He wouldn’t dignify that with a response.
Now her eyes implored him. “I beg you, Nick, on your mother’s love for me, do the right thing.”
He knew his facial expression hadn’t changed, outwardly resolute, but it was a different story inside. Emotions that he wasn’t accustomed to slammed him, one after the other. Pity for the woman in front of him. Injustice that he and Jordan should pay the price for their fathers’ sins. And anger that Elanor obviously had no intention of broaching the subject with her daughter. That meant it was up to him. If he agreed to her demands, if he agreed to finish it, he was the bad guy.
He couldn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet, not without a fight. Hadn’t his mother been on the mark? Want something you shouldn’t. Take something you have no right to. He raised his chin. “I’ll talk to Jordan. We’ll decide.”
He reached for the door handle but she laid her hand flat on his arm. When he looked back, the respectful demeanor of a minute ago had lapsed into ominous regret.
“Then you leave me no choice but to take this information to your father.”
Nick settled back in the seat, rallying for another blow. Randall would hate it, there was no doubt about that. He needed to prepare the ground first.
“Nick,” Elanor said quietly, “you’ve worked hard to get where you are, yet still your father stalls about naming you as his successor.” She paused, building the tension. “You being involved with the daughter of his most bitter enemy would be a big strike against you, wouldn’t it? He’d wonder about your loyalty.”
Nick said nothing but silently agreed. Loyalty was a favorite catch phrase of Randall’s.
“One strike against you in this situation is bad enough. Two might just tip the balance.”
Nick frowned. What did she mean? A fatalistic sense of foreboding stabbed him at the sympathy in Elanor Lake’s eyes.
“What’s the other?”
“You’re not his natural son, Nick,” she said quietly. “You’re not even legally adopted.”
Eleven
Nick drove straight home after leaving Elanor’s car and took his birth certificate from the safe. His mind soared with relief. She was lying. It was a bare-faced lie by a bitter woman intent on having her own way. Obviously Syrius didn’t hold all the vindictive cards in his family.
But still, something inside him continued to niggle. He drove to his parents’ house and asked the housekeeper where the family photos were stored. It was a standing family joke that if it moved, his mother photographed it. Nick spent hours poring through boxes and albums, searching out familial similarities. Nothing conclusive came of it. He was bigger, broader than his brother. His facial features were thicker than either of his parents, while Adam bore a striking resemblance to his mother. Coloring and eyes were similar enough to all members of the family to reassure him.
His scant relief receded when he opened a pack marked Pregnancy and flicked through tens of snaps of his mother during pregnancy but they were all dated 1979. Adam’s year of birth, not his. Feverishly, Nick went through the rest of the box but was unable to find one picture of his mother pregnant in 1975.
He drove back to the office, told Jasmine he was not to be disturbed and sat there for the rest of the day, building up a good head of steam.
Had they treated him differently? He racked his brain for childhood memories. Nick was the eldest, mature beyond his years so he got lumbered with most of the chores and was expected to keep an eye on his younger brother. Elder kids always thought their younger siblings were spoiled and he was no exception. But one thing about Adam, he followed Nick around everywhere, “helping” him, he’d say.
The bond was real between the brothers, but he wondered about his parents. They weren’t the hands-on parents of modern times because they’d always put career first. Randall worked tirelessly building up his financial business while Melanie ran her dance studio six days a week. Public—or even private—displays of affection were rare.
He checked his watch for the umpteenth time. This rated as the longest day of his life. No matter how often he cautioned himself not to jump to conclusions, something told him Elanor had spoken the truth. Recent events backed it up. His mother leaving the share package to Adam, her natural born son. His father wanting Adam, his natural born son, to run the company.
The moment Randall returned from the court, Nick marched into his office, threw the birth certificate on his desk and demanded the truth. Randall insisted on knowing who he’d been talking to; when Nick told him, he blanched and did not deny it. And Nick faced the fact that up until now, his whole life had been a sham.
Two years after their marriage, the Thornes were told that they could never have children. Coming on the heels of the accident and Syrius’s decree that banned Melanie from seeing his wife, Nick’s mother fell into a state of deep depression. Randall, acutely aware of his business reputation, ensconced her in a luxury villa in one of Sydney’s beach suburbs and commuted between Wellington and Sydney every other week.
Deeply depressed and lonely, his wife befriended a pregnant and unmarried housemaid. The next thing Randall knew, they had arranged an illegal adoption. Much money passed hands. Melanie even procured a forged birth certificate naming the Thornes as parents. Nearly a year after she’d left, Melanie returned to New Zealand with Nick in her arms. The couple maintained that he was their own miracle child. Four years later, against all odds, Melanie became pregnant with Adam.
“Did you know about this?” Nick asked Adam, who’d unwittingly walked into the tense confrontation.
“God’s truth, I didn’t,” Adam assured him. “But it doesn’t make a scrap of difference. You’re my brother, Nick.”
“Nor to me,” his father said shakily. “Blood or not, you’re my son.”
“I want details,” Nick declared. “Names, dates…”
“What’s the point, Nick? We raised you as a Thorne, loved you from day one. Why rake it all up again?”
“Afraid you’ll go to prison for fraud, not to mention buying a baby?” Nick looked at him scathingly, then immediately felt wretched. He softened his tone. “I’m going to Sydney tonight rather than Wednesday. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I need the address of the villa, her name, her lover—my father’s—name, the dates she worked there…”
He wondered if his birth parents had ever contacted the Thornes again. Had they ever wanted to see him, or was it all about the money? Nick wondered what he was worth. “I see now why you want Adam to run the company, not me.”
He heard Adam’s sharp, indrawn breath, but his eyes were on his father’s pale face.
“That’s not true,” Randall’s voice implored him. “Not just Adam, not just you. Both of you.”
Nick saw a world of fear in Randall’s eyes. How long had he worried over this day?
Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to say “Dad.” Not yet.
“Nick, my feelings remain the same in regard to the company—and you.” Adam lounged in his chair, seemingly relaxed but his expression was bleak, his face as pale as his father’s.
Nick stood abruptly, knowing he had to get home and pack for the flight he’d booked earlier. “I’ll be leaving for the airport in about two hours. Call me with those details.”
“I’ll come with you,” Adam said quickly, rising.
Nick stopped and turned to face his brother.
Not his brother. Not even his legal adoptive brother…“This is something you can’t help me with…”
“But…” Adam looked as stunned as Nick felt and it hit him a vicious blow. They were close, always had been. They even looked like each other. God’s little joke…All these years, they’d believed in that blood bond, enjoyed each other’s company, missed each other when they were apart. Would this revelation dent or change their relationship? How could it not?
Nick reached out and patted Adam awkwardly on the arm. “Thanks anyway, but I’d prefer to do this on my own.”
Jordan left the courtroom on Monday, disconcerted about Nick’s absence. When he didn’t show up for the rest of the week, she began to worry. Which days had he said he’d be away? She’d been half asleep when he’d kissed her goodbye.
Calling his office was out and he didn’t answer his cell phone. Not wanting to be labeled a nag, she decided against leaving a message but her unease grew with each passing day.
When he stood her up at the hotel on Friday, her miserable confusion gave way to anger. Was he just playing with her? Surely she wasn’t alone in thinking they’d forged new ground last weekend in the Sounds.
Heedless of being recognized, she inquired about the booking. “I’m sorry, the booking we have for Room 812 was cancelled on Monday,” the receptionist said and looked at her with such pity that Jordan hurried out without another word, feeling quite ill.
Come to think of it, she’d felt unwell yesterday, too, but passed it off as nerves. A fleeting thought that she might be pregnant crossed her mind but she dismissed that. Nick always used protection, even though she was on the pill.