Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
My heart is racing, but I know this is the right choice, and right alongside my panic, a tendril of hope blooms.
Alec pulls eggs from the fridge. “I have an appointment for a massage this afternoon, but if you stay, I’ll have her work on both of us.”
I laugh. “Another massage? I think I’m set for a while after the one you surprised me with at the hotel.”
“What do you mean?” He frowns. “I didn’t get you a massage.”
“Remember? You called ahead, and . . .”
Alec’s face is blank.
Oliver. Shit. I should’ve known that “anonymous gift” had Oliver written all over it. How did he know where I was staying?
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “I just assumed it was from you. Maybe it was a gift from The Rage.”
He grins. “I wouldn’t be surprised. They know they’d be lucky to have you. They should treat you like a queen.”
“I sure hope so,” I say weakly. “How can I help?”
“You can wait in the family room,” he says, messing with the coffee pot now. “I’ll bring you a fresh cup of coffee and get breakfast on.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d like to stand here and watch him work, but I can’t be still right now, so I roam toward the cozy room just off the kitchen. Cream couches with fluffy cushions are arranged in a U around the massive stone fireplace. Unlike the foyer, which made me feel uncomfortable in its grandiosity, this space is all about warmth and comfort. I wander around, looking at the artwork on the walls and the knickknacks on the sofa table and wondering which pieces Alec picked out and which are remnants of his mother’s and grandmother’s style.
I’m just done admiring a bronze sculpture of a dancing woman when my gaze snags on a photo perched on the sofa table.
My lungs stop working. I’m not sure my heart is beating.
I recognize everyone in that photo. All four of them. Alec, Rose, Cheryl, and the man Oliver had me con.
“Savvy, are you okay?”
I blink toward Alec. He’s bare-chested and smiling, walking toward me with a cup of coffee.
“Who’s this?” I’m breathless, but I try to swallow back my panic. I point to the picture. Maybe he’s a family friend. Maybe it’s not a genetic resemblance but one of those things that happens after you spend a lot of time with a person. “This man standing by your mom?”
He cocks his head to the side, like this is an odd question, and my heart sinks. “That’s my dad. Why?”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Because I know him. Because I stole from him.
That wink. That’s why Alec’s wink seemed so familiar to me. I’ve met his father.
Alec’s father. Oliver’s father.
“Savvy, what’s wrong?”
He lied to me. I didn’t know. I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “You look like him.” It’s true. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now. But I haven’t thought much about Charles in eight years.
“That happens when someone is responsible for half your DNA.” He winks, and my stomach turns sour. Don’t do that. Please.
“Were you close to him?” I ask. Why am I still talking? I need to get out of here.
“Yeah. Mostly. I think we would’ve been closer as adults, but we never got the chance.” He extends a mug toward me.
I take it, but there’s no way I can drink what’s inside. Not when the contents of my stomach are pure acid and already threatening to crawl up my throat. “When . . . when exactly did you say he died?”
He stares into his coffee, either remembering or doing mental calculations. I can’t be sure. “It was eight years ago.” He glances toward the picture. “He’d gone to his New York office, and—” There’s nothing but pain on his face, but he clears his throat and shakes it away. “He was sick, and like with everything else, he was determined to go out on his own terms. Don’t say anything about it in front of Mom. We don’t talk about that day. I think she could’ve forgiven him for giving up, for choosing not to fight the cancer, but that same day he died, he had a woman in the apartment with him. Grief and betrayal make for terrible bed partners.”
“A woman? Like, a friend?” The hope in my voice is impossible to miss, and I need to shut up and get out of here before I vomit all my secrets on the floor.
Alec sighs. “You know my father wasn’t the most faithful man. My half-brother is the most obvious evidence of that. But when my mother got pregnant with me and my father moved back home, he promised he wouldn’t stray. Then one day, Mom’s getting a call from the staff at his New York office telling her they found him at his desk unresponsive. We took the first flight we could and went straight to the hospital.” He stares into his coffee, seemingly lost in his memories. I’m grateful he’s not looking at me. I’m terrified that if he did, the truth would be written all over my face. “He’d had a massive pulmonary embolism—a complication from lung cancer. He didn’t stand a chance.”