Chapter 4
4
I leave the bathroom with my shoulders squared, wishing it felt less like marching to war. In the foyer, a man is in the process of hanging up a heavy winter coat. I slow as I approach. He has short-cropped hair and a craggy face. It might have once had the same boyish appeal as Connor’s, but it’s settled into something more severe. The click of my heels alerts him to my presence. He turns—and freezes.
“Who the hell are you?” he demands.
I blink, but don’t falter. I step forward, sticking out my hand, and smile with all my teeth. “You must be Connor’s uncle, Nick. I’m Theo. It’s so nice to meet you.”
I don’t know my real name, first or last, as hard as I have tried to remember. Sometimes I think I detect an echo of it, my head twitching around in recognition, but there’s no pattern in the syllables that trigger that little twinge of familiarity. When I was young, I tried on different names for a day or two at a time, hoping one of them would fit. Miranda and Abigail and Evelyn, Ann and Lia and Tara—none of them were me.
The Scotts called me Dora. Theodora Hosanna Scott, their gift from God, the child sent when they could have no children. Maybe to another girl they could have been kind, but I was too wicked from the start. It didn’t take them long to conclude that I wasn’t a miracle after all but devil-sent.
At least I’ve torn Theo free for myself—the Scotts always hated that nickname, too masculine. It’s almost enough to make it feel like I’m telling the truth when I introduce myself.
But with Nick Dalton staring at my hand like it’s a piece of uncooked chicken, the lie of it is as keen as ever.
I keep my smile in place, even as it starts to feel absurd, and then at last he stretches out a hand and closes it over mine. His grip is tight enough to hurt, but I don’t flinch.
“Theo,” he repeats.
“That’s right.” I’m relieved when he drops my hand. “Sorry if I took you by surprise. I don’t know if Connor mentioned I was coming.”
“You’re the girlfriend,” he says. I don’t correct him. “Where did you two meet again?”
“LA. We have some mutual friends at UCLA.” Meaning just Harper, but this makes me sound less like a complete loner.
“Right.” His brows draw together slightly. “Sorry, I forgot you’d be coming. Took me by surprise.”
“That’s okay,” I say. He wags his head, mutters something to himself I can’t hear, and then gestures toward the hallway.
“Sounds like everyone’s waiting on us,” he says, but stays put, forcing me to lead the way. I can feel his eyes on me as I make my way toward the dining room. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
When we reach the dining room, the appetizer course has already been served, and Nick isn’t the only new arrival—the wayward Trevor is here, his honey-blond hair flopped artfully over one eye and his shoulders stooped in an affected slouch. I find my place at Connor’s side as fresh introductions are made. Across the table, Nick’s eyes keep finding their way to me. I pick at the food.
“How was the drive up?” Alexis asks Trevor when the introductions are done.
“Lovely,” he says with a treacly smile.
“You have your license back, then?” she asks pointedly.
“Yup. All sorted out,” he replies, not breaking his tone. “How was your trip, dear sister?” He reaches for the bottle of wine that’s been left at the table.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Nick asks.
Trevor pauses, hand still outstretched. For an instant, anger glints. Then he shrugs. “I was going to offer it to Theo. May I?”
Entirely aware that I’m caught in the middle of things, I tick my chin down enough to approximate a nod, and Trevor fills my glass with exaggerated care. “It’s so good to have a sister who looks out for you,” he says as he returns to his seat. His siblings are both tense, Connor’s jaw clenched so tight I can see a tendon twitching.
Magnus clears his throat. “Alexis, I’ve been meaning to ask—how is Sebastian liking the new school?” he asks.
Conversation after that is blessedly free of tension, light family catch-up that doesn’t involve me. The conversation bounces around the table at a velocity I find borderline dizzying, with threads of old conversations picked up and dropped again before I can begin to discern the context. Even Louise Dalton smiles and laughs as she asks about Sebastian’s latest antics, and there’s a gnawing feeling in my stomach, emptiness food can’t fill.
I think of heads bowed around the dinner table. Utensils clinking in strict silence— seen, not heard, do not speak unless spoken to —and a child sitting in front of a plate of stewed greens for an hour, two hours as they turned to cold, congealed slime.
Clear your plate, Dora.
I threw it against the wall. I was always an ungrateful child.
Irina returns with a solemn black-haired young woman I assume by their near-identical features is her daughter. They clear the plates, mine with hardly a bite taken, and replace them with the main course—venison in blackberry wine sauce, roasted vegetables on the side.
“Have you ever had venison before?” Alexis asks as I look down at my plate. The smell is mouthwatering, but I think of the creature on the road, the resignation and the fear in its eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “Did it come from the property?”
“Shot it myself,” Mr. Dalton says. He slices into the steak. The meat is rare, the interior a deep red. The juices pool. “You’re not squeamish about that sort of thing, are you?”
I cut into my own meat, compress my lips into a smile. “Not at all. I’ve done a bit of hunting myself.”
The old man looks surprised. “Really. I thought you were one of Connor’s poetry types. Eating granola and quoting Joyce.” There’s a spark of humor in his eye.
“I do that, too,” I reply, and he laughs before taking a bite.
“Not much deer hunting in Los Angeles, is there?” Nick asks.
I lift my fork to my mouth to buy myself time. Something about Nick’s gaze unsettles me. His eyes are the same shade of blue as Connor’s, but cold.
Connor knows a few broad details of my life. I have not lied to him—much. He’s smart enough to guess there is a reason I don’t talk about my family, and kind enough not to tug at the stitches holding those wounds shut. “I grew up in Washington,” I say, as I did before. Most people will hear that and think of orcas and the Space Needle, not a stretch of sagebrush scrub and scablands spitting distance from the Idaho border.
“Is that where you’re from originally?” Nick presses.
“Until I left for college.”
“I was just in Seattle for a conference last month,” Alexis says. “Lovely city.”
“It is,” I say. I’ve been there only once. Connor is perfectly aware which side of the mountains I grew up on, but he sips his wine and says nothing.
“You won’t be staying in LA, will you?” Alexis asks. “You’re moving back to New York, right?”
“We haven’t talked about it yet.” Connor sounds uncomfortable.
“I imagine there are a lot of things you haven’t gotten around to talking about,” Alexis says, and then looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you did,” Mrs. Dalton says. “They’re rushing into things. The girl is drinking, so I assume that’s not the reason why.”
It takes me a couple of seconds to understand what she’s saying, and I just about choke on a blackberry. “No,” I say quickly. “I’m not—we’re not—”
Connor covers my hand with his on the tabletop. “We just don’t see the point in wasting time when we both know what it is we want.”
“I think we all know what she wants,” Trevor mutters—under his breath but loud enough for everyone to hear it, the implication clear. A rich man rushing into love is a fool. The woman on the other side of the equation is something else entirely. Paloma adjusts the napkin tucked into Sebastian’s shirt while Alexis becomes absorbed in the task of refilling her wine.
Nick Dalton stares straight at me.
“I proposed to your grandmother after two weeks,” Magnus Dalton declares. “Married four months later. I agree. No sense waiting around if you’re sure. Of course, that was because she wouldn’t let me sleep with her before she had a ring on her finger. I doubt you have that problem.”
“Magnus,” Mrs. Dalton says in a voice that could freeze the ocean, but he just laughs, dragging a chunk of venison through the juices on his plate.
“No, that’s definitely not a factor,” I say cheerfully. Alexis coughs. Trevor guffaws.
Magnus jabs his steak knife toward the blushing Connor. “I like a girl who can stick up for herself. But you be careful. They run your life.” At his wife’s warning look, he adds, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
After that, the subject drifts blessedly away from me as Alexis starts talking about her business trip, which leads to talking about the family business—something about tariffs and a big deal they’re trying to land. I catch the phrase Eastern markets and little else I can decipher.
There’s a lump in my throat. I down a too-large swallow of wine to dislodge it. As I set the glass down, Connor’s pinkie nudges my arm. He catches my eye and tilts his head. Hanging in there? the look says. I take another sip, locking eyes with him, to answer. He stifles a chuckle. Alexis’s voice brings my attention back to the conversation. “We’re going to have to build another cabin now, you know,” she’s saying. “I mean, I assume Trevor doesn’t want to bunk with Mom forever.”
“It definitely makes it harder to bring home all the girls I meet out here,” Trevor replies. Alexis snorts.
I do a mental count in my head. “Aren’t there five cabins, though?” I ask. There should be enough for everyone without Trevor and his mother sharing one.
There’s a pause. The silence holds weight I can’t fathom, a strained quiet no one seems willing to break. Mrs. Dalton’s silverware clicks as she sets it down. “Technically, yes,” she says. “Five cabins were built originally. But only four have been maintained in recent years. The fifth is in quite poor repair.”
At that moment Sebastian begins to cry, great wailing sobs that make everyone at the table flinch.
“Sorry! I just told him what venison is,” Alexis says, patting his head frantically. “I thought he already knew.”
Sebastian’s tears don’t stop until dinner is cleared away—and we nearly have a repeat a few minutes later, narrowly avoided when Paloma thinks to reassure him that the chocolate mousse is not an animal.
I’m relieved when the dessert course is done and my interrogation has remained minimal.
“We’d better get Bastian to bed,” Paloma says. She has been quiet most of the meal, tending to Sebastian while Alexis chatters.
“You go. I’ll stay a while,” Alexis says, and Paloma’s mouth purses before she nods. Alexis is pouring another glass of wine. I’ve lost count of how many she’s had. Suddenly it occurs to me with apprehension that the end of dinner may not be the end of the visit.
“I think we’d better get back to White Pine,” Connor says, putting a hand on my arm. “It was a long drive up. We’ll see you all tomorrow.” He’s already rising, not giving anyone the chance to extend a forceful invitation.
There is a flurry of farewells, and the next thing I know I’m pulling on my boots and coat at the door, Connor adjusting my scarf at my neck.
“There you go. We survived round one,” he says, his voice a low murmur.
“How did I do?” I ask.
“Granddad likes you,” he says.
“He wasn’t the one I was worried about,” I remind him. He wraps the end of the scarf around his hand once, twice, until it’s pulling me toward him. My body fits against his, his nose nearly touching mine. I breathe him in. He smells of expensive wool, of cedar and winter air.
“The only one you have to impress is me, and you’ve already done it,” he whispers.
“Connor.” We spring apart like guilty teenagers at the sound of his sister’s voice. Alexis has appeared, her gait slightly unsteady, the corner of her lip smudged with a stain of wine. “Can I steal your fiancée for just a moment?”
Connor looks at me for approval before he steps away, lingering just out of easy earshot. Alexis regards me. Her thumb massages the pad of her opposite hand, a not-quite-nervous gesture.
“I’m sorry about what I said earlier, at dinner,” she begins.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It has all happened very fast. I’d be worried if you weren’t worried, honestly.”
She grimaces. “We can be protective. You should have heard the grilling Grandma Louise gave Paloma when we got engaged,” she says. “At least you’re the right gender this time around.” She smooths over the bitterness in her voice by flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “Part of it is just—they tend to judge people by their families? So you’re a bit more of an enigma to sort out.” Her tone is overtly sympathetic, but probing.
When people hear that my parents are dead, they want to know what happened, but they don’t want to ask. That fear of being awkward is one of the main reasons I’ve gotten away with lying for so long.
For a moment, I consider telling her what not even Connor knows. I’m not an orphan at all. I’m a devil-child; my parents are alive, they just don’t want me.
But the moment passes. It always passes—every time the words push themselves up my throat, I swallow them down again.
“You know, I feel like no one’s going to say it—I mean, other than Trevor—but I know you’re all worried about it, and I promise I’m not with Connor because of his money,” I say instead.
Alexis’s eyes widen. “Oh, no no no, we wouldn’t… okay, yeah, we would,” she says, covering her mouth as if shocked at her own words.
“Not that I’m complaining about the money, either,” I add, a little daringly.
“Ha,” she says, more of a declaration than a true laugh. “You know, I think I’m starting to like you. But watch out. Hurt my baby brother and I’ll turn on you in an instant. We Daltons don’t fuck around.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Her expression grows serious. “I just want to see Connor happy again. He hasn’t been for a long time.”
“Really?” I ask, and at the genuine surprise on my face, she cocks her head curiously. “It’s just—he’s never struck me as unhappy.”
“Maybe that’s because the whole time you’ve known him, he’s known you,” she says. The next thing I know she’s giving me a hug, the glimmer of unspent tears in her eyes. “Oh no, I’ve had too much wine and now I’m getting all weepy. I’m glad you came, Theo. I can’t wait to get to know each other properly.”
She relinquishes me back to Connor’s care. I find myself stumbling as we leave, a pressure in my chest easing up.
Maybe this can work. If I have Alexis on my side, and Magnus—maybe I can win them over.
Maybe I can have this. Have him.
Connor’s fingers lace with mine. I glance back over my shoulder, toward the lodge. There’s someone standing in front of one of the massive picture windows, a drink in his hand, watching us go. Trevor Dalton—Connor’s brother.
He meets my eyes. He smiles, slow and lazy. And he shakes his head.
I turn quickly away and pick up my pace.