The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

Royce stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You’re giving me the house? You’ve lived here your whole life.”

“You’re starting a family, and it should be here. If my moving out makes that possible, I will be fine.” I adjusted my sleeves and fiddled with a cufflink. “I’m not giving the house to you, though.”

His thought was plain on his face. Ah, there it is. “What do you want for it?”

I paused. “Lucifer.”

Now he was sure I’d gone mad. “You want my cat?”

“He’s my cat now.”

“What the fuck is happening?” He glanced around, perhaps looking for hidden cameras or to see if he was still connected to reality.

“I didn’t want to, but I’ve grown quite attached to him.” It’d been six months since the cat had come into my life, and now I couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

Like Sophia.

“Talk it over with Marist,” I added. “If Lucifer doesn’t handle the move well like last time, I’ll bring him back.”

He blinked slowly, considering it. “She told me you were different, but I couldn’t trust it.” It was almost as if he was talking to himself. “I was sure it was more manipulation, but . . . you are different.”

“I’m trying to be.” Since we seemed to be talking so openly, I decided to risk it. “May I ask you something?”

He nodded, but his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Whatever expression was on my face had him worried.

My breathing went shallow and my voice low. “Was Vance in love with Alice?” It was a question that had haunted me every day since the balcony. “I need to know if I accidentally killed the woman my son loved.”

Royce exhaled loudly with surprise. “No.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t in love with her.”

He looked at me with sad understanding, as if realizing I’d carried this fear for so long it’d begun to crush me. And now that the weight of it was gone, I became so light it was difficult to stay stable. The world threatened to hurl me off it.

“He cared about her,” he said, “but I don’t think he could love her. She was too in love with you.” His shifted with unfamiliarity. “None of us are any good at this kind of thing, but you should talk to him. He’s ashamed, and he wants to apologize . . . I’m just not sure he knows how.”

“Since I’d never taught him.” I’d only recently learned myself. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay, good.”

He resumed walking, and I joined him, and it was . . . not unpleasant. For the first time in ages, the tension between us wasn’t stifling.

“Can I ask you something?” he said. “Are you in love with Sophia?”

I pulled up short. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you’re different, and I think that’s her doing.”

Resignation filled my voice. “I went away for two years.”

“True. Except you didn’t start changing until you’d been home for months. That’s why I’m wondering if you’re in love with her.”

Tightness constricted my chest. “She told me she hates me.”

“All right, I get it.” Royce smiled widely. “If you didn’t love her, you would have just said so.” His eyes lit with amusement. “But you didn’t answer my question either time I asked, did you?”

TWENTY-EIGHT

SOPHIA

MARIST’S DARK GREEN HAIR COLOR WAS FADING, and I wondered if she’d waited to touch it up until after the family portraits.

“Penelope said the shoot went well,” I told her.

I didn’t mention that my friend had sent me some of the raw images to look at. Penelope had snapped some great pictures, but I preferred the ones of Macalister I’d taken without his knowledge. I had a few stolen away on my phone he didn’t know about, like the morning before Royce had interrupted our breakfast.

“Yeah,” Marist said. “She did great.”

The marina clubhouse restaurant was busy for it being a Wednesday night. There were people waiting for tables, but one of the perks of being friends with a Hale meant you never needed reservations.

I was a little surprised and a lot suspicious when she’d called and asked if I wanted to grab dinner, but I’d said yes. Since quitting abruptly on Macalister, I’d been stuck at home, bored to tears. I was toying with the idea of going on a month-long solo vacation once I was feeling better because if I stayed in Cape Hill, I’d break down.

I couldn’t be here when Damon Lynch won the election.

And I certainly couldn’t bear to see Macalister Hale. Penelope’s pictures of him smiling had been a dagger to my heart. How the fuck could he smile, when all I felt was this constant ache, both physically and metaphorically?

“So,” Marist cut into her steak, “I have a secret to tell you.”

My suspicion increased ten-fold. Royce had played matchmaker with his father and me. Was he getting his wife to do it this time? I asked it with guarded interest. “Oh, yeah?”