early?"
Backing off from him, I shook my head
numbly. I wasn't Pa's daughter. Pa. A scumbag
Casteel.
"You said your father hated you, hated you
from the day you were born. Heaven, it is entirely
possible, Leigh being what she was, that she told your
father she was pregnant before she married him. And
now I am certain about who you are. It's your hair,
Heaven, and your hands. Your hair is the same color
and texture as Troy's, and your hands and fingers are
shaped like his. Like mine. We both have the Tatterton fingers."
He spread his hands, displaying his long,
tapering fingers, before I gazed down at mine. They
wer
e the same hands I'd seen all my life, small with
long fingers and long oval nails--and half the women
in the world had hair my color. Nothing exceptional.
And I'd always believed Granny's hands would have
looked like mine if she hadn't kept them working
slavishly most of her life.
Stunned and aching, sickened almost into
vomiting, I turned and left his office. Stumbling up
the stairs and into my room, I threw myself on my bed
and cried.
Not a Casteel? Not a no-good, rotten, scumbag
Casteel with five uncles imprisoned for life? Tony strolled into my bedroom without
knocking, to perch lightly on the foot of my bed, and
this time his voice was soft and kind: "Don't make it
so difficult, darling. I'm so sorry to ruin your romance