the massive staircase. He mounted the stairs, taking each meticulously, before reaching the landing where the stairway split to the left and right. Taking the left-hand direction, he again took the stairs carefully until reaching the thickly carpeted hallway.
Thankfully, his father preferred to keep his study near the front of the house. Nathaniel wouldn’t have to delve deep into the west wing in order to meet with his father. He needed only walk the handful of yards to the set of double doors that led to his father’s spacious study.
He took a moment outside the door, gathering himself before raising his hand to knock. The motion was interrupted by his father’s swift bid for him to enter, voice curt. Trying not to read too much into the tone, as that was just his father’s normal speaking voice when he wasn’t being the genial politician, Nathaniel grabbed the handles and pushed his way into the room.
“You’re later than I expected,” his father said by way of greeting.
Nathaniel entered the room, passed the small sitting area beside a fireplace for mingling, and the lines of books on shelves his father had probably never read. He stopped before the massive desk where his father sat in his straight-backed chair, bent over as he studied something on his computer intently.
“I took my time with the displays. I wasn’t aware you wanted to speak to me,” Nathaniel offered in explanation.
“The art of the former Atkins boy,” his father said simply.
Nathaniel hesitated before deciding that perhaps honesty was best. “In truth, Father, I hadn’t known it was Theo’s work.”
“Your ignorance of its source does you little credit. I know you’re more observant than that,” Dane Carter told him, leaning back in his chair. “Though I will admit, it is a little troubling that the work of a man well-known for flouting dignity and propriety should speak to you.”
Well, perhaps honesty hadn’t been the best course, but Nathaniel hadn’t been all that good at lying, to begin with. It didn’t help that his father was unusually good at knowing what Nathaniel was and wasn’t doing, at least for the most part. And Nathaniel certainly didn’t appreciate the not so subtle jab at his tastes either.
“My appreciation of the style is simply that, not indicative of anything else, Father,” Nathaniel said quickly, wishing he could at least grit his teeth as he spoke. “You have no need to worry about me.”
“Really? I think history proves otherwise.”
It was said so simply, and Nathaniel had to fight the urge to turn his gaze from his father. Dane Carter never shied from expressing the multiple ways his eldest and only son had failed him over the years. The latest, falling behind in his schoolwork, was just seen as one more example of how Nathaniel couldn’t be trusted without his father’s close inspection.
“Perceived reality is not an indicator of pattern or habit,” Nathaniel told him, choosing his words with precision and care.
The older man leaned back in his seat, watching Nathaniel shrewdly. For a moment, Nathaniel was awash in a wave of disgust as he realized how alike the two of them were. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him, but she had managed to pass on the apparently vibrant hazel eyes she had possessed to her only son. The rest, however, came from his father. There was the sharp, angular jawline, the easily furrowed brow, the thick black hair, and even the shape of their body, broad at the shoulders and narrowing rapidly as the line was traced down their body. Save for his eyes, he was a stunning physical replication of his father.
God, he hoped he never looked at someone he supposedly loved with such disdain.
“Just so long as we do not find ourselves repeating history in….certain ways,” his father said with extra emphasis. “Then we should be fine. Yes?”
Nathaniel offered his best smile. “Of course, Father.”
It had seemed like such a grand victory at the age of fourteen. Telling his father that he should be placed in a public school, to understand the very people he would one day have to represent. The logic had been sound, even as he’d secretly wanted the freedom of something other than the private education he’d grown up with.
How easily it had been thrown away when three years later, he had befriended another boy. More than befriended, really. Nathaniel knew their feelings for one another had been so much more than friendship. Before they could do anything other than start