Until You

"Manuel?"

"The guy who's doing the Chrysalis ads."

"Yeah, well, what does he know? He's probably got a boyfriend." Conor hesitated. "Miranda? When you were telling me about de Lasserre—you said something had happened, years before."

"Did I?"

Conor felt her sudden tension. He had the feeling she was on the verge of shoving him away and fleeing.

"What happened, Miranda?"

"Nothing."

"Sweetheart, if somebody hurt you..."

She pushed free of his arms, just as he'd expected, and rolled onto her back.

"It isn't worth talking about, Conor. It was so long ago."

He felt the coldness growing inside him. He sat up and switched on the light.

"Who was it?" he said. "What did he do?"

Miranda turned away from him and dragged the blanket almost over her head.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered. "Please, it doesn't matter anymore."

In that instant, he knew.

"Hoyt," he said softly, and the sound that burst from Miranda's throat gave him all the confirmation he needed.

Conor closed his eyes. He could see Hoyt's patrician face, hear that oh-so-cultured voice explaining how close he and Miranda had once been, how he'd painted the portrait of her, the one with that sad, haunted smile...

"Son of a bitch!"

"Conor, don't."

"That goddamn son of a—" Conor roared with pain and rage. He flung back the covers, shot to his feet, and smashed his fist into the wall. "That fucking piece of shit! I'll kill him. I'll beat the crap out of him first and then I'll put my hands around his throat and—"

"No!" Miranda flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I beg you, don't do anything."

"Goddammit, Miranda!"

"Listen to me. Please. Sit down and just listen."

He felt like a coiled spring, tightened to the breaking point, needing to release all the energy stored inside him before it exploded. But this had been her pain long before it had been his, so he sucked in a couple of lungfuls of air, let her take his hand and tug him down to the edge of the mattress beside her.

"He never really—really did anything to me. He looked at me. Touched me, but he didn't actually..." She licked her lips. "I was too young to understand what was happening but I knew it wasn't right. I told him that, and he said that he was my daddy now and that he loved me."

"Miranda, dammit, I know you want me to be calm and hear you out, but don't you see? I have to kill him. He deserves killing."

"I was going to tell Eva. But I didn't have to, because Eva—because my mother—"

"Because she what?" Miranda bowed her head, and Conor felt as if he were going crazy. "Are you telling me she knew?"

She nodded, and then she looked at him and her chin took on that defiant tilt that struck him now as the saddest thing he'd ever seen.

"I told Eva I didn't want Hoyt to tuck me in at night anymore. She said that was nonsense. She said I was an ungrateful brat, that every little girl in the world wanted a stepfather as kind and generous as Hoyt."