Page 31 of Xander

JORDAN

Present

My hands shook as I removed the Stella McCartney dress from its garment bag. The glittering Grecian gown matched my warm golden skin. It was the perfect choice for the New Year’s Eve party Henry had me put together. When I first tried it on, I thought, So, this is what it feels like to be the charm on a golden charm bracelet.

Delicate. Precious.

Now, I felt like another object my husband had turned into gold.

Whatever tension was chafing our marriage was like sandpaper on glass. It left grievous abrasions on our once polished relationship, revealing all the cracks I hadn’t noticed before.

I tried telling myself that he was busy with company matters. The new acquisition had him working around the clock. However, this felt like more than that. There was a distance between us. Ice-cold distance. I could see it in the way he looked at me, and I felt it in the long hours he kept. It had grown like a surfacing glacier, and his son’s arrival seemed to have brought it all to a blisteringly frozen head.

Perhaps that was the reason behind Xander’s actions—he wanted to stick it to his father.

We… oh God. I couldn’t even think it, let alone say the words out loud. The image of him shoving me against the door, his hand in my hair, under my dress, all of it had slammed into me repeatedly since yesterday, no matter how many times I dismissed it. There was something in his eyes—dark, resolute—that scared me.

What overcame Xander? What possessed me? Because after a while, I didn’t fight him. Why didn’t I fight him?

Confusion and shame warred within me, shame coming out victorious. Legally, he was my stepson. What happened was sick.

I’d stayed holed up between my room and my office. While avoiding Xander, I secured two more brand endorsements for him and put my virtual assistant in charge of his social media. We were cc’d on emails about new opportunities, though we hadn’t spoken in person. I had blanked the entire incident from my mind, chalking it up to Xander experiencing a temporary psychosis.

What else could I do?

Telling Henry would be pouring gasoline onto the fire. Xander’s relationship with his father was rocky at best. This family’s bond was already teetering at the edge of extinction. Jasper barely visited, and if I told Henry about Xander, it’d tarnish whatever was left of their relationship.

No.

I couldn’t wreck their father-son relationship for good. I had to take this dirty secret to my grave, and I wondered if Xander felt the same inclination to keep it between us. Or was this a game to him, and he had already bragged to Henry about seducing his wife?

The one time I saw Henry, I braced myself for a confrontation, but he blindsided me by asking me to put together a last-minute New Year’s Party in Xander’s honor. Then he said, “Here is Xander’s contract with the NHL. Look it over.”

“How did you get this so quickly?”

“He’s agreed to have you represent him, and I’m not allowing him to rethink the decision. I need you to fix the public’s opinion about his relationship with his family. You,” he went on, stabbing a finger at me over his plate of bacon and eggs, “will make sure everything is as sterling as—” Henry broke off, shifting his attention to the fork in his hand. “Well, maybe not this silverware,” he said nastily. Even when everything went perfectly, Henry could find a flaw. “Make sure all the silver is polished for the party.”

An image of his son’s intense eyes in the car flashed into my mind. My sense of unease grew as a frisson of something like fear rippled over my exposed skin.

He’d left Xander’s NHL contract on my vanity. His reputation in the hockey circuit was airtight, making him easy to manage. The lid would only blow off if someone were to expose him for coming on to his stepmother…

I shook my head as I slid the dress over my head, smoothing out the glittering silk fabric over my curves.

It’d be all right. Perhaps it had all been a grave misunderstanding—a figment of my imagination—because Xander had never struck me as impulsive. He had a facade as smooth and as cold as the rink he played on.

And that was a good thing, I decided, clipping on a pair of gold Van Cleef and Arpels Alhambra earrings.

The music swelled as I walked down the stairs. I had hired a string quartet, and they were playing classical renditions of top 20 hits, the saccharine strains of violins piercing my eardrums.

I skirted the champagne fountain, lingering just long enough to clear away a misplaced empty glass and hand it off to a nearby waiter.

I hastily worked my way through the crowd and exchanged pleasantries with people I didn’t know, accepting compliments on the food, the music, and the wine.

Inside, a storm was raging.

What would these people say if they knew what happened with my stepson? The guilt was tugging at my heart.

A wave of nausea hit me, and I grabbed a champagne flute from one of the servers with a round, black tray.