Chapter 5

Dana POV: Her Family Now Knows

My heart begins to beat fast as my family’s house shows up in the distance. The white columns and manicured lawns, looking exactly the same as the day I left. Derek glances at me. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

I nod and give him a small reassuring smile. I lean forward, squinting at the house and my mouth suddenly goes dry at the sight of the two men standing on the porch. 

Jack and Eddy, my other two brothers. 

“Derek, you told them?" 

Derek sees them too. “What am I supposed to do, Dana? You know how they are. They'll kill me if I didn’t." 

Fair enough. I brace myself as I get out of the car, trying to ignore the probing stare of my two younger brothers, but it's hard. They heard I was coming back and came running home, and each one looks ready to collect his pound of flesh.

Jack, a serving US marine, gives me a shot of his piercing gray eyes. Eddy is standing beside him, leaner, a police with the NYPD gives me the evil eye.

These two were younger than me, loved me to pieces growing up, but as brothers went, they are custom-made bullies, specially designed for my personal torment.

I curse under my breath.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t give them details,” Derek mutters to me.

I nod, but details don’t matter to these brutes. They smell blood anyway.

A servant comes out of the house to take my bags from the trunk while Derek guides me up the steps.

Jack gives me that lopsided smile of his, bushy eyebrows drawing together. “Sister.”

“Hey, Jarhead. Still standing like a flagpole?”

“Four years, Dana,” he scoffs. “Four fucking years. Not a call. Not a postcard. Nothing.”

“We thought you were dead or kidnapped. Or both.”

“I’m fine,” I say in a tight voice. “Clearly.”

“Clearly,” Eddy mimics, sarcastic. “And now you just stroll back in like you popped out for coffee.”

“I can come back here anytime I want. It’s still my house too. And you two can shut up. I’m the eldest.”

That shuts them up, because underneath the anger, they do love me. They always have. Jack’s mouth twitches like he wants to argue but can’t quite bring himself to. Eddy just rolls his eyes.

They follow me inside grudgingly. Eddy raises his voice to the empty foyer, announcing to the almost empty house. “Attention, everyone! The prodigal sister has been vomited back to earth by the big fish of the world!”

He sidles up beside me, grinning now. “So . . . did you meet any actors out in Los Angeles? Is it true Hollywood is ruled by the devil and his host of Illuminati demons? Come on, spill. Did you at least get invited to one of those secret lizard-people parties?”

I try to laugh but what comes out is a sad bark. Inside, it feels like I’m going to be sick and my shattered heart is beating half way through. If they only knew.

“I wasn’t even in Hollywood, Eddy. I was in San Francisco most of the time.”

“Still California, hehehe,” he chuckles. “Close enough.”

Derek shoots them both a look. “Enough. Dad’s upstairs. He’s not doing great.”

My stomach drops at the thought of my dad suffering an illness that’s sure to take him soon. Jack and Eddy trail behind stubbornly as Derek walks me up the steps.

As we near Dad’s room, Jack mutters, “You still paint?”

Eddy answers for me. “Nah. Hollywood drains people’s talents. Probably traded her brushes for Botox and kale smoothies.”

I glower at them. “I didn’t live anywhere near Hollywood, you idiots.”

We reach the doorway and I stop, frozen in place by the sad sight of my dad. He is older, thinner, paler, and hooked to machines that beep softly. The sight steals my breath in a bad way. My brothers suddenly shut up.

Then Eddy elbows Jack. “Ten bucks says she’s forgotten how to mix colors.”

Jack smirks. “Twenty says she’s only good at finger painting now.”

Even Derek chuckles. They’re back to being stupid boys in seconds.

Dad lifts a frail hand. “Out. All of you. I want to talk to my daughter.”

They file out grudgingly, muttering their protests.

‘Dana.” Dad opens his arms. “Welcome, my love.”

I go to him, tears spilling out of my eyes and let him hold me like I’m still ten years old. And there I sit by his bed while he tells me about his illness. I’m unable to share my pains with him.

I don’t want him to die after listening to what I did.

Later, night has fallen. We’re at dinner in the grand dining room, the chandelier glittering above the long mahogany table, and it should be a memorable night. But it won’t.

Everyone’s here except Mom. Dad’s been wheeled in, blanket over his lap. Eating a meal with my family after so long feels like a chore I forgot how to do.

My brothers are asking questions—did I ski out there? Get a degree? Start a business? I can’t bring myself to tell them I got married instead.

The double doors swing open and in walks my mom: Ally Travis, terrifyingly beautiful, still the queen of every room. Her dark hair is swept up perfectly, diamonds at her throat, designer dress hugging her like it was sewn on. She’s a socialite who lived for the parties, charity galas, country club gossip, all wrapped in icy elegance.

With her are Aunt Mabel Willbrook and Aunt Judy Travis, Dad’s younger sister, both dressed to impress, filling the room with their expensive perfume, and their judgment.

My heart stops beating, the lump in my throat gets stuck there.

Mom’s eyes lock on me with a reproachful glare.

“Ally. Aren’t you going to welcome our daughter?” dad asks her.

She shakes her head at everyone, then tosses a GQ magazine onto the table with a slap.

“Has no one here been told what Dana’s been doing while she was away?” mom asks.

I further turn into a stone, I can feel all color drain from my face.

Eddy picks up the magazine. His eyes narrow at the cover. He looks at me, then back at the page.

“What the hell is your face doing on GQ? And who’s this guy?”

Mom’s voice is silk over steel. “Why don’t you read the caption, Edward?”

Eddy reads aloud: “BILLIONAIRE ALEX LOGAN”S CONTRACT MARRIAGE: WIFE ACCUSED OF INFIDELITY.”

A dead sea of silence fills the room. My bladder suddenly fills up and the urge to find the closest restroom and pee becomes overwhelming.

I wish I hadn’t come home.