Losing Control (9 page)

“Then yes, yes, yes!”

He removed a ring from the box,
fitted it carefully on her finger. It caught the dim restaurant light, sent it
out in a prism of colors. Fawn fell in love with it immediately. It wasn’t too
gaudy, or small – but just right.

“Oh, Taury, it’s lovely! Did you pick
it out yourself?”

“Of course, I did. I’d never let
anyone else do that. Do you like it?”

“Yes, darling! It’s beautiful!”

She threw her arms about his neck.
The usually reserved restaurant crowd burst into applause.

“We’re making a spectacle of
ourselves, Taury.”

“No, we’re not. We’re being an
inspiration. These people will be talking about us all week!”

“Well, they are certainly staring.
I’ve noticed a couple of rough characters watching us all evening.”

Taury lost his smile. “Where are
they?”

“Back there, near the kitchen door.”

He turned solemnly, his gaze landed
on two brutish men in black suits. They nodded, as if they recognized him.

“Of course that’s where they’d be.”

“Who are they? Do you know them?”

“Yeah. Well, I guess it’s time for
you to meet the Queen.”

“I don’t understand, Taury. Please
tell me what’s going on. You’re frightening me.”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

He motioned to the men; they stood,
came over to the table.

“Greg, Henry, how’re you doing?”
Taury questioned.

“Fine, sir,” one of them answered.

“Is the plane waiting?”

“As always, sir; your mother has been
hoping you’d ask. She’d like for you and your new lady friend to attend the
fundraiser tomorrow night.”

“I’m sure she would. Let’s get this
over with then.”

“The car is outside. Greg can take your
truck back to the beach house, and catch up with us later.”

“Whatever. Come on, Fawn. You’ve been
wanting to see where I live in San Francisco. Well, I guess tonight is the
night!”

He took her elbow, led her out the
doors, the two men following. Once in the parking area, Henry pointed to the
confused valet. He hurried off, returned in a sleek black limo. Greg retrieved
Taury’s truck and left without speaking.

“Please tell me what’s going on,
Taury?” Fawn begged as they climbed into the long car. “Who exactly are these
men?”

“They’re my babysitters,” he sighed.
“Or my watchers, my keepers … hired by my mother so she will know where I am
and what I’m doing at all times. I foolishly thought she’d leave me alone once
I moved to the beach house.”

“But you are of age. What can she say
about anything you do?”

“Oh, plenty, I’m sure. Are you up for
it, Fawn? Can you handle meeting the queen of all mothers?”

She thought he was kidding, but the
look on his face was stone serious. Fawn didn’t answer, but wrapped his hand in
hers and settled back into the plush leather seat.

TEN

They had arrived in San Francisco by
plane quite late and were rushed into what Fawn imagined was one of those ritzy
Nob Hill mansions but she couldn’t see much of it by streetlights. She could
tell that it was about four stories high, with a couple of bay windows, and it
was perched on top of a hill at the end of a row of similar houses.

A stiff, slick-haired butler with
heavy-lidded eyes who seemed to have stepped straight out of a 1930s screwball
comedy met them at the grand entrance.

“Good Evening, Mr. Trahern,” he said
rather coldly.

“Hello, Jardin. How’s it hanging?”

Fawn suppressed a nervous giggle as
the butler ignored the rude greeting and cleared his throat.

He led Taury and Fawn up an elegant,
gilded staircase to separate bedrooms “as per the Madame’s wishes, sir”. Then
he bade them an abrupt goodnight and disappeared down a darkened hallway.

Taury slipped into Fawn’s room before
she’d even had time to take it all in.

“Quaint, isn’t it?”

“Well, no, really,” she sighed as she
glanced round at the ornate wooden trim, brocaded walls and Victorian
furnishings. “Am I dreaming, Taury? Is this really where you live?”

He put his arms about her, kissed her
forehead.

“This is the family mausoleum. I keep
a small apartment near the factory. My mother lives here.”

“You say the word ‘mother’ as if it’s
a curse.”

“It is, when you’re describing Queen
Elizabeth Fielding Trahern.”

“You don’t love your mother, Taury?”

“I never knew my mother.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Take me to bed, and I’ll explain.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I could in a
place like this.”

“Well, we can lie together and talk,
at least.”

She nodded; they shed their fabric
trappings and snuggled under the finest linen sheets and hand-woven blankets.
Fawn felt like she was in some time travel scheme – there weren’t any signs of
technology in the room, not even a digital clock.

“All right, what did you mean by all
those cryptic statements?”

He blew out a hard breath. “I guess I
should start from the beginning, when my dad died. I was eighteen, fresh from a
boarding school in Europe. That’s where I’d spent most of my childhood. My
summer vacations were taken up by camp and visiting Grandpa Leo at the beach
house. I never lived here more than a week at a time, over Christmas, or for my
birthday. Anyway, I came back here for the funeral. No one else seemed
interested in running the company. They all wanted to sell it to a competitor.
But my mother, Elizabeth, was determined to keep it, and make it more
profitable. She talked me into taking over, said she’d hire the best experts to
help me.”

“I was so upset at losing my dad; I
guess I let her convince me that he would have wanted it that way. I dug in,
became some kind of workaholic machine. The company was the only thing on my
mind, night and day. Then, a couple of years later I took a rest at his weekend
retreat and found a personal note from him hidden in a clothes drawer. The note
said that Elizabeth was not my mother. He had been having an affair with a
Swedish maid who gave birth to me. Shortly after, the maid, Inger, disappeared
and Elizabeth took over, raising me as her own.”

“So where is your real mom?”

“I don’t know. In the letter Dad said
she just left one day. He tried to find her but the trail ran dry.”

“Did you look for her after you found
out?”

“No, I figured if she hadn’t come
forth by then, she didn’t care.”

“Maybe she died.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But it wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault that
you weren’t her son. Why do you hate her? Don’t deny it. I can hear it in your
voice every time you say her name.”

“It’s true. I do hate her. She drove
my father to seek out love somewhere else. She certainly never gave him any of
hers. She doesn’t have any.”

“Like my mom. Was she excluded from
her parents’ love, too?”

“No, it isn’t that simple with
Elizabeth. She’s one of those takers. They want control over everybody and
everything. But instead of handling things herself, she’d rather sit up here in
this creepy old house like some matriarch of old, and command people to do her
dirty work.”

“Well, you don’t have to do what she
wants. Can’t you refuse?”

“No one refuses Elizabeth. It isn’t
done. My poor sister, Libby, actually allowed herself to be married off to some
royal brat in Europe, just because Elizabeth wanted to be able to say we had
royalty in the family. She’s been trying to hook me up with a minor princess
but I avoid the subject by avoiding her.”

“Are you afraid of Elizabeth, Taury?”

“I always was as a kid. But I’ve
learned to ignore her as best I can these days.”

“So why did you bring me up here?”

“I thought I might as well. I didn’t
want her coming down to the beach house. She has a way of belittling anything
worthwhile. I guess I didn’t want her saying something cruel about my
renovations.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me. Remember that old childhood phrase? It’s so
untrue.”

“I think words hurt worse than
anything, if you let them.”

She wrapped him up tight in her warm,
naked limbs.

“You don’t have to worry about me,
Taury. I won’t let her words hurt me. That’s what you’re really afraid of,
isn’t it? She’s going to say something ugly about me, or where I come from.”

“Knowing her; she will, yes.”

“I meant to ask you before … why did
you pick someone like me when you could have a minor princess?”

“Because you are beautiful, inside
and out! Besides, the princess has a voice that could break glass!”

“So do I, at certain times, if you
know what I mean?”

“True, but when we’re making love I’m
too preoccupied to notice.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, want to find out?”

She grinned; the warmth of him under
the covers had relaxed her enough that she was ripe for another go-round. It
didn’t matter whose house she was in – though she did wonder if the old broad
had installed secret cameras in the bedrooms.

Morning found them snoozing
peacefully together in the serene sunlight that poured through the open
curtains - until Jardin banged on the door.

“Madame requests your presence at
breakfast, Mr. Trahern,” he forcefully uttered. “It is served promptly at
seven, as you recall.”

Fawn was awake, listened to the clip
clop of the man’s shoes as he walked away.

“Taury?”

“I heard him. Want a quick shower?”

“Um, yes, I could certainly use one
after last night.”

“You had the pain again, didn’t you?”

“I hoped you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m taking you to my doctor this
afternoon…”

“But Taury…”

“No excuses. I want to know what’s
wrong.”

She nodded; she wanted to know what was
wrong with her, too. And she was tired of conjuring up all sorts of horrible
scenarios to explain the pain. Still, she was sure it was only a kinked muscle
or some such annoyance. Her love-hungry body wasn’t used to carrying on like a
newlywed in Tahiti.

After a quick but fun shower they
threw on their clothes from the night before and headed down the hallway to the
open staircase. Fawn craned her neck, admiring the beauty of its curves and
adornments, thinking this must be the way the robber barons and gold-rush
millionaires lived back in the early days. She remembered reading somewhere
that most of the original Nob Hill mansions were destroyed by the earthquake in
1906. This one was built after that, probably. And though it was smaller than
those bastions of greed and inequity it was no less imposing.

Taury held her hand, ushered her into
a bright dining room papered in a gold Chinoiserie mural embellished with white
parrots and vines. A rather aristocratic woman sat at the dark-stained Chinese
Chippendale table. She was wearing a simple but elegant cream-colored dress,
her black hair pulled back in a Sixties French twist, which made her seem older
than she was. Fawn was taken aback by the woman’s beauty – her prominent
cheekbones and perfectly pale skin were worthy of a Renaissance painting. But
her black eyes, though pretty, harbored an untrusting glare.

“Come in, Taurus, and introduce me to
your companion.”

She stood as they neared the table.
Taury pulled out a chair for Fawn; she waited until Elizabeth sat down before
taking her seat. She noticed that the woman had not offered her a handshake, as
most courteous souls would.

“This is my fiancée,” Taury
announced.

Elizabeth Trahern turned to Fawn
without blinking an eye. Fawn had thought Taury’s words would register some
emotion across her face, but she was coolly detached, on the surface, anyway.

“Your name is Fawn Hamilton, I
believe?”

“Yes, that’s her name.”

“I was speaking to her, Taurus.”

“Yes, it is,” Fawn replied.