His Arch Enemy's Daughter

“Hello, Father,” she said, making sure her tone was unaffected. She turned around, grinning her ain’t-I-sweet-as-sugar smile.

He seemed to fill the door frame with his wiry stance, encased by a business suit even this late at night. She’d gotten her height from him, and she shuddered to think what else she might’ve inherited.

His hair, black-and-white as marbled stone, all but stood on end. As he stepped inside, Ashlyn could’ve sworn she saw something like concern tumble through his dark eyes, but then—poof!—it disappeared.

“What circus act of yours brought the sheriff to our doorstep?” asked her father.

His verbal barb was unfair, and he should’ve known it. Ashlyn hadn’t gotten under the law’s skin since her brother Chad had come home last year. And even then, she hadn’t done anything serious—just a practical joke concerning Chad’s shoes and some horse pucky in a paper bag.

She reached up to fidget with her necklace.

Memories flashed through her head: gravel blinding her, dirt drying her mouth, her father’s voice announcing her second-place station in life. Right behind Chad.

She dropped her hands to her sides, tilting her head, grin turning to stone. “I was merely taking in some fresh air, Father. There’s not much to be had at home.”

“You missed dinner, Ashlyn.”

So she had. “I’ll grab something from the kitchen.”

Her father frowned. “Eugene Hampton was here. Did you or did you not remember you were to meet him tonight?”

Oh, brother. Another one of her father’s blind date proposals. Every month held another possibility of some Harvard School of Business graduate coming to dinner to meet Ashlyn, and, predictably, she always did her best to sabotage any hope on their part.

It struck her that maybe she was too good at ruining relationships.

“Sorry, Father. Maybe next time?”

“And there will be a next time,” he said, his voice following her into the foyer. His statement echoed, racing along the spiral stairway that led to a higher floor. “I’ve invited Eugene to the Spenco Toy Factory opening picnic next weekend, so mind that you’re there.”

Ashlyn crossed her arms, met his stare head-on. “Let’s be honest. These things never work out. I can’t believe that, after five years, you’re still trying to set me up with the man you believe is Mr. Right for the Money.”

“You saw what happened when that whelp Nick Cassidy came in and took a bite of our holdings. I’d like your future to be secure.” Her father shut the front door behind him, blocking out the night sounds.

The Cassidy name leveled an uncomfortable silence between them, as if it were a physical reminder of Chad framing Nick for her own brother’s crime. “Please don’t bother with my future, Dad.”

He stepped into her view, stern as the suit of armor decorating the entrance to his game room.

“Sorry. Father.”

“That’s it for now.”

He hesitated, and Ashlyn knew he was dying to say something more about Sam Reno or his family before dismissing her altogether. She willed him to speak, but his hard, dark eyes erased the need.

She wondered how her father would react if she said Sam’s name, allowing it to reverberate through the mansion’s sterile halls. His name was already bouncing off the walls of her heart, every thump reminding her of a teenage boy who’d unwittingly encouraged a little girl’s innocent crush. She still remembered how he’d smiled her way one lonely night—years and years ago—making her feel special. Wanted. Even for an anonymous moment.

Instead he said, “See your mother before you retire, Ashlyn. She’s worried.”

She’s worried. If Chad had been out until the ghosting hour, if he’d been escorted home by the law, her father would’ve been frantic.

At least Ashlyn merited concern from her mother.

She tried to not let her shoulders droop as she climbed the stairs, sliding her hand along the polished cherrywood. She felt her father watching her, but she wouldn’t peek down, wouldn’t let him know that she was aware of his stare.

She moved past the wallpaper, its design showcasing half circles floating among lines and gild, the incomplete rings seemingly reaching out to connect with one another.

Her heart smarted as she glimpsed her red second-place horse show ribbons hidden behind Chad’s treasure trove of State Championship football trophies and uniform jerseys as she passed the glass-encased trophy cabinet on the second-floor parlor.

Her mother’s door revealed a crack of light around the edges. She usually didn’t stay up so late.

Ashlyn knocked lightly and entered when urged to by a wispy, Southern-genteel voice.

The stench of medicines mixed with expensive perfume assailed her. “Hello, Mother.”

Edwina Spencer shifted beneath the silken covers of her king-size bed, knocking over a glass pill jar. It clanked against other containers. “Ashlyn?” she slurred.

“It’s me.” She strolled to the nightstand, grabbing the empty jars on the way. She placed them amid half-filled atomizers and more prescription tubes. “Feeling better tonight?”

Her mother heaved a sigh, pushing back a thinning patch of blond hair from her faded blue eyes. Her brother looked more like their mother with her china-doll fragility.

“Oh, no, Lynnie. I’m awful, simply awful.”

Ashlyn recalled the sight of her mother’s shadow by the window, but didn’t comment. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Dear, that’s what the maid is for. She’ll fetch whatever I require.”

She waited for the older woman to ask where Ashlyn had been tonight, but she knew her mother wouldn’t say anything unless forced to. For as long as Ashlyn could remember, pills had helped Mrs. Spencer avoid life.

Instead, her mother played the guilt card. “I miss you when you’re not here, Lynnie.”

She’d heard these words time and again, especially when she’d been eighteen and ready to move out into the real world.

Ashlyn still recalled the new bedroom accessories she’d purchased with earnings from jewelry and sculptures she’d sold on the sly, the friends she’d made at college orientation day. But one well-thought guilt-trip from her mother had kept her home, out of the dorms, attending the local college instead.

“I’m so happy you care enough to stay with your poor mother. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ashlyn tried not to cringe, tried not to think of what her life would be like if she had the courage to leave the mansion. Would she be able to get along with Sam Reno more easily if she distanced herself from her family?

“Maybe you should get some sleep, Mother.”

Two bony, vein-webbed hands shot out to clamp onto Ashlyn’s arms. “Don’t leave me.”

Ashlyn wondered what her mother had taken tonight. Valium?

She pulled back from the skeletal hands, played with her necklace. It seemed more like a collar and leash than jewelry right now. “I won’t leave you.”

The words felt like hands clutching her ankles, dragging her down into a dark hole that was cold and ragged enough to scrape off her fingernails as she grabbed for purchase.

“That’s my girl. I’m so thankful for my Lynnie.” And with that her thin-as-parchment eyelids fluttered shut, her frill-collared nightdress making Edwina Spencer seem even more breakable.