Chapter Seven – The Deception

Lance

Jesus. It's punishment; I'm sure of that. It's punishment for being such a little twerp in high school; it's punishment for hurting Sarah like I did sixteen years ago, and hell, maybe it's punishment for spending the last sixteen years being a total jerk to her. Whatever it's for, it must be some sort of punishment to have Sheldon Kennedy show up the same second that his estranged daughter is in my office.

The minute he pushed his way in, practically assaulting poor Heather, she goes into some sort of panic. She runs from her chair and turns, never taking her eyes off him, takes a few steps backwards, finally bumping into me slightly. Out of force of habit, I grab her by the shoulders and pull her towards me.

“Sarah,” Sheldon says. His voice is deep, commanding, and to be honest, incredibly scary.

“Mr. Kennedy,” I say, moving Sarah out of the way so I can step down from my desk. “Can I get you a drink?”

He takes a step forward and shuts the door, and I can feel Sarah lean into me a little more.

“A scotch, James,” he says.

I nod and squeeze her shoulders with my fingers. “Sarah?”

“Vodka on the rocks, heavy on the vodka,” she says tensely.

“Right,” I say.

I make my way over to the bar to start filling up some drinks, but warily, she sticks pretty closely to me, and I don't blame her. Sheldon Kennedy is, to put it lightly, a bear. He is all business, and has no qualms about putting the fear of God into you. That's how he has become so successful; fear and a scowl that could melt an ice queen.

I haven't sussed out Sarah's secret yet, but I'm not surprised at all that she balks from her dad's appearance.

“One scotch, sir.”

He's taken a seat in the chair next to the one Sarah once occupied, but she is still standing in the middle of my room, moving around as I do, sticking closely to me. I set the glass on my desk in front of him.

“Thank you, James,” he says.

I wordlessly hand Sarah the glass I've poured her vodka in, and I watch her as she lifts it to her lips. Even though I've poured the glass more than generously, I watch as she downs almost half the glass in one drink.

“Easy, Sar,” I whisper. “Remember, it's not even four.”

“Shut up,” she whispers back at me harshly.

Keeping her eyes on her dad, she crosses one arm across her chest as she dangles the glass in the other.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” she asks.

“I could ask you the same thing, Sarah,” he says.

“Well, I got off work early and thought I would come see Lance.”

“I heard you had new living arrangements,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. I notice her shift her body, raising her shoulders and her chin, almost in an attempt to appear more confident than I know she must be right now. “Yeah. Lance and I are living together. Is that a problem?”

“Living together?” Sheldon asks.

“Well, when she says living together,” I start, suddenly becoming nervous. “I mean...she doesn't mean together together. She means--”

“Living,” Sarah says in a commanding tone. “Together. Living together. Lance and I – in the same house – living together.”

“Perhaps in the interest of everyone's safety here, Sarah,” I say, “this is not the time to stage a rebellion. You know?”

“I think this is the perfect time to stage a rebellion,” she says to me.

In the moment, I have to grant her a pass, because she has no idea how close she is to signing my death warrant – but nothing prepares me for what comes out of her mouth next.

“We're getting married, dad.”

It's silent for a moment, with the exception of the whoosh from the blood draining out of my face. Sheldon simply sits in the chair, looking at his daughter. I can't remember ever seeing such a deadly calm expression on a person's face before.

“Getting married?” he asks, the slightest of smiles on his face.

“That's right,” she says without skipping a beat. “Getting married.”

He turns to look at me.

“Is that right, young man?” he asks.

I have no idea if it's my fear of saying 'no' to this man, or my tendency to keep to my tough guy exterior, or simply my loyalty to Sarah that makes me nod my head.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

He looks at both of us a moment. But when he swiftly moves to stand up from my chair, I can't help it – my body jumps into motion and I take a quick half-step back, because I can't be certain that he won't try to kill me right here in my own office.

“Well, then it sounds like congratulations are in order,” he says.

From his tone, and the look on Sarah's face, I know he doesn't mean it. It's the way Sheldon Kennedy works – luring you into a false sense of security by saying something positive, while he plots your undoing.

“Sarah, I came to invite you to the Spring Ball,” he says. “I'm sure you remember the soiree we have every spring.”

“Yes, father,” she says, and I notice that she's no longer the rebellious, commanding woman; she's now her father's 'yes' man.

“Whether either of us like it or not, you still have responsibilities to this family,” he says. “I would highly recommend that you make an appearance.”

She nods.

“Your mother has asked me to tell you that she would really appreciate you being there,” he says, looking at her.

“I'll be there,” she says.

He turns to me. “James, I assume as you're engaged to my daughter and soon to become family as well, you will want to be there?”

The look in his eye tells me that wanting to be there is not a choice; like Sarah, I now do whatever he wants me to do.

“Yes sir,” I say with a nod. “I look forward to it.”

“Good, I will see you both then,” he says. He sets his glass on my desk. “I will leave announcing the news to your mother up to you, Sarah.”

“Thank you, dad,” she says.

He reaches the door and rests his hand on the knob, but he turns to look back at us once more. His eyes bore through us like an auger; I stand my ground while averting my eyes, but Sarah hangs her head, fearful of looking into her father's eyes.

Without uttering a word, he opens the door and walks out, closing the door harshly behind him. I hear her release a breath.

“Oh God, Lance, I am so sorry...”

“Engaged? Sarah, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I...I don't know,” she says. She's lost all her composure. “I just...I let him get to me again, and I guess I lost my head!”

“You know what you can gift me as a wedding present?” I ask. “You can gift me a burial plot, because your father is going to kill me!”

“I'm not going to let him kill you,” she says.

“Yeah, I'll just cower behind you while you're hiding from him.”

The moment it comes out of my mouth, I can tell it was wrong of me to say, because I see the instant pain in her eyes.

“Sarah,” I say softly. “I'm...I'm sorry.”

She purses her lips. “Let's just go to dinner. My treat.”

She shoulders her purse, folds her pea coat over her arm and walks toward the door, all the while tightening her lips together. She's willing them not to tremble, so I won't see how much she's let me get to her.

I sigh and grab my coat from the coat rack, leaving my bag exactly where I threw it. I haven't forgotten that in less than an hour, my father expects my work on his desk, but I'm not worried that he'll kill me. Sheldon Kennedy will get to me first.

“Fuck my life,” I say with a sigh as I follow her.

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“This is a really nice place.”

Emotions have seemed to calm by the time we arrive at Per Se and are seated at our table. Sarah is quiet as the waiter hands us our menus and I thank him before he walks away.

“Lance,” she says from across the table in a hushed tone. “This is beautiful, but...I can't afford this place.”

“We'll just forget that you said dinner was on you tonight, and this will be my treat,” I say. I smirk as I open my menu. “Consider it my...engagement gift.”

The corner of her mouth turns up and I hear a chuckle escape her lips.

“I'm still sorry,” she says as she picks up her menu and opens it to look it over. “If I could take it back--”

“It's alright, Sar. I get it.”

“No, you don't,” she says to me. “You really don't.”

“Then tell me.”

She puts down her menu on the table and looks straight at me.

“How in the world could you possibly understand?” she asks me. “Your family...you and your dad are best friends. Your mom is a sweet, down-to-earth woman. Your sister owns her own successful bakery in Brooklyn. You work for your father. You couldn't even begin to understand the dysfunction of my family.”

“I'd like to, Sarah,” I say. “I'd really like to.”

She hesitates a moment as the waitress brings the Chateau Pradeaux we've ordered.

“Sar,” I say once the waitress leaves, “you can trust me. I know something bad happened between you and your dad. I want to know.”

For a moment, it doesn't look like she trusts me enough to open up. Then she clears her throat.

“My father...sold me, into marriage,” she says.

I'm sure my eyes go wide.

“Like...a dowry?” I ask.

“Not like a dowry,” she says. “It was a dowry.”

“To...Blake Peters?” I ask. I'm not sure if I'm in a stage where I don't believe her, or it's so outrageous I just don't want to believe her.

“Blake has always been my father's 'surrogate' son,” she says, using air quotes. “I think my dad loved Blake more than he loved Jude, especially after Jude told dad he was gay. And that's when everything started.”

I take a deep breath in.

“You don't owe the mafia money, do you?” I ask softly.

She slightly shakes her head.

“Three years ago,” she whispers, wary of the people in the restaurant around us. “My dad came to me and told me I was getting married.”

“Told you?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Pretty much like everything else in my life, it was up to my dad. I thought it was just an arranged marriage. It wasn't until later that I found out about the agreement.”

“The agreement?”

“Blake bought me,” she says.

“How much?” I ask.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she says sadly.

I'm so stunned I can't even form words. For several seconds, all that escapes my mouth is a noise – somewhere between a scoff and a cough, and maybe a bit of a laugh. I'd be tempted to think she was screwing with my mind again...but on some twisted level, it's totally believable.

“For a while, I just accepted it,” she says. “It's what's happened my whole life. Daddy was always the boss, always had plans for me that I had no say over. Everything was always a business deal for him. I don't know why I expected this to be any different.”

“But...the engagement...?”

“I got tired of pretending,” she says, as if she's reading my mind. “After a few weeks, I couldn't do it. I saw the wedding date getting closer and closer, and I just couldn't do it. I didn't love Blake, not one bit, and I couldn't fake it. I told my dad I wouldn't do it.” She pauses. “I told him I wouldn't marry Blake. No matter what happened to me.”

“So, the money?”

“I was disowned and I owe my dad fifty-thousand dollars,” she says. “Twenty-five for the original...sale.” She pauses, to wash the disgust out of her mouth with a sip from her wine glass. “And another twenty-five for the cost of the wedding that never happened.”

I can't speak. Nothing that I could say could come close to what I feel right now. The lawyer in me wants to point out all the laws that Sheldon would be breaking – even barely, marginally breaking. The friend in me wants to give her a hug and tell her it will be all right.

The part of me that loves her wants to carry her off, away from her father forever. The part of me that loved her before, loves her even more now.

But she quickly gains her composure and looks me in the eyes.

“You know my dirty little secret now,” she says. “And if it's alright, I'd like to not talk about it anymore. I'm tired. I'd like to eat and go home to bed.”

“Yeah.” I nod slightly. “Let's eat and go home.”

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I still haven't gotten over it by the time we pull into the driveway of the beach house. We hardly spoke through dinner. It wasn't uncomfortable or anything; just normal.

But now I've got an unsettling feeling in my stomach. I'd like to pretend that my food hasn't set well, but that's not it.

I want to love her so badly.

I want to take her away from everything. I want to run, and make a new life with her somewhere else. I want to give her a life where she'll be able to put her past behind her, look to the future instead.

I just want us.

“Lance?”

Her voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I've been sitting in the driver's seat with the engine cut off, staring out in front of me. I look over and see her looking at me.

“Are you ready to go inside?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, with some hesitation. “Let's go...inside.”

We both unbuckle our seat belts and step out of the car. She hangs back waiting for me as I walk around the car.

“You know, I didn't tell you all of that over dinner so you can feel sorry for me,” she says.

“Why would you think that I feel sorry for you?”

She's taken aback a moment and I smile.

“That came out wrong,” I say. “I do feel sorry for you, just not in the way you're thinking.”

“Yeah, I...I get it,” she says. “I'm just saying, I don't want you to think you have to fix me or anything.”

I stop at the front door and face her, just short of unlocking it with my key.

“And what makes you think that I want to fix you?” I ask.

“You're a guy,” she says with a slight smirk. “And guys think that all women watched too many Disney movies growing up, and we all want a Prince Charming to come sweep us off our feet and save us from the wicked stepmother. White Knight Syndrome, and all that.”

“Did you ever consider that me wanting to save you – if I did want that, of course – wasn't so much to be your proverbial white knight as it would be to give you back the happiness I know you deserve?”

“And how do you know I'm not happy already?” she asks.

“I've only spent four days with you and I haven't once seen you smile,” I say. “I mean truly smile without hiding some sort of misery behind it. That's not the Sarah that I know.”

Her face falls, and she looks to the ground. “Maybe you never knew me. Maybe the Sarah you used to know ran away a long time ago.”

“That's not true.”

“How do you know?”

In the darkness, with only the little moonlight that bounces off the water's surface and reflects back to us, I put my fingers up to her chin and lift it so she's looking at me.

“Because I still see some of her in you,” I say. “I still see the same person now that I wanted then...that I wanted...”

All words fail me as I look into her eyes, so even though I know I probably shouldn't, I decide to go with everything I've been feeling, and show her. I lean down and to my surprise, as my lips touch hers, she doesn't flinch or back away from me.

She reciprocates. Under my touch, I feel her relax. I feel her pull in toward my body as I pull in toward hers. She lifts an arm and wraps it around my shoulder. She arches her back, relaxing her head and pulling me into her more.

Somehow in the middle of the fray, we stop, and she's turned so her back is resting against the front door and the palm of my hand is pushing against it. I pull away from her.

“We should go inside,” she says softly.

“I guess that was our intention, wasn't it?” I ask.

She moves away from the door, and I grab my keys and push the key into the lock to unlock it. As I do, I take the very quick second to consider – what just happened? I made the first move, but there were certainly moves on her part, too. I might have expected her to push me away, get angry, perhaps even slap me, but none of those expectations came to be.

Where does this leave us?

She steps inside and so do I. She doesn't even make the move to turn on the light, but she turns to me.

“I'm going to go to bed,” she says. “I'm...quite tired.”

Silently, I sigh. “Yeah, me too. I've got some work to do, but then I think I'll go to bed.”

I look for anything in her eyes that might tell me what she's thinking – regret, fear, disgust, discomfort – but she gives me nothing.

“Good night, Lance,” she finally says.

“Night, Sar.”

She glances at me quickly before she turns and walks up the stairs toward her room, only to disappear around the corner a few seconds later.