Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

As Atlas guides me deeper into the house I begin to wonder if this was a good idea after all. Here we are in his big dark mansion.

Alone.

Anything could happen.

But do I want it to?

As I feel the electric touch of his hand on mine I realize I do. I want to know what it feels like to be with Atlas Steele, not as a foggy memory, but as someone he loves and cherishes.

As soon as we enter the kitchen, he begins opening cupboards and looking in the pantry and fridge for supplies. "Do you like omelets? I know you probably haven't had dinner, but I feel a bit more like breakfast and eggs are easy and quick to cook."

When he sees my approval, he begins chopping and dicing. I try to help but he slaps my hand away.

Kissing me gently, he orders me to sit down at the little eat-in kitchen nook while he cooks for the two of us. I'm about to say no, but the look he gives me makes everything in me clench.

"No," he insists leaving no room for argument. "I'm treating you."

When the omelets are done, he sets them down with a flourish bowing over his handiwork. They are beautiful. I take a small bite and moan at the buttery goodness of perfectly cooked eggs. His whole face lights up when he sees my appreciation. He brings his seat close enough to mine that our legs touch as we sit together.

It is so quietly domestic and intimate sitting together, sharing a meal.

"This omelet is amazing," I compliment him and his cheeks redden. "Why do you know how to cook when you have others who can do this for you?"

"Can't a person have interests and hobbies? Is it really so weird that I can take care of myself?"

"But you grew up here," I twirl my fork in the air to signify the manor. "This place looks like something out of a period romance where everyone attends balls and holds fans," I laugh.

He chuckles. "True. We have had a few balls here over the years. But there is one thing you are wrong about," he smiles wistfully. "I wasn't always rich. The first twelve years of my life were rather ordinary and boring. My mother insisted that I learn how to cook. Even little Clark was invited into the kitchen to learn

the basics. She insisted that no child of hers not know the basics."

"But didn't your grandfather build Steele Industries? You were born in the late eighties, after the big fashion boom. Your father and mother would have benefited too, right?" I ask, curious and confused.

"My father wasn't in fashion," Atlas explains as he finishes up his meal. "Here," he scoops up my plate and places both in the sink. "Let me show you."

He takes me to the living room and he pulls an old photo album out of a dusty corner of a tall bookshelf. In our five years together, I never once spent any time in this room. Usually, I was off in town or spent time in my suite.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

Atlas plops down on the couch next to me and opens the old leather tome. "I brought these old albums with me when Clark and I came to live with Grandpa. I didn't want to forget them once they died.

He flips open the book and shows me pictures of his mother and father. They looked happy together. "They met in college. They were both studying biology and organic chemistry. They had dreams of saving the world."

Atlas points to a picture of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair standing to a handsome, swarthy gentleman with tan skin and large blue eyes. They are both wearing lab coats and standing underneath a sign that reads "Steele Labs." Her belly is visibly round and she is smiling up at her husband with pure devotion, a sparkling emerald comb in her hair. Atlas is standing next to his father, wearing a little lab coat of his own.

I touch the picture and Atlas places his hand on mine. look up to see his eyes sparkling with so many emotions. Love but also sadness and pain.

"That's the day they opened their lab. They were working on a cure for a rare form of lung disease caused by a mysterious virus. My parents were convinced there was a genetic component, and they were working on a cutting-edge gene-editing therapy to cure the disease in infancy. My grandmother had lost several children to this virus and my father was motivated by her loss."

We flip through several more pages of the young Steele family doing regular middle-class things: A trip to Disneyland, bike rides through Yosemite, and picnics in Malibu. There are even a few pictures of Atlas milking a goat.

On the last page is a newspaper clipping dated June 1, 2003.

"The bodies of Jaxson and Suzanna Steele were found in their lab yesterday, just two days before their new treatment was to go live in world markets.

Their treatment, Pemdex, was just steps away from entering its trial period. All records and evidence of the treatment are missing along with 100,000 in cash. Early reports confirm that they were killed by an unfortunate chemical leak due to poor storage protocols, some claim that it may have been corporate sabotage gone wrong. The investigation is ongoing. Police ask that anyone with information call the LAPD's tip line.

They leave behind two sons, Atlas age 12, and Clark age 5."

Atlas closes the book. "Dad's death broke Grandpa. He was his only surviving child. He and Grandma had tried so many times, but he was the only one to survive, only to die the day before he was to start testing the cure that could have saved his siblings," Atlas sighs. "Oh Atlas," I'm not sure what to say. I have all my family, as fractured and messed up as it is.

"I've never shown anyone else this album," he confesses. "I haven't even looked at it myself since college. I...," A tear rolls down his cheek as he places a hand on my belly. "I wish they could have met you. My mom would have liked you."

Sitting up, it is now my turn to comfort him. Kneeling on the couch so that I can reach him, I wrap Atlas in my arms and kiss his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Atlas."

"Don't be," he smiles: He kisses my belly before pulling me into his lap. "You're my family now."