Epilogue 1
Victoria
“Are you certain we have to be on time? I vote for fashionably late.” Asher stares hungrily at my dress, like he wants to tear it off.
“There are many people to meet for both of us,” I remind him pointedly.
Reynard’s engagement party brings high-powered individuals from all around the world. It comes as no surprise that Asher’s grandparents and brother are counted among them. I knew in theory that he comes from great prestige; seeing it in reality is a different story.
Asher’s parents regrettably didn’t make the cut, but he doesn’t seem broken up about it, or in any particular rush for me to meet them. Likewise, I’m in no rush for him to meet the man who gave me half my DNA… but nevertheless, I don’t think I could bear going to the engagement party without him.
We flew in two days before the event. One full day was spent with my mother, who now has two nurses attending to her at all hours of the day and night. She was surprisingly lucid throughout the day, and was more than excited to meet my beau, as she calls Asher.
She’s also painfully aware that her mind is failing her—I could see it in her eyes.
I took the day, filled with enjoyment and conversation, as a gift from a higher power.
I don’t know how many of those she has left, and getting to spend one of them with her and Asher, the two people I love most in this world, is a priceless gift I could never repay.
“Fuck them. We should stay here tonight.” Asher flutters his fingertips over the nape of my neck, and goosebumps erupt over my arms.
“Be good,” I warn him, turning around. This dress isn’t conducive to a bra, and I forgot to bring nipple covers, which means he can see my body begging him not to be good.
“Why?” Asher cocks an eyebrow and leers at my chest.
I smack his in return. “Stop. We’re already late. Hunter sent a limo for us—it’s waiting downstairs.” I sidestep him and pick up my silver clutch and matching shawl from the table, wrapping the shawl around myself and tucking the clutch under my arm. “We have to go.”
Asher’s expression sours at the mention of my brother. While the two tolerate each other, I’m under no illusions that they’ll ever get along or become friends. Hunter has told Asher repeatedly that I’m too good for him; Asher has told Hunter repeatedly that he couldn’t give less of a shit.
“We should take a cab instead.”
“Play nice tonight,” I warn him. The prospect of meeting his grandparents and sharing a room with my father, not to mention all of my half-siblings, is daunting.
“Fine.” His jaw tightens. “But, I’ll warn you in advance, I’m fucking you extra hard when we get back.”
“Promises, promises.”
The party sprawls across the ground floor of one of Reynard’s estates, which looks like the lovechild of a luxury magazine.
Soaring ceilings, walls of windows overlooking manicured grounds lit by landscape lighting, and enough white marble to build a Roman bathhouse.
Everything is tasteful in that aggressive, billionaire way: enormous floral arrangements in crystal vases, a live jazz quartet tucked into an alcove, waitstaff in black circulating with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres that look more like art installations than food. It’s beautiful.
I hate every square inch of it.
The only upside is the company. Asher’s grandparents are lovely; his grandma more so than his grandpa. We spend the better part of an hour chatting everything from industry to politics, and I do my very best to make them like me.
Hunter decides to cut in and pull me away while Asher’s grandfather is grilling me on my algorithm. He pulls me to the bottom of the marble staircase leading to the second floor.
“He requested twenty minutes,” Hunter tells me, nodding at the staircase. “He’s waiting on you.”
“You cannot ambush me like this,” I hiss. “I was talking with Asher’s family—”
“Yes, it looks like it went very well. Now it’s time for you to talk to your family.”
My spine snaps straight. “You don’t get to use that line on me. That man is not my family.”
“No, but he is in the top twenty richest people in the world.” Hunter looks like he’s hiding an eye roll. “Go secure your trust fund and inheritance.”
“I don’t need it!” I snap. Several people in our vicinity turn to look at us, and I recover with a wobbly smile.
I love my brother—truly. But, times like this I want to smash his head against a wall. He could’ve given me a heads up that he’d planned an aside for me and Reynard in the middle of the man’s engagement party, for fuck’s sake.
“Maybe not, but it couldn’t hurt.” Hunter gives me a long look. “If not for the money, then go get some closure, or whatever the fuck it’s called.”
“I don’t need closure!”
“Then why are you yelling?”
“I’m not fucking yelling!” I whisper-shout.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “Go or don’t. I’m bored with this conversation.”
Despite his boredom, he doesn’t move. Merely stares at me until my posture slumps. “Fine,” I say. “Just a few minutes.”
“I knew you’d see it my way.” After a stop by the bar for a glass of wine, which I clutch with a death grip, Hunter leads me through the crowd, up a set of marble stairs, and into the quiet of the second floor.
The noise of the party drops away, replaced by the soft creak of hardwood floors and the muted hum of conversation drifting up from below.
Up here, the hallway is wide and dimly lit—dark wood paneling, a runner rug that my heels sink into, and a curated row of abstract paintings spaced along the walls.
It’s quieter, more private, and unmistakably personal.
Two glass doors lead to a spacious balcony, where Reynard stands, head tilted to gaze at the moon.
“Break a leg. Or don’t.” Hunter walks away, leaving me alone with the turmoil swirling in my belly and confusion swarming my thoughts.
I vacillate over whether to step onto the balcony or turn around and go back downstairs for a full minute before gathering my courage and opening the glass door. The cool evening air drifts over my skin, and I tighten the shawl covering my chest and shoulders.
The balcony is wide, more of a private terrace.
It’s stone-floored, with wrought-iron railings wrapped in string lights that give off a soft, warm glow.
Beyond the railing, the estate’s grounds stretch out into the dark; manicured hedges, a lit pathway winding through the vibrant gardens, a distant shimmer of a pool or fountain catching the moonlight, and the faint scent of freshly cut grass wafting through the air.
Reynard stands at the railing overlooking the estate, but he turns around at my entrance. His hair is silver threaded through with black, his eyes are that unique grey that he passed on to both me and Hunter, and he has the build of an athlete, even late in his fifties.
He regards me with vague curiosity and a flicker of warmth in his eyes, along with an air of… if I didn’t know better, I’d call it uncertainty.
I regard him with open distrust and barely-masked disdain. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” he says amiably. “I understand Hunter might’ve… strong-armed you a bit.”
“My brother has tried to strongarm me many times. His success rate would not impress anyone.” Even though he did succeed tonight, I don’t want to give the impression of being weak.
Reynard smiles vaguely. There are wrinkles around his forehead, eyes, and mouth that the tabloids fail to capture. He looks… weary, for lack of a better word. Slightly tired. But his eyes still shine with a brightness, a thirst to experience life, that many people lose early on.
“I’m unsurprised.” He sips his bourbon, and I do my best not to chug my muscat. It’s a challenge. Standing on a balcony with the man who led to my conception, though that’s the first and last thing he did for me, is surreal.
“You bargained a great deal to get an audience with me,” I point out, fighting to keep my voice calm. “We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years. Why go through the effort?”
“About that.” Reynard taps his glass against the balcony railing. If I didn’t know better, I would think that the tech mogul was nervous. “Would you humor me as I tell you a story? It’s quite near to my heart, and I hope it helps shed light on the circumstances of our estrangement.”
“I think I’ll need more wine than this to get through it.”
“I’ll send for a bottle.” Reynard smiles, and gestures to the two cozy armchairs surrounding an electric fireplace. “Please.”
I seat myself, drawing a cashmere throw blanket over my legs. Spring is approaching, but it’s a chilly evening. Reynard calls a waiter out, sending for more alcohol; the young man returns with a selection of bottles before I can fully settle in.
Reynard dismisses him, and takes his time popping the cork of a vintage, sparkling moscato that probably costs more than my rent. He pours it into a fresh wineglass and sets it in front of me before he takes a seat.
It probably doesn’t look good to have two filled wineglasses in front of him, especially considering how many of his kids are known for their alcohol and drug addictions. “I’m not an alcoholic,” I blurt.
“I’m well aware.” He seems amused. “On the contrary, everything about you suggests you’re a workaholic. Not unlike me.”
We stare at each other in silence for a while. Finally, he begins speaking.
“I have many, many flaws. Among them is a difficulty to commit to relationships. I could bore you with details of a broken childhood, but I don’t think either of us have interest in that conversation, so let’s leave it at the obvious—I have a knack for infidelity.”
“It wouldn’t be infidelity if you didn’t marry every woman you knock up.” I don’t bother masking the reproach in my tone, uncaring if it’s inappropriate.