Under My Skin

“And you’re not afraid anymore?”

  “I’m scared to death,” he says. “But that’s a goddamn lousy reason. ”

  I swallow, so many questions and emotions churning through me that I can’t identify any of them. “What is this about, Jackson?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes my hand and raises it to his lips. He presses a kiss to my fingers, and although the gesture is sweet, it is also sad. And I’m not sure if I should be scared or hopeful, and the not knowing is weighing on me so hard it is like a physical burden.

  “Tell me about the photographs. ” His voice is gentle, and I have no clue where he’s going with this. “The pictures of houses you take. ”

  “I have told you. ” My hobby is photography, and for most of my life I have preferred to take pictures of buildings. And not just majestic skyscrapers and brilliantly designed commercial buildings. But homes. Some plain. Some incredible. Some in suburbia. Some tucked away on acres of their own land.

  “Tell me again,” he insists.

  I frown, feeling a little unsteady. I’m not at all sure where this is coming from, but I’m not going to ask. Not tonight. “I’ve done it all my life. I guess I wanted to imagine what went on in those houses. All the different buildings. Small and large, fancy and ramshackle. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had a better life. A father who watched out for them. A mother who knew they were alive. ” I shrug. “So I collected them. Little bits of lives that I thought maybe someday I’d want. ”

  “And if you were to look at this lot with a house, what would you see?”

  “Well, a ranch style. The lot’s big enough to support it. But with raised sections on either side. One side would be a media room. The other would be the master suite. And there’s a balcony that connects both and looks out over the ocean. ”

  “I like it. And where’s the kitchen?”

  “In the back with a wall of windows. So you can have breakfast outside if you want. ” Page 83

  “And it opens to the pool,” he says.

  “Of course. For easy entertaining. And there are three—no four—bedrooms in addition to the master. ”

  He nods. “Not bad. Pretty close to what I have in mind, actually. I’ll have to make a few tweaks to incorporate your ideas. ”

  He takes my hand and leads me toward the north edge of the property. “This is where the master will be—upstairs, now. That frees up the space below, which would be perfect for your home office. ”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Would it? And where’s yours?”

  “Right next to yours, of course. With a connecting door. ”

  “I like this game,” I say. But when I look at his eyes, I’m confused. “Jackson? Is this a game?”

  His eyes are warm, with a spark of humor. “I guess that depends. If at the end of a game someone wins, then maybe it is. I’m building this house for you, baby. Your house with a view of the ocean. Even if I have to design it in prison and farm out the construction, I will have a home for my wife and daughter. ”

  “Oh. ” The word is soft. A breath. But despite everything, I feel the stirrings of joy inside me, and I can only nod my head. Because this is right—how could Ronnie and I live anywhere other than a house that Jackson built.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. Of course. ” My voice is thick with emotion. So many I can’t identify them. All I know is that I’m full up. So much so that my fear is almost—almost—overshadowed.

  “I have something for you. ” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ring box.

  I open it almost tentatively and reveal a diamond solitaire, its fire so magnificent that it sparkles even in the dim light of the moon. The setting is clearly antique, with a pattern of vines etched into the white gold setting.

  “It was my grandmother’s. I called Lauren after you fell asleep,” he says, referring to his assistant. “I had her go to the boat and get it out of my desk. ”

  I nod, realizing that it was Lauren at the hotel door earlier.

  He takes the ring from the box and slips it on my finger. Remarkably, it fits. “My mother never got married,” Jackson continues, “so she never wore it. I’d like you to. ”

  I swallow, my throat almost too full of emotion to speak. Because while we’d worked everything out between us, this symbol truly seals it. I’m Jackson’s. He’s mine. And it really is forever.

  I look up, meeting his eyes again. “It’s lovely. ”

  “If it’s not your style, my feelings won’t be hurt. ”

  I’ve been staring at the ring, lost in its fire. Now I look up at Jackson, my eyes filled with tears. “No,” I say. “This is perfect. ”

  twenty-four

  Jackson and I spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms in the bed at the Biltmore, swept into sleep by the tug of exhaustion that finally vanquished fear, at least for those few blissful hours.

  I’m glad of the sleep. Glad to have had the chance to hold him close for what I dearly hope wasn’t the last time. And now, as we drive from Santa Monica to Beverly Hills, I tell myself that I’m glad we have this moment to share, too.

  It’s all a lie, of course. I don’t want just this moment. I want all the moments. I don’t want to have held him close one last time. I want to hold him each and every night.

  But my hopes are not running the show here, and so I sit quietly in the car, trying to be brave because right now I think he needs that. Lord knows that I do.

  “Stella and Ronnie arrive at two,” he says.

  “I know. You told me last night. ” Once Damien had agreed to take care of Ronnie, Jackson had started the ball rolling to get her out here. Now, of course, his daughter’s care will fall to me.

  I lean over and press my hand on his thigh. “I’ll handle it. I promise. ”

  He nods, his expression managing to be equal parts sadness and gratitude.

  “Jackson—” I stop myself, not certain that this is a conversational door I want to go through.

  I should know better than to open my mouth at all. “What?”

  I consider simply telling him that I’m scared. It’s true, after all. But I owe him honesty, and so I dive in. “Are you sure you want to bring her here? Now that we know the movie might happen and the press knows all about her . . . ”

  I trail off, hating that I even have to remind him of all the scandal he’s been so worried about.

  “I know,” he says. “And I hate even thinking about it. But we’ve thought about this before, and although it’s not ideal, we can shield her. ” He glances sideways at me. “Except I’m not going to be around to help. Do you want me to keep the guardianship with Damien and Nikki? Do you think I should keep her in New Mexico with Betty?” Page 84

  “No. I want her with me. ” The words come automatically even though I’m not at all certain that answer is the truth. But it’s only a lie insofar as I’m scared of my own ability to take care of this little girl. As far as scandal is concerned, I think he’s right. It can be managed. It won’t be fun and it won’t be easy, but it can be done. Celebrities do it every day, and as far as PR manipulation goes, I won’t find better resources than in Los Angeles.

  I nod, the motion centering me. “Seriously, it’s fine. Scandal doesn’t scare me. ”

  He looks at me, then stays silent for just a beat too long before saying gently, “You’re going to make a great mom. ”

  I feel my cheeks burn with the rising blush. “You see too much when you look at me, Jackson. ”

  He takes my hand. “I see competence. I see strength. I see you, Sylvia. Really. You’re going to be fine. ”

  I shake my head, not in protest of his words—although he really has not convinced me—but in astonishment that he is the one comforting me this morning.

  Gently, I squeeze his hand. “You don’t need to worry about me,” I say. “I’m nine kinds of good. Really. ”

  I think he’s going to say s
omething, but my phone pings, signaling an email, and when I check it, I also see that I missed a voice mail from last night. I check the log, then curse when I see who it’s from—my dad.

  Jackson glances at me. “Are you going to listen?”

  “No. Whatever he has to say, I don’t need to hear it. ” But even as I’m saying the words, I’m pressing the button to play the message on speaker. I have no idea why. I guess I figure that whatever my dad has to say can’t be any worse than what Jackson and I are doing right now.

  “Honey, it’s Dad. I just wanted to say one last time that I love you, and that I’m sorry. I won’t call you anymore. I just hope—well, I hope that someday we can talk again. ”

  And then the call ends, and that’s it.

  I frown, because I heard genuine pain in my father’s voice, and I do not want to feel pity for that man. Not now. Not ever.

  Shit.

  I turn so that I’m looking out of the passenger window, not wanting Jackson to see my face. Because, damn me, I don’t want to reveal that something in my father’s voice actually moved me.

  After a moment, his hand brushes lightly across my back. “It’s okay, you know. ”

  “What is?”

  “To not completely hate him. That’s not the same as accepting, or even forgiving. ”

  I close my eyes and say nothing.

  “Selling you to save Ethan was horrible. And I swear to god I could kill him for what he did to you. But at the same time I can’t help but wonder if he isn’t already dead inside. If making the choice didn’t kill him already. ”

  I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I neither care nor want to care about that man. “Maybe it did kill him,” I say, because I am determined to hold tight to my anger. “Because god knows he’s dead to me already. And,” I add as I turn in my seat to face Jackson once again, “right now the only thing I want in my head is you. ”

  I reach for his hand. “We’re both going to be fine. ” If I say it again, maybe it’ll be true. Or, at the very least, maybe I’ll start to believe it.

  We reach the station and park where Harriet told us, then walk inside to the reception area. From there, we’re led to a conference room, where we find Charles waiting, along with Damien and Nikki. Damien strides forward the moment we enter to shake Jackson’s hand.

  “You’re supposed to be on your way to China,” I say to him, a little panicked by the fact that the boss I’m responsible for getting everywhere he’s supposed to be has completely blown his schedule. “You were scheduled to leave Los Angeles last night. Christ, Damien, they’re going to be—”

  He holds up a hand to quiet me. “I handled it. Rachel’s taken care of everything. But my brother’s being arrested and my niece is arriving soon. I’m staying here, at least through the arraignment and bail hearing. Just in case there’s anything you need,” he adds, now looking only at Jackson.

  It’s not money that Damien thinks Jackson needs—even if the court grants an astronomical bail, Jackson has the resources to pay it—it’s support. And I can tell by Jackson’s face that he realizes that, too. And he gives his brother both a smile and a silent nod of acknowledgment.

  “Where’s Harriet?” Jackson asks.

  “With Detective Garrison,” Charles says. “They’ll come get you from here. ” Page 85

  At that, Jackson nods stoically. As for me, I can almost feel myself go pale.

  “What can we do?” Nikki asks Jackson. “Whatever you need, just say the word. ”

  “Can you go with Syl to the airport? Stella’s bringing Ronnie in. Maybe help her get settled?”

  “Of course,” Nikki says, and I don’t argue, even though I’m more than capable of doing those things on my own. The truth is, as much as I’d like to say I can handle this by myself, I don’t think I’m going to be able to.

  “I need to find someplace else to stay, too,” I say. “The boat has a spare room, but it’s no place for a little girl. And my condo is only one bedroom. Even if I give that room to Ronnie, that still puts me in a bind while Stella’s here. ” Stella is a saint as far as I’m concerned. She’s staying for at least a week to help Ronnie and me get to know each other better—and to teach me all the ins and outs of caring for a toddler.

  Jackson had intended to look for a rental house, but he hadn’t had much time, and the few places he’d viewed just weren’t up to par.

  I glance at Jackson. “I wish—” But I don’t finish the thought. He knows what I’m going to say, because I’ve already said it at least five times this morning.

  “I know,” he says. “You wish they could have gotten here before. Believe me, so do I. ”

  “Harriet will get you out on bail,” Damien says firmly. “You’ll see your daughter soon enough. ”

  I catch Jackson’s eye. We both hope he’s right. We both fear that he’s not.

  “You should stay at Stark Tower,” Nikki says, looking to Damien for confirmation.

  “She’s right,” Damien says. “Stay at the Tower apartment. Nikki and I can stay at the Malibu house. We’ll be fine. And Syl will be closer to Ronnie during the day. You will be, too, once you’re back at your drafting table. And I’ll need you pulling a lot of hours,” he says wryly. “I want my resort finished on time. ”

  “Your resort?” Jackson repeats, and Damien just grins.

  For a moment, everything is light, and it feels almost as if we’re just standing around talking. As opposed to standing around a police station talking while we wait for Jackson to surrender himself. To be incarcerated.

  Jackson meets my eyes, and I nod in agreement. The apartment is completely tricked out. Best of all, it’s right inside Stark Tower.

  “All right,” he says to Damien. He turns to Nikki. “Thank you both. ”

  “Well,” Damien says, “that’s what family is for, right?”

  “I guess it is,” Jackson says. “I never really knew before. ”

  The conversation lags, and I’m about to fill the awkward silence with a question about which guest room Nikki’d choose for a three-year-old when the conference room door opens. I clutch Jackson’s hand as Harriet enters with Detective Garrison.

  “Mr. Steele,” the detective says. “Thank you for coming. ”

  Jackson raises a brow. “I’m not sure I had a choice, but you’re welcome. ” His shoulders rise and fall as he gathers himself. “Okay, let’s do this. ”

  “There’s nothing to do, Jackson,” Harriet says gently. Her face breaks into a wide smile. “You’re free to go. ”

  His hand tightens around mine, but otherwise, he doesn’t move a single muscle. As for me, I’m certain that I’ve lost my ability to process words, because what she just said makes no sense.

  Slowly, Jackson asks, “What are you talking about?”

  “We have a suspect in custody, Mr. Steele,” Detective Garrison says. “He’s made a full confession. ”

  Jackson’s other hand reaches out for the table, and he slowly lowers himself into one of the chairs. His mouth opens, but no words form. Instead, it’s me who says, “Oh, my god, it’s over? It’s really over?”

  I squeeze his hand as Harriet confirms what Detective Garrison has said, and Jackson looks up, his eyes searching mine, as if this is a joke and he’s waiting for the punchline.

  “It’s over,” I repeat, and for a moment we just look at each other, basking in this moment. And I wonder if maybe—just maybe—the universe has decided that it’s had enough fun with us. That the joke is all done and we can go on with our lives instead of playing some sort of cosmic game of dodgeball.

  “Thank god,” Jackson whispers. “Thank god. ”

  “Who confessed?” Damien asks the question, and it’s only then that I realize that Harriet’s smile is not as broad as I would expect. Page 86

  “What?” I ask, suddenly wary.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, and I think it’s strange that she?
??s looking right at me. “Sylvia, it’s your father. He turned himself in. ”

  twenty-five

  “Here,” Jackson says, handing me a glass of wine even though it’s not yet noon. “Drink this. ”

  We’re in my apartment, ostensibly to pack a few things to take back to the Tower apartment after we pick up Ronnie. Right now, though, I’m doing little more than getting lost in my thoughts.

  “I’m okay,” I say, tucking my feet under me on the couch. “Really. ” But I take the wine anyway, because the truth is that I’m not okay. Honestly, I’m not sure what I am, other than numb.

  I’ve been numb, I think, since the detectives met our plane in Santa Fe. First numb about Jackson being a suspect. Then his arrest. Then a pleasant numbness when we found out that he’d been cleared.

  That should have been the end of it.

  I shouldn’t have to feel this—this deep twinge of some emotion that I really do not want to identify. Not for him. Not for my father.

  But it’s there, inside me, twisting me up. And all I want to do is stop feeling. And the only way to do that is to embrace being numb for a little bit longer as I hope that maybe it will all just go away.

  I haven’t yet spoken to my father. I’m not sure I want to. According to Harriet, it will be a while before I can anyway because he has to be processed, and it’s the weekend, and things in the criminal justice system just don’t move that quickly. All I know is that he did it—all I know is that it’s true. Apparently the police kept a few facts about the crime back. A quotation that had been carved into the ivory statue with which Reed had been bludgeoned.

  My father recited it to Detective Garrison.

  He told the detective that he did it to protect Jackson, the man his daughter loved.

  But I don’t believe him. Or, rather, I don’t completely believe him.

  I think my dad killed Reed after Jackson told him about the blackmail photos.

  I think my dad killed Reed to protect me, so that those photos would never have to come out. I think my dad was trying to save me.

  But this is my dad, the man I’ve hated for years. And, honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about being saved by him now. After all, he let it get down to the wire for Jackson. He sat back and watched as the paparazzi swarmed around us. He waited, standing back, letting Jackson and me both suffer when he had the key to stop it all along.

  I shiver, not wanting to think about any of that right now. All I want to do is revel in the knowledge that Jackson is free. That he’s safe.

  That he’s mine.

  Jackson sits beside me, then pulls my feet into his lap. I’ve kicked off my shoes, but am still wearing the skirt I’d put on this morning, and I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his fingers trailing gently over my calf.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say.

  “About what?”

  I open my eyes to find him smiling softly at me, his expression so gentle it just about breaks my heart. “About being melancholy. We should be out buying confetti and throwing it from rooftops. ”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s against some city ordinance. I’d hate to get arrested,” he says, raising a brow mischievously.