Chapter Sixteen
Myles waited a beat and shifted to Brooke, locking in on her.
If Brooke hadn’t been trying to provoke her stepson and tear him down in front of Victor while building her own son up, Isla might have felt sorry for her being the subject of Myles’s withering glare, cold enough to make Isla uncomfortable.
The corners of Myles’s dark eyes crinkled as if his private thoughts amused him.
“I mean, Bennett has a lot to clean up right now at the Foundation, what with the loss of an employee at the LA office under Bennett’s leadership and all.
I truly aspire to be more like my overachieving little brother when I grow up.
” Then Myles raised his wineglass in mock salute before downing its contents, his expression remaining the same all the while.
Isla choked on the sip of water she’d drunk from the crystal goblet to keep from laughing and immediately wished she’d had more control of herself, because Brooke’s attention snapped to her with such ferocity—she was the easiest mark to pick on.
“It’s not like Bennett’s the only one missing from dinner,” Holland began, her voice suddenly shaky as staff swept in to switch out dinner for dessert, a raspberry torte that looked delicious. Isla couldn’t wait to dig into it, but Holland wasn’t finished.
“I don’t know why all of a sudden, but I wish Edie were here.” She peeked over at Isla, whose spoon stopped midway to her torte when she heard her name. “Maybe it’s because Isla’s here like Edie used to be.” Holland sounded so wistful, so sad.
There was an audible gasp from Brooke and a clatter as Jackson’s fork hit his plate. The mood at the table shifted from an impending duel between gladiators to a chilling frost.
Even Victor set the glass of water he was drinking on the table with a hard thud. Emotions filtered over his face as he breathed, and everyone waited for his next move.
Holland’s hand slammed over her mouth like she was stanching the flow of any more errant words.
Her eyes were wide and instantly apologetic.
The name, this Edie, had the power to send the room to subzero degrees.
Holland attempted to apologize, but the words died on her lips as she looked helplessly from him to her mother and then to Myles, who could only offer a wry smile in an attempt to make his sister feel a little better.
What if? Isla sat back in her seat, observing the group with keen attention, registering every stiff gesture and every tense expression they wore.
This Edie . . . the name sounded coincidentally, strangely, too much like Eden. What were the chances?
Victor stood, his chair scraping hard against the floor.
He tossed his linen napkin on the table.
Isla chanced a look. He was unreadable, a stony mask replacing all the unrestrained emotion from a second ago.
He rumbled out something about needing to make some overseas calls, an obvious excuse to leave early, and no one stopped him.
He left without another word, with Dixon close in step.
He regarded his daughter as if she had wounded him.
The air was thicker than the torte Isla wasn’t allowed to finish because the staff swooped in to take her plate too quickly, sensing correctly that dinner was over.
In the aftermath Isla felt like she was somehow to blame.
Even though Holland had uttered a name that seemed to be stricken from the Corrigan annals and could stop their world on its axis.
Was this Edie her Eden? Had she been Holland’s friend, a playmate, driven away because her mother had been fired by Victor Corrigan?
Was the reason Victor didn’t want her name mentioned that something bad had happened and everyone knew the answers except the outsider who wasn’t even supposed to be there?