Page 3 of For Your Eyes Only
My mother might drive me crazy with her frivolous behavior, but I’ve become protective of her as I’ve gotten older. I’ve learned how prolonged exposure to cruelty can change a person, and I only want her to be happy now.
“You can always have as much as you want.” I slide my phone from the inside pocket of my blazer. Tapping the face, I quickly move ten thousand from the family endowment to her personal account. “Text me if that isn’t enough.”
Her brow relaxes, and she’s about to speak when her phone interrupts us. One look at the face, and her entire expression lights up in a way I know all too well. Her boys are calling.
So much for that familial moment.
“Have to run, darling. Thanks.” She gives me a little wave and starts down the hall before hesitating. “You’re not spending the night here, are you?”
“No.” The last thing I’m in the mood for is stumbling into one of my mother’s threesomes.
“Have fun in Florida, and don’t worry. I’m not upset with you.” A smile curls her lips, and she’s off again. “Whatever you did, I’m sure you had your reasons.”
I don’t bother pointing outI did nothing. She’s gone, Chanel No. 5 lingering in her wake.
She’s satisfied. I should be satisfied, but I’m tense. I want to get out of here.
Tracing the lines of our luxury apartment, I think of the years I’ve spent in this elegant prison. My family moved into the Andover, a historic, massive apartment building on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, when I was in primary school.
I spent my days running through the halls and making friends with the other kids in the building, also offspring of ultra-rich, corrupt New York elites.
We spent summer days marching around the oversized fountain in the courtyard, stomping up the stairs, and screaming from the rooftops. We annoyed the older residents, the ones hanging on thanks to rent control, until they died.
Once you’re in the Andover, you never leave.
Tapping on my phone, I order our family’s private jet as I step into the hall, taking the marble stairs two at a time. My flight to south Florida won’t be ready for another few hours, and my upstairs neighbors are as much like family as my own. Hell, possibly more.
They’re the only ones who understand this shadow world that created us. They’re the only ones who want to escape it as much as I do.
* * *
“Isit just me or has the gossip mill hit rock bottom?” Hana van Hamilton drapes her thin, dancer-body over the velvet sofa in her living room.
She’s wearing light gray joggers and a matching, long-sleeved cashmere sweater, and her curly blonde hair is twisted up on her head.
“Since when did I become a topic of conversation?” I’m at the mini-bar pouring us both fresh vodkas. “I never kiss and tell. Even when it’s interesting.”
“Don’t act so innocent.” Her eyes sparkle, teasing me. “You slept with Belinda last year at the gala. Everyone said so.”
Wincing, I shake my head. “I have never put my dick in that woman.”
Her eyebrow arches, this girl who knows me better than anyone.
I pass her a drink, and she shrugs. “Either way, I think it should be illegal to sleep with the motherandthe daughter. Ew.”
Dropping onto the cushion beside her, I exhale heavily. “The law doesn’t give a shit who we sleep with,darling, provided they’re over eighteen. Hell, sometimes not even then.”
She flinches, and I feel like an ass for adding that last bit. I know Hana’s past injuries very well. Clearing my throat, I attempt to steer us back to lighter ground.
“The worst part was being cross-examined about my sex life by my mother.” It takes all my self-control not to shudder. “She actually believed I did it.”
Hana’s glossy lips twist into a frown, and she slides her toes into my lap. “Your mother should know Belinda is not your style.”
“That would require her to actually know me.”
“Like I do?” She smiles, her dark blue eyes too big for her heart-shaped face.
Hana is a delicate beauty, but she’s too much like my sister to be my lover.