Page 43 of Branded

“As Sebastian’s wife, you’ll be expected to help with certain social obligations,” Eleanor says as we tour the formal dining room, even larger than the one we used last night. “Charity events, industry galas, hosting business associates. Nothing too demanding, but the Drake name carries weight in most circles.”

“I understand.” I’ve done similar things for my father in Montana. Smiled at potential business partners, made small talk with neighboring ranchers’ wives, played the role of the gracious host’s daughter. I hated it then, and I’ll hate it now, but I know how to do it.

“Good.” Eleanor leads me through a butler’s pantry into a commercial-grade kitchen that could service a restaurant. “Martin handles all meal preparation, but if you have dietary preferences or requests, just let him know.”

Martin stands at the counter, chopping an onion, and doesn’t stop when he looks up. “Mrs. Drake, welcome. I hope dinner the other night was satisfactory?”

“It was wonderful. I don’t remember the last time I ate so well. Thank you.”

“If there’s anything special you’d like, any foods from home you’re missing, just say the word. I can make anything.”

The kindness in his offer makes my throat tighten unexpectedly. “Thank you, Martin. I appreciate that.”

We continue through formal living spaces, a library that looks like it has never been used, a media room with theater seating, a gym that’s all gleaming equipment and mirrors. Everything is perfect, expensive and utterly impersonal.

“Now,” Eleanor says as we climb a sweeping staircase to the second floor, “the family wings. Walker and I have the primary suite on the east side. Nathaniel and the girls are in the west wing, and his home functions separately from this home, but they are connected by a hallway. Caroline and James have suites as well, though they’re rarely here these days.”

We walk down a hallway lined with more family photographs, and I find myself studying them despite my determination to remain detached. Sebastian, as a boy on horseback, maybe eight years old, looking serious and focused. Caroline, around the same age, covered in mud and grinning. Nathaniel holding a newborn, one of the twins, probably. James as a teenager, all gangly limbs and mischief.

A family, despite all the wealth and apparent dysfunction. People who grew up together, fought together and built something together.

I had that once, before my mother walked out on us, before my father started making plans for my future that didn’t include my input. Before I ran to California and ended up on an auction block.

“Auntie Lennox!” A shriek comes from behind us, and I turn just in time to see two identical blurs racing down the hallway. Four years old, dark hair in matching ponytails, wearing jeans and T-shirts that are already dirty.

Harper and Hadley. Nathaniel’s twin girls.

They skid to a stop in front of me, one animated and one much quieter.

“I’m Hadley, that’s Harper, I talk, she’s quiet.” The small child I now know as Hadley points from herself to her sister. “Can you ride horses? Uncle Seb was right, you’s pretty.” Hadley’s eyes are animated and Harper nods beside her.

I look at Eleanor helplessly, and she laughs. It’s a genuine, sparkling laugh of pure delight.

“Thanks for telling me Uncle Seb thinks I’m pretty, I know how to ride,” I say as I crouch down to their level. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You can call us Harp and Hads,” says Hadley. “That’s what Uncle Seb calls us.”

“Well, he calls us that when he’s not calling us monsters,” adds Harper, quietly, with a grin.

“He only calls you that when you deserve it,” Eleanor says. “Which is frequently.”

“Uncle Seb’s our favorite uncle,” Hadley informs me seriously. “Uncle James is fun, but he’s always out on dates. Uncle Seb brings us presents from California all the time and lets us climb on him and doesn’t get mad when we mess up his hair.”

I try to picture the Sebastian I know being Uncle Seb to these two, who lets two little girls climb on him and mess up his hair. The image doesn’t quite compute with the monster I know.

But then I remember the way he kissed me this morning. Gentle. Exploratory. Maybe there were more versions of Sebastian Drake than I thought.

The twins grab my hands, one on each side, and start pulling me down the hallway before I can protest.

“Our room is the best,” Hadley says as Harper nods. “Daddy let us paint it ourselves.”

“It’s purple,” Hadley adds. “Really, really purple.”

They aren’t kidding. The room they drag me into is aggressively purple, from the walls to the curtains, even the bedspreads on the twin beds. But it’s also clearly lived in, unlike the pristine showpiece rooms of the other wings. Toys are littering the floor, drawings taped to the walls, books piled on nightstands.

A real kid’s room. Messy, colorful and full of life.

“This is great,” I say, meaning it.