Feathers and Thorne Series Books 1 - 3: The Complete Collection

Chapter Forty-Three

Isabella

Carter holds my hand a little tighter than I think is necessary, but I don’t tell him to ease his grip. He’s stressed, which is understandable, given the nature of the night we had and then his argument with Ernesto on the drive.

I just hope he isn’t nervous about me meeting his family today.

Or at least not as nervous as I am.

“This place is immaculate,” I whisper.

I’m frozen in awe at the massive, Greek-style home that sits before us. There are white marble pillars and castle-like towers that scatter in height and position within the gated property line, secured behind the gate that opens for us and leads into the neighborhood.

“Who lives here exactly?”

Carter realigns his fingers into mine, knitting our palms together tighter than before. “Tristan’s parents—my aunt and uncle. They have sort of an open-door policy. Anyone who wants to live here or crash in a spare bedroom is always welcome.”

“That’s nice of them,” I admit, seeing the pure square footage of this house and knowing that no matter how big the Blackthorne family truly is, they could all probably stay here at once. “Do they know that Tristan was…?”

“They know, dove. They have a complicated relationship with their son, so they’re not too concerned unless he’s admitted to the hospital. We like to keep things in the family, anyway. They’re not worried.”

I nod with that assurance, worried at first that it may be odd to meet them with these weird events happening right now. Their son was just shot and lying on Carter’s penthouse floor, and today there’s a birthday party at their house.

I can’t imagine that now is the time to be meeting new people, especially Carter’s simple assistant.

“Come on, dove,” he says, reaching for the glass door knob. “You have a long day ahead of you.”

I suffer an inhale but ultimately waltz into the large marble foyer of the mansion. The place is lined with silver balloons and gold glitter scattered on the tile floors. He leads me through the living room and past the expensive leather furniture toward the back patio littered with people.

All the nerves I’ve ever felt in my entire life don’t even partially compare to this moment.

Carter pulls me into the crowd, and I try to keep my focus. The sight of these beautiful people in the backyard of such an attractive house while all of them parade around in expensive cocktail dresses and tuxedos is a bit overwhelming.

“Everyone,” Carter calls, pulling the rest of their attention over in my direction. “This is Isabella Julis.”

Everyone purrs a greeting, and some of them make direct eye contact with our interlocked hands. The moment I try to untangle our palms, Carter yanks me more into his side as though outright claiming me.

“Such a pretty face,” an older woman beams, though besides the worn wrinkles around her lips and eyes, it would be impossible to tell that she’s any older than me.

Wealth does add a youthful touch to people’s features.

“Aunt Anita,” Carter greets, kissing her cheek. “Think you could help Isabella get something to eat? We had a long night, and she hasn’t had anything in over a day.”

The woman’s bright smile and warm energy falls. “Carter Blackthorne, how dare you not feed this woman?” She smacks at his arm playfully, but her scolding glare is anything but forgiving. “Come with me, honey. I’ve got just the recipe to satisfy you.”

She pulls me by the elbow, and at last, Carter drops his hand from mine. I’m led back into the house, and Anita ushers me to sit at the bar top overlooking the large Italian-accented kitchen.

I glance sideways, meeting Carter’s cold eyes from outside. He’s surrounded by men in suits, which is typical, but I can tell the business meeting he had to do today is about to start.

They all stalk through the living room and head up the nearest flight of stairs. Carter loses my glare at last, and even if I find comfort with him, I can’t say that I don’t relax when he’s out of sight.

“Don’t worry, doll-face,” Anita chirps. “He won’t be far away.”

“Of course. I’m just not used to meeting so many people at once. I don’t even have that big of a family, so this experience is pretty new for me.”

“We have enough family to share,” she adds with a wink, working over a deep glass pan. “So, Isabella, tell me. How long have you and my nephew been dating?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” I choke out. “I’m just his assistant.”

She nods, though I can see in her wise, aged eyes that she doesn’t buy a bit of that statement. Can’t blame her for being confused. We did walk in holding hands, and I don’t know how typical it is to bring your assistant to a lifestyle club and have her suck your dick.

Guess our mixed signals aren’t just confusing to me but to everyone around us as well, including his family. I try to remain casual about everything, acting like none of it concerns me, which it shouldn’t.

But it does.

She lines a few long strips of noodles into the pan, and a few stragglers from outside join the bar top beside me. A younger, blonde woman sits on my one side, while the other is taken by a young man, similar in age to the woman, with similar attributes as well.

“I’m Paul,” the male says, brimmed with a pearly, pleased grin. “This is my twin sister, Luce.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I offer with a head nod to both. “I’m Isabella.”

“We know who you are,” Paul replies. “Tristan is our older brother. We heard about you in the family group text. Heard quite a bit about how you and Carter have been spending a lot of time together.”

“Carter never brings a woman around family events,” Luce points out. “It’s nice to finally add a face to the name. You’re very pretty too. A little familiar. Are you sure you’ve never come around here?”

My brow furrows, and before I can respond, Anita shoves a full pan of pasta into the oven. She tosses a dish towel at Luce and scolds her with a single, stern scowl.

“Enough of that,” Anita mumbles. “You two go outside and enjoy the party, please. I’m going to keep our guest company.”

Paul leans back, disappointment nudging his expression. “Oh, come on. We weren’t saying it like—”

“Enough,” Anita scolds. “Outside… both of you.”

The twins leave, and the wise aunt hangs back inside with me. She pours two glasses of wine from a large, dark glass bottle and hands me one by the stem. I take it out of courtesy, but my unsettled edge from earlier has returned.

If I don’t eat and catch up on sleep soon, I don’t think I’ll be able to be of much company at this party.

“What exactly were they talking about?” I ask at last, their abrupt sendoff obviously touching on a topic that no one seems to want to speak on. Especially Carter. “They said I looked familiar.”

Anita waves her hand through the air, taking a long gulp of wine between pauses in conversation. “Well, dear, you do have one of those faces. I knew a girl who had the same round eyes as you have in high school. I think her name was Olivia or something similar, and—”

“Is this about Brooke?” I blurt but don’t apologize for the diversion.

Something hints at me to believe that this is about the woman Tristan mentioned before, and the same name that came up in the car ride over here. It’s the reason Ernesto was kicked from the car, and while I respect Carter enough not to admit I heard the fight…

I didn’t promise not to ask his aunt about her.

Anita’s eyes strain toward me at first and then shift back toward the stairs where we watched Carter venture minutes ago. She sets down her wine glass and nods for me to follow her, making sure not to say anything out loud.

I follow her. I have to. Seems like Aunt Anita has no bearing on keeping the truth from me, even when her nephew does.

“Up here,” she ushers, leading me through the spiral staircases in one of the narrow towers of this giant maze of a home. “How much do you know already?”

We finally reach the top of the stairs, and she opens a door, the only one available, and we both walk into it without much hesitation. It seems like a simple enough bedroom with pink, sheer curtains, and a lavish, white bed.

“I don’t know much,” I admit. “Just that she looks like me.”

Anita nods in agreement. “Exactly like her. She was beautiful, much like you are, and I would swear you were related to her if I didn’t know any better.”

I pace to the far window, overseeing the winding neighborhood below. On the ledge of the window is a small, almost pocket-sized photo and frame of a woman who looks just like I do. I hold it to the sunlight, curiously tracing the features of her face that look too much like mine to be ironic.

“That was Brooke Blackthorne, my niece.”

I admire her charming, easy grin in the photo. “Carter’s cousin?”

“His sister,” she corrects.

My stomach falls, and I turn around in utter horror at that admission.

“He told you he was adopted, right?” Anita asks, her eyes wide at my frazzled, physical response to that news. “Oh my, I guess it does sound a little tacky when I say it like that. He was adopted, doll-face. Carter and Brooke have no similar genes at all, and he was adopted when he was about twelve by my brother and his wife.”

“He never mentioned any of that to me,” I stammer, somewhat blindsided.

“It’s a difficult topic for us all to speak on. Carter didn’t come from the best of circumstances, but they gave him a good life after the adoption. He and Brooke had the best of interactions, and although Carter was part of the family, we teased them about being a couple or getting married. Just… innocent jokes.”

I set down the photo while feeling like I’ve been kicked square in the chest. “So, he had a thing for his adoptive sister, and now he just so happens to find interest in me?”

“He loved Brooke,” she mumbles. “She really cared for him, too, but she had a boyfriend through high school and college, and it never really gave her much time to pay attention to Carter anymore. Still, I think he gave her his heart before he ever even knew it.”

I shake all over. “Why… why wouldn’t he just tell me about… about all of this?”

“Her abrupt end probably had something to do with it,” she adds in a somber, trailing tone.

My brow knits. “What do you mean, her abrupt end?”

She opens her mouth and almost looks willing to explain, but the wall creaks with pressure, and I glance behind us both, seeing Carter lean against the doorway. His arms are crossed, and he holds a tight, unemotional look on his face that terrifies me.

“Aunt Anita,” Carter exhales in a smooth tone. “I think your food is burning in the oven downstairs. You should go check on it. Right now.”

She leaves without needing to be prompted further, and I aim to do the same, even if it means I have to walk all the way back to Manhattan from here, but Carter refuses to let that happen.

He grabs my arm when I brush past him, and he pulls me into the nearest wall, pinning me where his hands can grab my hips and sides without protest.

I still attempt to push him off, but it only invigorates his intent more.

“Don’t fight me, please,” he whispers in a serene, simple command. His lips brush my cheek, where he kisses the spot just in front of my ear slowly, deeply, while petrified chills encase my body. “You’re going to stay right here with me.”

I swallow hard. There’s no use in fighting this enigma of a man.