Archive of Our Own

Ty and I have been watching where Jaimie is supposed to meet our current bad guy for a couple of hours when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Thinking it might be Carter checking in, I pull it from my pocket and see I have a text.

Mistress:
I am so sorry, dear boy, though not really, but your father has passed away. Feel free to call me for any details. The funeral will probably be this weekend. I say probably because your mother stopped talking to me when she found out that I attended your wedding, and she wasn't even told you were getting married.

"That Carter?" Ty asks, glancing at me with one brow raised.

"No," I reply curtly.

"Oh?" Ty's tone implies he couldn't care less who the text was from, but I know him; it's killing him not to ask.

With a sigh, I put him out of my misery, "It's from an old friend informing me that my father died."

"Shit, man. I'm sorry."

I shrug and shift my weight off my right butt cheek since it's starting to go numb. "It's fine. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, the fucker died the day he threw my ass out when I was eighteen."

"He throw you out because he found out you're gay?"

"I'm not gay, but yes, he threw me out because he caught me kissing my boyfriend."

"You had a boyfriend, and you're married to-"

I whip my head around to glare at him and say harshly, "I'm pan, okay?" My sexuality is no one's business other than the person I'm having sex with.

"Hey, I'm a straight guy who truly thought there was just straight and gay."

"You never heard of bisexuals?"

He chuckles softly and rolls his eyes. "Sure. But that's just something people who are in denial about being gay say."

I just gape at him. How did I not know he was this ignorant? "No, dude. There are a lot of sexualities. Gay, straight, bi, asexual, pan. The list goes on."

"Asexual? Isn't that how single celled organisms reproduce?"

I laugh because that's what I thought when I first heard about it. "Nah, man. An asexual isn't interested in sex. And there are varying levels of asexuality which I am not going to go into now. Go home and google it." I glance back at where Jaimie is pacing in the meager light of the streetlight on the corner, frowning because our target should have arrived about ninety minutes ago. "And before you ask, a pansexual is someone who is attracted to everyone regardless of gender."

"Sounds like bisexual to me." I turn, once more, to frown at him. "I mean, there are only two genders-"

"Oh, my God! How can Melissa think of procreating with you? There are so many more than just two. And, again, I am not going into it with you. Google is free, my friend. Do your own damn research."

I see Ty give me a confused look from the corner of my eye, but ignore it. We're here to assist Jaimie in catching a bad guy, not talk about the different genders and sexualities.

Putting the binoculars to my eyes, I scan the area around where Jaimie is supposed to meet our target. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I lower them. "Guess he got spooked."

"Or he got scooped up by someone else." Ty shrugs.

"Wouldn't that be nice? I hate doing paperwork."

Ty chuckles. "Especially since we never get credit for any collars."

I can just make out Jaimie looking our way. Picking up the binoculars again, I see she has her shoulders slightly hunched, just enough that I know she's asking for an update, but not enough that anyone else would wonder about the gesture. "I'll send Jaimie the code, and we can meet back at the loft to dig through the database."

"Sounds good." Ty twists the key in the ignition while I pull out my phone and send the preapproved phrase that tells her the night was a bust.

The three of us spend the rest of the night searching through the database of every precinct, hoping someone got him on something. But no such luck. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth.

By the time I'm pulling into the drive of the house I share with Carter, the sun has started to peek over the hills.

I'm so tired that I don't even think before saying, "You made breakfast?" when I see Carter standing at the stove.

He frowns at me over his shoulder but doesn't comment on my not greeting him properly first. "I figured you'd be hungry since you haven't been home yet."

"Yeah." I step a bit closer, hesitant to greet him when he's standing so close to the stove. "We did get something to eat around 2 but that-" a glance at the clock on the oven has my eyes opening wide in surprise. "-was nearly five hours ago."

"And if I know you it was something not even remotely healthy."

"I honestly can't remember what it was. It was tasty, though, but not every filling."

He chuckles. "Middle of the night food rarely is." He slides a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs onto a plate and says, "Sit." with a flick of his head toward the table.

It isn't until after I sit down and he places the plate in front of me that I notice the envelope with my name and the return address of my father's lawyer.

"Not yet," he says when I reach for the envelope. I frown at him when he sits beside me with his own plate. "You need to eat first."

I think about questioning the order, but my stomach protests its empty status before the words can even form in my head. With a nod, I pick up my fork and begin eating. Keeping the fact that he's watching me very closely in mind, I force myself to eat at a steady pace despite wanting to shovel the food into my mouth as fast as I can.

The second I swallow the last bite of toast, I reach for the envelope and slide my finger under the flap, opening it and pulling out the single piece of expensive paper embossed with the logo of my father's attorney. Two plane tickets fall out when I unfold the paper. I scan the letter quickly, blink at what I think I just read, then go back and reread it, slowly this time.

Carter surprises me by not demanding to know what it says, instead letting me sit with the information. I briefly wonder if he already knows what it says, but dismiss that idea since I had to tear open the flap.

"Um," I clear my throat and lick my lips. "According to this, my father died a week ago. I already knew that because Mistress texted me last night." Carter hums in acknowledgement of my statement. "His funeral will be Saturday. We're expected at the airport to get on a flight tomorrow at 9am. There are meetings I must attend between now and Saturday. The reading of the will is going to be immediately after the funeral luncheon. Our return flight will be late Sunday."

"No," Carter picks up both plates, carrying them over to the sink. "Our return flight will be right after the reading of the will."

"You don't understand, Husband." I finish clearing the table, joining him at the counter. "There is only one flight a day to and from Hartford."

"Who says we have to use his airline?"

"Well, it's free, so." I shrug, turning on the water to warm it up so I can start washing the dishes.

"I don't care. I refuse to force you to spend a second longer than necessary anywhere near that bitch who birthed you."

"You're so protective." I smile at him and start washing the dishes.

Carter picks up a towel and begins drying the dishes after I rinse them. "Someone should be since your parents weren't."

Taking the last dish from me, he says, "Go take a shower and lay down. I'll wake you after a couple of hours, so your sleep schedule doesn't get too off."

With a nod and a kiss to his cheek, I do as he suggested, exhaustion pulling at me with every step I take.
= = = =
When we arrive at the airport the next morning, I put one hand on his arm just inside the doors. "I need you to know that I hate how I'm about to be treated. I look just like my father, so every employee knows who I am. They will fall all over themselves to please me. They will most likely treat you the same way."

He nods. "I'm sure there will be something I can use to tease you forever about." I just roll my eyes at the smirk on his face.

It's early enough that there are only two people ahead of us in line. Luckily, their transactions go smoothly, and finally, it's our turn. Stepping up to the counter, I smile at the familiar face of Melanie, the woman who sold me my ticket all those years ago when I fled back to Mistress in confusion over Carter.

Her face breaks into a beautiful smile. "Mr. McAdams! How was your trip?"

"It did not go how I wanted it to."

Her face falls. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you misunderstand. It went so much better!" I jerk my head in Carter's direction and hold up my left hand.

Her smile is back. "Congratulations, sir."

I hand over our tickets, and her lower lip begins to tremble. "I am so sorry for your loss. It is felt by everyone."

And that's when I notice that she's wearing a black suit with a black shirt and has a black band on her nametag. "Thank you."

She quickly has our boarding passes printed and hands them over. "I know I'm supposed to wish you a good flight, but considering the reason you're flying today, that feels rude to say."

"It's okay. I hope the flight is uneventful. Could you please let everyone know that we do not wish them to express their condolences? I'll be getting more than enough of that once we're in Hartford."

"Of course, sir." Now her smile is tinged with sadness.

With a nod of gratitude, I lead Carter toward the waiting lounge. I pause outside the door, unable to reach out and open it. I know what I'll be confronted with once I cross the threshold, and I find that I'm paralyzed in the face of it. And for the first time, I find myself fighting tears. Surely, I'm not crying over my prick of a father?

"Are you okay?" Carter asks, his voice low and gentle in a way I haven't heard it in too long.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Clearing my throat, I reach out to punch in the code, but hesitate. "There's a huge portrait of my father opposite the door. And the employees are going to be extremely deferential, especially now that he's dead."

Carter nods. "Okay. I'll follow your lead."

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I finish punching in the code and push open the door when I hear the click and buzz of the lock disengaging. Carter follows me through the door, and I hear his sharp intake of breath just before he hisses, "Christ," when he gets his first look at my father's portrait. "I know you said huge, but Jesus, Dean, that thing's nearly life-size."

"Mm," I hum. "My father is - was - he was extremely narcissistic and incredibly vain. That was painted about twenty years ago, but he had the artist use a picture of him when he was twenty-four."

"He could be your twin."

I make a face at the reminder. "Even if I don't use my real ID, the employees would know who I am."

"You must hate that."

"You have no idea. Whenever I was forced to visit his office, everyone commented on the fact that I was going to grow up to be very handsome."

"Well, you can't deny he was very attractive."

"Hm. If you say so."

"Are you saying you're not good looking? You know, since you look just like him."

"I'm saying to me he's ugly because of the evil inside. Like that Jack Black movie Shallow Hal." When Carter frowns, I remind him, "He was hypnotized into seeing how people looked on the inside instead of focusing on their outer appearance. Cameron Diaz played the love interest, and her character was extremely overweight, but he saw her as slender and beautiful because she had a good spirit." When he continues to frown, I roll my eyes. "We watched it back when we were first dating."

"Did I like it?"

"No, you didn't. I don't think you're a fan of Jack Black."

"I don't think I'm his target audience."

"Mr. McAdams," a voice interrupts before I can respond. Turning, I see Chad giving me a sad smile while holding out a travel cup of coffee.

"Chad," I greet the young man, taking the cup from him and taking a sip. "You remembered my order."

"Well, it is the most common order. Dash of cream, two sugars." Turning to Carter, he says, "I'm sorry, sir. If I had known your order, I would have greeted you with one."

"That's okay. I take mine black."

"Coming right up!" He starts to turn away, but turns back. "Would you like something to eat? We have fresh pastries."

"Chocolate croissant," I say. "If you don't have one, then a plain croissant with strawberry jam and butter."

"I'll take an everything bagel with plain cream cheese."

"Be right back." Chad nods and heads toward the coffee bar on the other side of the room.

I lead Carter to a couple of chairs separated by a small table. "This is impressive," he says, looking around the expensively decorated lounge with appreciation.

"Patrick McAdams was all about appearances. Not sure if you've noticed, but every employee is very attractive."

"I noticed. Did you dally with Chad when you were here before? The way he looked at you I'm sure he wouldn't have minded being bent over this table." He raps his knuckles on the tabletop.

I swallow my irritation at his question. The last time I was here might have been before we got together, but he hates thinking about my sexual past. "No, I didn't take him up on the offer he made with his eyes. I hadn't slept in a couple of days and knew I wouldn't get any sleep for several more hours."

"Okay. I must say, he looks delicious."

"Mmhm," I hum, trying to think of a way to change the topic. Before I can, Chad returns with Carter's coffee and our breakfast. "Thank you," I say, smiling at him when he sets the food and drink on the table.

"If I can offer-" he starts to say, but I put up one hand to stop him.

"I asked Melanie to tell everyone that I do not want any condolences."

"Yes, sir, but-"

"What part of 'no condolences' do you not understand?" Carter snaps. "He's going to get more than enough of them once we get to Hartford."

Chad seems to shrink in on himself. "Of course, my apologies," he says before scurrying away.

With a sigh, I say, "That was rude."

"You had told Melanie to tell everyone not to offer condolences and then told him when he started to; yet he still tried."

"I know, but you could have used a nicer tone." I take a bite of my croissant, discovering that not only is it slathered in chocolate sauce, but the dough is chocolate chip, and it's filled with chocolate ganache. "I try and treat my father's employees the way I would want to be treated if I was in their place since none of the other customers treat them like they're people who deserve some respect."

Carter just grunts and takes a huge bite of his bagel.
= = = =
Luckily, I don't recognize any of the flight crew, and they seem to have gotten the memo that I do not want anyone to acknowledge my father's passing. I'm able to doze a bit, not enough to help, but enough that I don't feel like a zombie.
= = = =
I swallow a sigh when I see a man in a dark suit holding a sign with my name. My mother must have sent him, although I'm not sure how she can afford it since I know all my father's accounts have been frozen while his will goes through probate. Carter puts a hand on my arm when I turn in the direction of the rental car counter.

"That man has a sign with your name on it."

"I know."

"So?"

"I'm getting a rental car." Carter narrows his eyes, his signal that I need to say more. "My mother obviously sent him. If we don't have a rental car, we'll be at the mercy of the driver's schedule which means we won't be able to leave when we're ready due to having to wait for him to arrive."

"I understand this is a control thing between the two of you, but you're too exhausted to drive and I don't know the area so don't feel comfortable driving." He tugs me back in the direction of the line of drivers. "Maybe if we talk to him, he'll be willing to sit and wait for us instead of leaving and having us call him?"

"Yeah, maybe." I give in with a frown. I hate the thought of my mother having this much control over my comings and goings, but what Carter said makes sense.

Approaching the driver holding the sign with my name, I nod at it. "I'm Dean McAdams."

The driver tips his head. "Do you have any checked bags?"

"No."

"Very good, sir. This way." He turns and begins walking toward the parking lot for the hired cars. "Shall I take your bags?" He stops walking and turns to face us, the flush on his cheeks telling me he's relatively new to being a chauffeur.

"We got it, thanks," Carter says, the corners of his lips twitching.

"We were wondering if we could give you a bonus in exchange for you sitting and waiting for us at each place you drive us to." I quicken my step until I'm walking next to him.

"I have already been instructed to do that."

I share a look with Carter. "Then how about a bonus not to report anything to whomever hired you?"

He grins at me. "Now that, I can do!"

Slowing my pace, I fall back to walk next to my husband. My hand twitches with the desire to link my fingers with his, but he doesn't like PDA, so I do my best to resist the urge.

When we arrive at the parking lot, the driver, who still has yet to introduce himself, leads us to a shiny black Tahoe. He presses a button on the key fob, and the liftgate opens, allowing us access to the cargo area. He steps to the rear passenger side door and pulls it open for us.

After setting our bags in the cargo area, we get in the car. "I'm Cater. You already know that he's Dean," Carter says, surprising me by holding out one hand.

"Travis." The driver shakes Carter's hand. Reaching into one pocket, he pulls out a card. "Here's my cell. Please don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

I stare out the window as Travis drives us through early afternoon traffic. Memories of the last time I was here keep running through my head. My mental state isn't much different from how it was then; the only real difference is I'm not here to figure out what I want. But even so, I don't want to be here any more now than I did then.

The hotel we pull up to is made of glass and steel. A valet opens Carter's door while Travis opens mine. "Where do we have to be tomorrow and what time?"

"The viewing at the funeral home at 10."

I nod, taking my bag from the cargo area before the valet can. "About how long does it take to get there from here?"

"At that time of day of a Friday? About forty-five minutes."

"Okay. We'll see you at 9, then." I turn to follow Carter inside the lobby.

"My instructions are to pick you up at 8."

Turning back, I say, "That's fine. If you want to sit in the car for an hour-" I shrug. "I refuse to spend any more time in my mother's presence than I have to. We will be down at 9. I'll text as we're entering the elevator so you can be waiting at the door."

He sighs but nods. "9," he replies, his voice resigned.

"You can only do as you've been instructed but you can't control what we do."

"I suppose." He rolls his eyes before getting back behind the wheel and pulling away from the curb.

Entering the lobby, my step falters slightly at the opulence of it. I have to wonder if my mother is an investor in the hotel since it's decorated very much like the house I grew up in. At the check-in counter, I pull my wallet from my pocket and remove my driver's license, handing it to the clerk.

"Welcome, Mr. McAdams," he greets with a smile. "We've been expecting you." He glances down, his fingers flying over the keyboard. When I lay my credit card on the counter, his lips twist in an apologetic smile. "Your room is fully paid for from now until Sunday."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "Any restrictions?"

"No, sir." He slides two cards across the counter, one for me and one for Carter. "Place the card against the keypad next to the elevator. It'll take you directly to your room."

Fatigue is pulling at my limbs, and it takes great effort to put one foot in front of the other. I can let sleep take me once Husband tells me I can. Hopefully, he won't want me to kneel for him tonight. Although if he requires it, I will.

The mirrored elevator doors slide open to reveal a mirrored interior. It must be horrible for anyone who hates staring at their own reflection. I can only imagine what it would be like to be pressed up against one of the walls while Husband thrusts into me from behind.

"Husband?" I turn to face him. "Could we put up a mirror wall when we get home?"

His gaze sharpens on my face. "Are you such a slut that you want to watch me fuck you?" He chuckles when my face heats as it always does when he calls me a slut. "Of course you are." He rocks back on his heels and hums. "I'll consider it. On one condition." I hold my breath; nearly positive I know what his condition will be. "You do what you want with whatever it is your father has left you in his will. Don't think about anyone other than yourself. Especially do not consider what your mother would want."

I was planning to ask his advice and ignore whatever my mother might say when the will is read. "I can do that."

"I was surprised you were invited to the reading of the will, considering what you've-" Before he can complete his statement, the elevator doors open, and I'm stunned by the view of the skyline out the wall of windows.

"Whoa," I breathe, walking slowly toward the windows.

"I had no idea Hartford had a skyline like this," Carter says, coming to stand behind me.

"Me either. I grew up in one of the suburbs. McAdams Air has its main hub at Bradley, but the headquarters are in Midtown Manhattan. Every time I've flown in, I haven't paid any attention to the skyline."

"Obviously." Carter chuckles softly in my ear before pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.

"Bath or shower?" I ask, turning to face him. When one eyebrow climbs his forehead, I clarify, "Do you want me to take a bath or a shower."

"Shower. You're dead on your feet and need to eat before I let you go to bed." I nod and turn to head into the bedroom. "Do not shave, but make sure to wash your hair."

I swallow the sigh his words produce. My head has been shaved for so long that I had forgotten that I have curly hair. And it tends to frizz right after being washed if I don't use product on it. Product I didn't bring because I only wash my hair once every ten days, and I last washed it just a few days ago. But Husband told me to wash it, so I will be washing it.

In the bathroom, I take a quick, yet thorough shower, loving the feel of the water beating down on my body. Carter's house is older, so while the water pressure is decent, it isn't nearly as good as the pressure in this high-end hotel. And I have to wonder again how my mother can afford the expense with her access to my father's money cut off.

Back in the bedroom, I find a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and one of my favorite bra and panty sets lying on the end of the massive California King bed. I didn't pack any of my pretty clothes, so Carter must have. Leave it to my husband to know I'd need the comfort even if it is under everyday clothes.

Exiting the bedroom, I look around the suite. The living room is massive, with a wall of windows overlooking the entire downtown Hartford area. There is a very comfortable looking couch facing the wall that separates the bedroom I just exited from the rest of the suite. Turning to look at the wall, I find a massive television mounted on it, with an expensive looking TV cabinet under it stuffed with books and knick-knacks.

Behind the couch is a table that can easily sit ten people, and beyond that is another bedroom. There is a set of double doors that are now closed, leading to the foyer where the elevator is located, and next to that is yet another door, which I'm guessing leads to a kitchen. I really want to explore, but I can definitely feel exhaustion pulling at me.

"My dick isn't gonna warm itself," Carter says, bringing my attention to where he's sitting on the couch, his legs spread obscenely wide while he strokes his cock.

I swallow thickly and walk the few steps to kneel in front of him. When I hesitate, he taps the tip of his dick against my lips. "You were given an order, Wife." A shiver skates down my spine at the rough tone of his voice.

Holding his gaze, I slowly lean forward and lick a stipe up the underside of his cock, and over his fingers since he's still got them wrapped around his length. Twisting my tongue, I pull the head into my mouth and suck like it's a lollipop.

He moans, his eyes going dark with his arousal. "I didn't say suck me, boy." He grabs a fistful of my hair with his free hand. "I said, keep it warm. If I want to come down your throat, I'll fuck your face." With his hand still wrapped in my hair, he forces me to take most of him into my mouth, stopping when the tip touches the back of my throat. "God, I love the feel of your mouth on me. And the way your lips stretch around my girth is so fucking hot."

With a grunt, he spreads his legs a bit wider and slouches a bit more on the couch. "Almost forgot how it feels to have you keep me warm." I'm not sure he meant for me to hear that last statement or not, so I just close my eyes and let myself drift in the upper layer of my headspace.

Sometime later, a knock on the doors leading to the elevator rouses me. With a slurp, I pull off Husband's cock, wiping drool from my chin, and scoot back enough that he can get up. Not wanting to have the hotel staff wonder why I was sitting on the floor, I stand as well.

When Carter opens one of the doors, a man in a hotel uniform enters, pushing a room service cart. "Good evening, Mr. McAdams. Shall I set the table for you?"

"Yes, please," Carter answers before I can even form the words in my head.

With a nod, the employee pushes the cart to the table and transfers two covered plates, two obviously ice-cold pint glasses, and two bottles of an IPA I've never heard of on the table. Once done, he pushes the cart off to the side. "When you're done, just push the room service button on the wall in the foyer and leave the cart and dishes next to the elevator. If you need housekeeping service, please press that button before you leave your room, and our housekeepers will clean your room while you're gone. If you just need more towels, pillows, or blankets, please call room service."

"Thank you." I finally manage to get my mouth to work. "Do I need to sign for our food?"

"No, sir. We were told that any and all purchases you might make are approved by the card holder."

"Is there a way for me to find out who that is? I want to thank them for their generosity."

"No, I'm sorry. That would be a breach of privacy."

"Of course." I nod my understanding. "Thank you."

He nods as well. "If you like, you could write a note, and I could see if it's possible to have management send it to them?"

"Yes. I think I'll do that."

With one last nod, and a smile, the employee bids us goodnight and exits, closing the doors behind him.

At the table, Carter has lifted the covers off the plates to reveal hamburgers and fries. My stomach starts complaining it's empty status at the smell of the delicious looking food.

Sitting next to him, I pour the contents of one bottle into a glass and set it in front of Carter, then pour the other into a glass for me. A sip tells me that the beer is probably a local favorite and would more than likely become a national best seller if the makers wanted to expand.

Carter allows me to eat several bites of my burger and fries before asking, "Is there anything I need to know about the coming days?"

"You mean other than we are most likely to experience severe homophobia if people suspect we're together?"

"So, I'm going to be introduced as a friend?"

"I think it would be best. Unless you want to see me fight with my mother."

"I'd rather not. "I'm okay with being your 'friend' this weekend."

We finish our meal with me telling Carter everything I can think of that he might need to know to navigate life in high society.
= = = =
The next morning, Husband has me take a shower while he orders breakfast. When I return to the bedroom, I find my suit laid out on the bed with my makeup bag sitting next to it. I had purposefully left it in LA because I didn't want to flaunt my sexuality in my mother's face, but it's obvious that Husband doesn't care about that, despite our talk last night. What I can't figure out is why.

"Eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss, Wife," Husband says, entering the bedroom just as I finish buttoning my shirt.

I want to question his order, but I know better. "Yes, Husband," I reply, picking up the bag and walking into the bathroom.

Opening the bag, I flick my finger through the various eyeliners, mascaras, lipsticks, lip liners, and lip glosses, trying to find ones that will be somewhat invisible on my face. A sigh in my ear alerts me to Husband looking over my shoulder. "The cobalt blue eyeliner and matching mascara, I think. With the sparkly pink lip gloss, the one that tastes like cotton candy."

Swallowing a sigh, I can't figure out why he's doing this, I find the requested items and begin lining my eyes before coating my lashes with the mascara and swiping the gloss over my lips. Blotting my lips, I turn and follow Husband back into the other room, where two covered plates are set on the table.

Taking my place to his right, I place my napkin on my lap and take a sip of the orange juice sitting next to my plate. Husband removes the covers and starts eating, fully expecting me to do the same.

"Tell me what to expect," he says between bites of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns.

"Homophobia mostly."

"Kinda figured that already since you were kicked out for kissing a boy. And from our talk last night."

"She's also racist but that doesn't apply to us." I take a couple of bites, trying to get my thoughts in order. "She'll find fault with just about everything. Might even make herself the victim."

He nods. "Shall I come to your defense?"

"I'd rather you didn't. She'll be enough of a bitch without putting two and two together and coming to the conclusion that we're together." Even if it is true. I do not want her to taint my relationship with my husband.

"And you've already asked to introduce me as your friend." He nods. "Fine. I'll just take it out on your ass later." My face heats at the image his words provoke, and I fight the urge to squirm in my seat at the remembrance of the delicious ache from him fucking me. "Finish eating then brush your teeth and braid your hair."
= = = =
We've barely made it halfway to the door of the funeral home when my mother comes marching toward us, virtual steam billowing from her ears.

"Dean Michael McAdams! You were supposed to be here an hour ago!" She whisper-shouts once she's close enough that her voice won't carry. "Did the driver not tell you?"

"He did. I didn't feel the need to be here a solid two hours before it was necessary."

"Not necessary!?" I can tell she's gearing up for a good rant, but I can't let her keep spewing her hateful speech.

"It's a viewing. There is not a damn thing I can do, and I refuse to be in the way of the funeral home staff."

"I wanted you here!"

"And I didn't want to ever see your hateful ass ever again but we don't always get what we want, now do we?"

She huffs and then seems to notice my makeup. "What are you wearing on your face? Is that eyeliner and lip gloss!?" I shove my hands in my pockets and lower my head as I fight the rising urge to throttle her. "And your hair! Here-" I look up to see her holding out some cash. "-go wash your face, get a haircut, and shave! I cannot believe you would come to your father's funeral looking like a criminal! Although, since you are a criminal, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise."

"I'm not a criminal."

"That's not what you said when I visited you in the hospital."

"You sure about that?"

I can see the confusion in her eyes, but she changes the subject once again. "Where's your wife?" She looks right at Carter. "And who is he?"

I rock back on my heels, debating whether to tell her that Carter is my husband, but decide against it, not wanting her to cause a scene. "Don't have a wife." I am so going to love gaslighting this bitch.

"But-" she sputters.

"But what? Did someone tell you I had gotten married?"

Her eyes narrow on my face. "Don't try to lie to me. I know you got married."

"Oh? Who says I got married?"

She sniffs and puts her nose in the air. "It doesn't matter who told me. It's obvious that she's left you already because she discovered that you're a pervert."

"I assure you that whoever told you I have a wife was misinformed. And he's-" I nod my head at where Carter is standing next to me. "-is my boss."

She gasps and puts one hand to her chest just below her clavicle. "You brought a crime boss to your father's funeral?"

I roll my eyes so hard I glimpse my brain. "No, Mother. We're not criminals."

"But when I visited you in the hospital-"

"I was undercover when I was stabbed. I figured if there was any news coverage about it, it would have called me a criminal. Ya, know, since I was pretending to be one."

"Undercover?"

"Yes, ma'am," Carter speaks for the first time. "We're undercover officers with LAPD."

"You have a blue-collar job?" Her face shows just what she thinks of that piece of information.

"And I'm damn good at it, too."

"You will not tell anyone what you do for a living. Is that understood?"

I can't keep the smirk off my face. "You think I care what you think of my job? It's an honest day's work and it pays well."

"You were not raised to get your hands dirty for money! You are a McAdams. Imagine what the papers will say if this gets out."

"I. Do. Not. Care. You abandoned me when I needed you most and any tender feelings I might have had for you died a long time ago."

The expression on her face changes in an instant, her eyes throwing daggers in my direction. "Just do this one thing for me and when this is all over, you'll never have to see me again."

"Leave me out of your will, and we have a deal."

Her lips press into a tight line, and she nods stiffly before she turns on her heel and marches back into the funeral home. Husband's hand comes to rest on the small of my back, and he leans close to whisper in my ear, "You okay?" I nod. "I know you have conflicting feelings about her, but she is your mother. It's okay to be sad and hurt that your relationship with her has ended for good."

"I'll be okay. I had accepted years ago that I might never see her again. But this-" I pause to clear my throat of the tears clogging it. "-this feels like cutting off a piece of me."

"And that's valid." He kisses the side of my head. "When we get home, we can find you someone to talk to. If you want, that is."

I make a noncommittal noise and head inside the funeral home. My mother is talking to one of the funeral directors and breaks off when she sees me. "Now, we'll be standing at the head of the casket-"

I start shaking my head before she even says the word 'casket' and speak over the last of her sentence. "I will not be doing that."

"Excuse me?" She looks at me like I'm a pile of dog shit she almost stepped in.

"I refuse. His last words to me were, 'I will never be in the same room as you ever again. You are dead to me. Get out of my house'. I plan on honoring his wish."

She sighs. "Fine." Shaking her shoulders and flicking her hair back. "We will be gauche and stand here in the lobby, greeting his visitors as they arrive."

Husband takes up residence in a chair close enough that he can keep an eye on me, but not so close that the visitors think they have to include him in their condolences. I find myself swallowing sharp retorts and frustrated sighs more and more with each person that approaches.

Finally, the viewing is over. My mother turns to me just as the last mourner exits the funeral home. "I expect your face to be freshly washed before you show up for lunch."

"No." The word is out before I even think it. "This is who I am now. If you don't like it, that's too bad."

Her lips thin, and her eyes sparkle with barely repressed fury. "Why must you be so combative?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe because my parents turned their backs on me just because I didn't fit their view of who I should be."

"Fine," she says through gritted teeth. "I still expect you to be on your best behavior."

One corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk. "I make no promises, Mother."

She huffs and flounces away in the direction of the room where my father's body is lying in his casket.

"You okay?" Husband's voice has some of the tension leaving my body. How I wish I could fall to my knees at his feet and let him take all the worries from my shoulders.

"No." I turn and walk from the funeral home in the direction of the parking lot, where Travis is sitting in his car waiting for us. "But I will be once we're back home."
= = = =
"You grew up here!?" I can't help but chuckle at the incredulous tone of Carter's voice when Travis drops us at my childhood home.

"Hm," I hum, coming to stand next to where he's staring slack-jawed up at the French Provencial style mansion I grew up in.

He rests one hand on the small of my back and leans in and whispers, "I want to kiss you" in my ear. I duck my head in an attempt to hide my heated cheeks.

"And I want to hold your hand." I pitch my voice as low as his.

"We can-" He starts, but I'm shaking my head.

"I refuse to give her a reason to kick me out. If there wasn't a chance my father left more deserving people anything in his will, I promise you, we would not be here."

"Okay. Just know, I have your back. And as your husband, if I think we need to leave, we will leave." The look he gives me lets me know that there will be no arguing if he declares it's time to go.

"Yes, Husband."

"Let's hope you don't slip and call me that in front of your mother."

My cheeks heat at his slight scolding tone. I have been trying to pull myself from my headspace today, but it's been difficult when I need the comfort it provides.

A pretty young woman in a maid's uniform opens the door. "The other guests are gathering on the terrace." She points at the wall of windows that overlook the back yard. Several people can be seen mingling while servers wind their way between them with trays of drinks and appetizers as if this was a fancy dinner party and not a lunch to mourn my father's passing.

With a nod at the woman, I lead Carter toward one of the sweeping stairs, intent on showing him my childhood bedroom.

"Excuse me," she says, her tone quite sharp. "Guests are not allowed upstairs."

I glance at Carter, then go down a couple of steps. "Look, I know you started working here after I left, and the few family pictures have more than likely been destroyed, but I also know I look just like my father."

She takes a couple of steps closer to the stairs, squinting as if that'll let her see me better. Her eyebrows go up and she says, "You do look like Mr. McAdams. My apologies. The missus never even mentioned children."

"No worries." I smile at her and turn to finish climbing the stairs, Carter right behind me.

"And now I understand."

"Understand what?" Carter comes to walk at my left side.

"Why you had me wear makeup. It has me looking just different enough that people won't be commenting on how much I look like him."

"Hm," Carter hums. "Is that why I did that?" He raises one brow when I frown at him, but doesn't comment further.

At the top of the stairs is a sitting area with built-in bookshelves and comfy-looking couches and chairs. To the left is my parents' wing, and to the right is my wing.

When I head to the right, Carter asks, "What's back there?"

"That's my parents' wing."

"You had a wing all to yourself?"

"Not really. The nannies had the other bedrooms." I open the door, revealing the long hallway lined with doors.

"Nannies? Plural?"

"Mm. One for during the day, one for during the night, and two for when the other two were off." His stunned silence speaks volumes.

"So, how many bedrooms are there?"

"Seven bedrooms and ten bathrooms."

"Wait." Carter's hand on my arm has me stopping about halfway down the hall. "Ten bathrooms?"

One corner of my mouth twitches. "Seven full bathrooms, one in each bedroom, and three half baths. The pool house has two beds and two and a half baths."

"Were they planning on more kids?"

"No. They didn't even want me, remember?"

"Dean-" I'm not sure what Carter's going to say, but I know I don't want to hear it.

With a shake of my head, I open the door at the end of the hall, revealing that my mother has removed all evidence that a child might have ever resided within it.

There is a foyer of sorts, with a huge walk-in closet to the right and a large bathroom with a separate tub and shower, and two sinks, to the left. Straight ahead is a sliding glass door that leads out to a balcony overlooking the side yard.

Carter stops just outside the door to the bathroom. "This is a bit much for a child, don't ya think?"

I shrug, coming to a stop next to the oversized queen bed placed where the occupant can look out the sliding doors. "She changed everything." I didn't think it would hurt to have so much proof that my mother erased all evidence of my existence.

"I'm guessing you didn't have it decorated like this?"

I shake my head. "It was decorated in shades of blue and grey when I lived here. I had a desk over there." I point at a little nook on the left side of the room, where there is an overstuffed armchair, a small side table, and a couple of bookshelves. "And a chair with bookshelves over there." I point at the corner to the right of the sliding door, where a potted plant now resides.

"Hey." Carter's voice is soft in my ear, and he places one hand on the small of my back. "Say the word, and we're out of here."

I shake my head. "The lawyer was clear. If I don't attend all events up to the reading of the will, no one gets their inheritance."

"Okay." He presses a kiss to my temple. "I know how to make you feel better," he murmurs, stepping around behind me.

My eyes slide shut, and a small sigh escapes when he starts unbuckling my belt so he can open my fly before pushing my pants and panties to my ankles. Three of his fingers press against my lips, and I open up to suck on them and get them wet. I hate when he doesn't use lube, but I know better than to protest.

With one hand between my shoulder blades, he gets me to bend over and put my hands on the mattress. The sound of his belt and zipper has me almost missing him slipping his fingers from my mouth and pressing them inside. A whimper escapes at the stretch; I didn't expect this to happen, so I hadn't prepared before we left the hotel.

"Tsk," he scolds. "You have been told to always prep for me to take you. Let this be your punishment."

And with that as my only warning, he roughly removes his fingers before entering me with one push, not stopping until his balls are flush with my taint. He then begins to fuck me with long, sharp thrusts, making sure his balls smack against mine each time he bottoms out. His hands are gripping my hips tight enough to leave bruises, and I love every second of it.

Sliding one hand around my hip, he rolls my balls in his palm. I hum my pleasure at his rough fucking and relax into it, letting him take his pleasure in my body. Just as I think he's nearing his climax, he starts pinching my foreskin, stretching it, and running his finger around inside it. A gasp escapes, and I clench around him, fighting my orgasm.

"Husband, please."

"Please, what, Wife?"

"Please may I come?"

"Oh, you asked so very nicely. If you think you can come quietly, then you may come."

He pinches the tip of my cock through my foreskin, and I come with a whimper, biting my lip to keep the noise inside. And I'm very glad I don't get hard when he fucks me. Wouldn't do to leave a mess behind.

"Such a good boy," Husband praises, slamming into me a couple more times before he stiffens and I feel him coming inside me.

My arms are trembling with the effort of holding myself up, but Husband hasn't told me I can move. I idly wonder what he's waiting for, but before that thought can really form, I feel him pressing a plug into me. "Can't have you leaking all over the place," he says, patting my butt and stepping back.

"We should head outside before your mother comes looking."

I stand up, wincing when the plug shifts, he used one of our bigger plugs, and put my clothes to rights. "As if she would," I mutter, leading the way back downstairs and out to the terrace.

The woman sitting next to me frowns at the way I gingerly sit in my chair. "You okay?"

I blink at her. I don't recognize her and find it strange that a stranger is concerned for my well-being when I know for a fact that my mother is not. "Yeah. I think I pulled something working out this morning."

She smiles. "Be sure to soak in a warm tub tonight and take some ibuprofen or acetaminophen before bed." When I raise my eyebrows, because why would I take medical advice from a stranger, she chuckles. "I'm a nurse practitioner."

"Ah. Thanks for the advice."

"Of course." The smile she gives me this time is slightly flirty. If my husband wasn't sitting on my other side - hell, if he didn't exist - I'd let her follow through on the promises in her eyes.

With a nod, I turn my attention to the food being set before me. I notice that the table is set for formal dining, so I lean over to whisper in Carter's ear, "You'll use the utensils outside in."

He frowns at me. "I know that. You think I've never had a formal meal?"

"I wasn't sure."

He sighs. "Sorry for snapping. But you shouldn't have assumed."

"You're right. I apologize."

He rubs his hand along my leg, squeezing my knee. I reach down and squeeze his hand.
= = = =
Lunch is nice enough, mostly because my mother is sitting nowhere near where Carter and I are sitting. Carter keeps the people around us entertained enough that none of them really notice that I'm not participating in the conversation.

When we get back to the hotel, he strips me down to my bra and panties and tucks me into bed, curling himself around me.
= = = =
In the morning, he has me take another shower. When I return to the bedroom, I find yet another bra and panty set lying on top of my suit.

"Full face today," he says, entering the bedroom just as I finish buttoning my shirt.

"No." I know I'm courting a major punishment, but I refuse to do this today of all days.

"Excuse me? That word is not allowed in your vocabulary."

I duck my head, but just cannot meekly obey. "Not today, Carter. I get why you had me wear minimal makeup yesterday, but a full face? For his funeral?" I shake my head. "I can't."

He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls until my ear is against his lips. "You will do as you are told, or we will go home right now."

I swallow a whimper and nod as well as I can with his hand in my hair. "Of course, Husband."

With a push, he releases me and shoves my makeup bag into my hands. "And leave your hair down."

A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away as I turn to head back into the bathroom. I can't figure out why he's doing this. All it's going to do is piss off my mother and cause unneeded drama.

He didn't tell me how to do my makeup, so I decide to go neutral with the colors. Just as I set everything on the counter, he appears over my shoulder in the mirror. "Same eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss as yesterday."

Well, there goes my plans to keep my mother from noticing I'm wearing makeup.
= = = =
The funeral service takes place in a church that my father never set foot in while I lived in his house. My mother does her best to pretend I don't exist, and I do the same for her.

Every person who speaks talks about what a good, kind, generous man he was. Carter has to grip my knee hard enough to bruise to keep me from standing up and calling bullshit on every word spoken. I spend the service glad I wasn't asked to speak; my mother obviously knew I would tell everyone the truth about how they treated me as a child.

At the graveside, a priest says more words about what a good man my father was and how he is now in heaven. I choke back my incredulous laugh. If these people knew who my father really was, they would condemn his memory, not honor it.

Lunch at my mother's is more like a fancy dinner party than a funeral luncheon.

Several hours after we sit down for lunch, my mother stands from her place at the head of the table and says, "Thank you for coming. Lunch is over. If you received a letter from Patrick's attorney, please make your way to the office. If you did not, I'll be in touch about getting together for lunch or dinner. Or even a round of golf."

A couple of people complain about how rude she sounds, but everyone gets up and either leaves or heads into the office.

Just as I pass the dining room, a hand reaches out and pulls me in. "What the fuck, Dean!?" My mother snaps, slamming the door behind me.

"I'm sure I don't know what has your panties in a twist today, Mother."

"You're wearing a full face of makeup! And your hair!"

"As I told you yesterday, this is who I am now. If you don't like it, tough." I turn to exit the room when she stops me with a question I never thought she'd ask.

"Why are you here? It's obvious you don't want to be here."

Keeping my back to her, I answer her honestly. "I was told that if I didn't attend every event for his funeral, then no one would receive their inheritance."

"But you hate me. Why would you care if I get my inheritance?"

I chuckle and look at her over my shoulder. "Not you."

"So, you're only here for his money. Figures."

"Oh, no, madam. You misunderstand me." I turn to face her fully. "I'm here in case he left something for the members of your staff. They deserve something for having to deal with your racist, homophobic ass."

"Get out of my house." Her voice has taken on a low growl that rivals Carter's when he's fully in his headspace.

"If I leave before the reading of the will, you get nothing."

Her face flushes, and I know I have her. "Fine. But as soon as it's done, I want you out of my house!"

"Sure. So long as this house isn't part of my inheritance."

Her eyes narrow on my face before she pushes past me and marches into the office.

"Everything okay?" Carter places one hand low on my back, rubbing soothing circles.

"Yeah. Let's find out if my father screwed me or not so we can go home."

In the office, everyone finds a seat, and my father's lawyer presses play on the video on the laptop.

I haven't seen my father since he kicked me out when I was 18. His hair is completely grey, his skin sallow and sunken under his eyes and cheeks. Was he sick? Is it possible? I never asked how he died because I figured it was a heart attack; the man was a workaholic who drank too much whiskey and smoked cigars.

"I, Patrick Andrew Bendis McAdams, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this to be my last and final will and testament."

He does leave the staff their annual salaries for ten years, with increases of five percent a year, even if my mother fires them. He leaves some money and personal items to some friends. And then he gets to the part of his will that my mother and I are both waiting for.

"To my wife, Miranda, I leave the house in Hartford and the sum of ten million dollars to be given in monthly installments of ten thousand dollars.

"To Dean Bendis, the son I disowned, I leave everything else on the condition he not sell the company for at least ten years.

"My lawyer has all the documents everyone needs." He looks down, and I can see that his energy level is slipping. When he looks back up, there's a fire in his eyes. "Dean, the letter my lawyer is giving you needs to be read out loud. If you refuse, you and everyone else receive nothing." And with that, the screen goes black.

The lawyer hands me an envelope. Sliding one finger under the flap, I open it and pull out a page of notebook paper covered with my father's precise script.

Looking around the room, I unfold the paper and begin to read. "'Dean, I know you never expected to inherit anything when I die but I couldn't pass up this opportunity.'" I frown up at the lawyer. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I have my suspicions, but I really can't say for sure."

I look over at my mother. "What about you?"

She shakes her head. "I'm sure I have no idea."

Clearing my throat, I continue reading. "'As you know, I married your mother as part of a business deal. What you don't know, but probably suspect, is that your birth was also a business deal.'"

"He wouldn't!" My mother swipes at the paper in my hand, but the lawyer pushes her back.

A small smile spreads over my face at her reaction. Now that I know she's going to absolutely hate what he wrote, I'm eager to finish reading it. "'Your mother and I have developed a deep and abiding hatred for one another over the years, and by the time we were ordered to have a child, we weren't even sleeping in the same room, much less the same bed.

"'We decided to use a surrogate but our embryo. After months of your mother having fertility drugs injected into her ass, we went through the egg retrieval process. Only, none of her eggs were viable."' My mother's gasp has me looking up at her. I'm guessing she didn't know this. Fighting an evil laugh, I return to the letter. "'When the doctors told me, I had a decision to make. I chose to not tell her. The original plan was to use an egg donor, but couldn't find one I liked well enough, so I paid a woman to have sex with me and act as our surrogate. Throughout the entire pregnancy, I worried that you'd look like her and everyone would know. So imagine my relief when you arrived looking just like me.

"'I am telling you this so that you can make a more informed decision as to how to treat the woman you have called mother your whole life.

"'You need to decide if you're going to allow her to have anything over the ten thousand dollars a month I have left her because you know she'll insist that's not enough.

"'I wish I could be there to see her face when she finds out that you aren't her biological son. But I didn't want her father to know since I know he would have pulled his funding.'"

My arms drop to my lap, and I slump back in the chair. I am not related to the woman I call mother. The corners of my mouth twitch as the reality hits me. I am not related to the bitch who has tried to make herself a victim in my trauma.

"Dean?" Miranda's voice is softer than I ever remember hearing it. "Please tell me you'll make sure I have enough money to live."

"I'll have to speak with Father's accountant. I will be taking his advice as to whether or not your allowance will be increased." Turning to Carter, I say, "Take me home."
= = = =
A couple of months later, my father's accountant has convinced me to agree to increase my mother's monthly allowance to one hundred thousand dollars for the rest of her life. I only agree because I refuse to touch his money for myself.

Before we left the East Coast, I had Travis take us to the McAdams Industries offices, where I signed paperwork transferring ownership to the board of directors. The lawyer did insist I retain my majority shares but to appoint someone as my proxy, preferably someone not currently on the board. I chose him since he seemed to have my best interests in mind.

And now I wake up every day surprised at how free I feel knowing that my father is dead and that I am not related to the woman I grew up calling mother.