She quelled him with a look. “Now then. I do not expect any of you to live here year-round, although, if that is your choice, you certainly may. Either way, there is a trust in place to take care of maintenance and the taxes.”
Lucian and Anton exchanged a look. I knew Lucian well enough to understand that neither man would dip into those funds to pay for Rosemont. They were both wealthy enough to take care of the place themselves. As for Tina, I had no idea what she would do. But she immediately brightened.
“I’d like to live here.” She turned to Lucian and Sal. “If that’s okay with you two.”
Lucian’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Sweetheart, you heard Mamie; it’s as much your place as it is mine.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been living here for a while. I don’t want to step on your toes.”
“You asking me?” Sal laughed faintly. “I’m still trying to pinch myself.”
“Here, let me help.” Lucian made as if to pinch Sal and was promptly swatted away. Lucian chuckled, but it quickly died down, and he shifted in his seat. “Thing is, I’m not going to be at Rosemont for a while.”
“Oh?” Amalie sent a knowing glance my way, as if she’d been expecting this. I wanted to crawl under the table. She was oh-so wrong. “Do tell, Titou.”
Lucian cleared his throat, took a sip of iced tea, then cleared his throat again. “I’ve been asked by the Caps to come in and see about playing for them again.”
It was as if a bomb had gone off, and the table exploded.
“Are you fucking insane?”
“Luc, no!”
“Madre de dios.”
“Non! Non, non, non!” Amalie emphasized each no with a smack to the table. Tears swarmed in her eyes. “You cannot, Titou. You cannot.”
Lucian thrust his chin up and out in that dogged, determined way of his. “Mamie, I can.”
Her eyes flashed. “Just because you can does not mean you should.”
“Nothing is set in stone. They want to see how I do, and I’ll get to see how I feel back on the ice.”
“You promised me, Lucian.” Her voice cracked at his name, and she glanced away.
“I know.” Lucian’s jaw worked. “But I have to do this for myself. Not for you or anyone else.”
I cringed when they turned their outraged glances on me.
“Don’t look at Emma like that,” Lucian said in a hard tone. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
That hurt more than I expected, and I ducked my head, my fingers twisting in the linen napkin on my lap.
“I will not be party to this,” Amalie said, rising. Her voice shook as she glared at her stubborn, proud grandson. “I love you with all my heart, but I will not watch you destroy yourself.”
She walked away, and I saw something crack in Lucian’s eyes. But he didn’t try to stop her. I understood then that Lucian would never beg for affection or understanding. He didn’t know how.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Lucian
My news went over about as well as I’d expected it to, which was to say spectacularly badly. Even after expecting the reaction I got, it hurt. My chest felt like it was caving in; my stomach twisted and burned.
One by one, they left me at the table, their bitter disappointment clear and cutting. All of them except Emma. She sat quietly at my side even now, her slim shoulders slumped.
“Well,” I said. “That was some shit.”
She didn’t say anything for so long I thought she might have been ignoring me, but then she swallowed audibly and lifted her head. Her indigo eyes were filled with sorrow. “What did you expect?”
I flinched, hating her disappointment most of all. “About what I got.”
She snorted eloquently but said no more.
I shifted in my seat to face her. “Just say it.”
Some color found its way to her cheeks. Good. I wanted a fight.
“What do you want me to say, Lucian?”
“Anything. The truth.”
“You don’t want the truth.”
I pushed back from the table. “I know you’re all worried—”
“No,” she cut in sharply. “We are terrified.”
I took the hit and breathed deeply. She didn’t understand. None of them did. “I want you to be proud of me.”
“I am. In so many ways. You’re smart, multitalented, dryly funny, and so very strong. You’re a fighter, Lucian. I admire that so much in you.”
“Then how can you not see that this is me fighting? I’m climbing back to the top.”
Her hand gripped the edge of the table as she leaned in. “You’re clinging on to an ideal. That isn’t fighting. That’s desperation.”
She pitied me. That was worse than any anger she could have thrown my way. It clung to my skin, smothering me.
“Fucking hell,” I ground out. “And you claim to know me? What do you know of loss? You came here to hide away after one small setback. You still have your career.”