, Miss.”
“Sophie.”
She smiled.
“Sophie.”
I followed her, passing Richard.
He murmured, “That went well.”
I stopped.
“Your son threw a pillow at my head.”
“That was Max.”
“Then Alex hasn't warmed up yet.”
For the first time, Richard actually smiled.
It changed his entire face.
And for reasons I did not want to examine, that made me nervous.
My bedroom was on the second floor.
Calling it a bedroom seemed insulting.
It had a fireplace, private sitting area, walk-in closet, marble bathroom, and windows overlooking acres of dark lawn.
“This is bigger than my last apartment,” I whispered.
Maria smiled.
“Mr. Lancaster said you should have anything you need.”
“That sentence is going to take some getting used to.”
She hesitated near the door.
“May I say something?”
“Please.”
“The boys haven't had many new people in the house since Mrs. Lancaster died.”
“I understand.”
“Alex remembers everything.”
“And Max?”
“He remembers pieces.”
Maria's eyes softened.
“Alex thinks remembering means protecting her.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“That explains a lot.”
Before Maria left, she pointed to a small silver button beside the bed.
“Security.”
“Do I need security inside the house?”
Her smile disappeared.
“Hopefully not.”
That was reassuring.
I changed into dry clothes from the least-soaked suitcase.
Twenty minutes later, I was brushing out my hair when someone knocked.
Richard.
He had removed his wet coat and jacket.
Without them, he looked less like a criminal legend and more like an exhausted father wearing an expensive white shirt.
“We should discuss tomorrow.”
“We should discuss tonight.”
His brow furrowed.
“Alex.”
“He'll adjust.”
“No, he won't.”
“You've known him ten minutes.”
“I've known children longer than ten minutes.”
I folded my arms.
“You surprised him with a strange woman carrying four suitcases.”
“I didn't plan the timing.”
“You literally transported me here.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
Richard exhaled.
“I should have told them first.”
“Yes.”
“That was a mistake.”
I stared at him.
“You admit mistakes?”
“Occasionally.”
“This arrangement might work after all.”
His mouth almost curved again.
Then footsteps thundered down the hallway.
Max appeared.
“Dad!”
Richard turned immediately.
“What?”
“Alex broke the rule.”
“What rule?”
“The one about the west hallway.”
Richard went completely still.
I noticed.
Max pointed.
“He went into Mom's room.”
The temperature seemed to drop.
Richard moved past me.
I followed.
The west hallway was darker than the rest of the house.
At the end stood a white door.
Open.
Inside was a room preserved in time.
Women's books.
Perfume bottles.
Photographs.
A pale blue robe over a chair.
And Alex standing beside a dresser holding a framed picture.
Richard stopped.
“Alex.”
The boy spun around.
His face was wet.
“Put it down.”
“No.”
“Alex.”
“She doesn't belong here!”
Richard's expression hardened.
“Put the photograph down.”
“She wore Mom's color.”
Everyone looked at me.
I glanced at my sweater.
Blue.
Oh.
Alex's voice broke.
“You brought her here wearing Mom's color.”
My heart squeezed.
Richard stepped forward.
Alex retreated.
“Don't.”
Richard stopped immediately.
His hands lowered.
Something about that tiny gesture told me more about him than anything he'd said all night.
He was trying.
He simply didn't know how.
I entered the room slowly.
Alex glared at me.
“You can't have her things.”
“I don't want them.”
“You can't sleep in her room.”
“I'm not.”
“You can't make Dad forget her.”
Richard inhaled sharply.
I sat on the edge of a chair.
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
I looked at the photograph he held.
Elena Lancaster was beautiful.
Dark hair.
Gentle smile.
Richard stood beside her, younger and almost unrecognizable because he was laughing.
Alex was a toddler in her arms.
“You look like her,” I said.
Alex blinked.
“Your eyes.”
He looked down.
“Dad says I look like him.”
“You do. But your eyes look like hers.”
He stared at the photograph.
The anger weakened.
“I remember her voice.”
“That's good.”
“Max doesn't.”
“That's okay too.”
“He should.”
Richard's face tightened.
I understood then.
Alex wasn't only protecting his mother.
He felt responsible for remembering her for his brother.
That's a terrible burden for an eight-year-old.
“You know what Max probably remembers?” I asked.
“What?”
“How she made him feel.”
Alex frowned.
“People forget words sometimes. Faces too. But feeling safe sticks around longer than we think.”
His eyes filled again.
“What if I forget?”
“You won't forget everything.”
“What if I do?”
I looked at Richard.
He seemed unable to speak.
So I answered.
“Then your dad will remember with you.”
Alex glanced at him.
Richard's voice came rougher than usual.
“Always.”
That one word broke something.
Alex crossed the room and buried his face against his father's chest.
Richard immediately wrapped both arms around him.
Max climbed in seconds later.
The three of them stood together in Elena's preserved bedroom.
I quietly stepped toward the doorway.
“Stay.”
I stopped.
Alex had said it.
Not warmly.
Not exactly.
But he had said it.
I turned.
He wiped his face.
“You can stay until morning.”
I nodded solemnly.
“Generous.”
Max whispered loudly, “He likes you.”
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
“I don't.”
Richard closed his eyes.
I smiled.
For several minutes, the house felt almost normal.
Then Richard's phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
Everything changed.
His face went cold.
He stepped into the hall.
I followed a moment later.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You're terrible at lying.”
Richard lowered his voice.
“One of my warehouses was attacked tonight.”
My stomach tightened.
“Attacked how?”
“Fire.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
His gaze moved toward the children.
“Because the person who did it left a message.”
“What message?”
Richard hesitated.
Then handed me his phone.
A photograph filled the screen.
Black letters spray-painted across a concrete wall.
WELCOME HOME, MRS. LANCASTER.
My blood went cold.
I looked up.
“Richard.”
His jaw tightened.
“I brought you here less than two hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“So how does somebody already know?”
Richard didn't answer.
He looked slowly down the hallway toward the staff moving through Lancaster House.
And suddenly the beautiful mansion no longer felt safe.
Because someone had known I was coming before Richard's enemies should have known I existed.
May you like
Which meant the danger wasn't only outside the gates.
Someone inside Lancaster House was watching us.
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