Chapter 15
15
Wicker
“We pay people to clean. You know that, right?” I say as Verity steps out of the pantry with an armful of canned goods to add to the pile on the counter. When one starts to fall, I jolt. “Shit.” Reaching out, I snag it out of the air before taking a few more that look on the verge of toppling.
“Thanks.” Her smile is grateful.
“And we used to pay people. Then Pace fired them all—or locked them up—because he doesn’t trust them.”
“True.” I add the cans to the rest of the items she’s cleared off the shelves. “Doesn’t explain what you’re doing.”
She has her hair up today, but it’s messy and wild, which is fitting. She’s been a fucking tornado all week. I don’t know where the sudden surge of energy has come from, but I’ve grown fascinated by watching her zip-waddle around the palace with that spark of aggressive determination in her eyes.
“For one thing,” she says, dragging out a sack of flour, “Danner’s pantry looks like it hasn’t been cleaned out since before your father became King. I know you guys love your old shit, but I don’t think expired salad dressing qualifies as an antique.” I pick up a bottle of dressing, check the date, and make a face. Yikes. Arching a brow, she continues, “And for another, I realized we needed room for all the baby stuff.”
“Red, the baby has a whole room.” I hop up on the counter, my hip knocking over a few small boxes of antique cornbread mix. “Why does he need a pantry, too?”
She cuts me a look, like she’s unsure if I’m being intentionally dumb or naturally dumb. I give her an expression of pure innocence, but honestly, I have no fucking clue.
“Well,” she starts, using a slow voice she must use with the Dukes when explaining algebra, “there are things like bottles and formula, little bowls and spoons, bottle cleaners, whatever supplements Lex is surely going to?—”
“Formula?” I lean back on my palms, eyes darting down to her tits. “Isn’t that what those things are for?” My eyes are fixed on her chest and I don’t even try to hide the fact that I want them. They’re so full now, enough to cup one in both hands, and ever since I tasted the milk dripping from her tit I’ve wanted to do it again. That night had been such a rush for all of us, and given the chance, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. With the way her nipples tighten from me looking at her, I’m pretty sure she would, too.
Her cheeks grow the prettiest shade of pink. “Yes, but the moms at the shower were saying that some babies don’t take to it, or maybe I won’t produce enough, or possibly my nipples will get too sore—we just don’t know.” I frown and she sets two more boxes of crackers on the counter next to me. “It’s just best to be prepared for any circumstance.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him not taking to it.” I reach out and reel her in between my parted legs. “We all know the Ashbys are boob men.”
She rolls her eyes, even though that flush on her face deepens. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” I shrug nonchalantly, but my stomach feels like I’ve just taken a leap off the sheer cliff over the river, and when the hell did that start happening? “Or am I just a man who knows what he likes?”
My fingers curl around her ribcage, thumb rubbing under the heavy weight of her breast. Verity’s mouth parts, breath hitching. The need to taste her is intense.
“You know,” I start tentatively, feeling it out, “I did come down here for a snack.”
It’d be so easy to just pull down the front of her shirt and suck those pretty things until she feels relief.
Her eyes glaze over, but just as I hook my fingers into the neck of her tank top, she deflates. “No. We promised Lex this is something we’d only do with his supervision,” she says.
Fucking. Lex.
But she’s right. We did. And we have to be… what’s the word?
Responsible?
Ew.
She wriggles away, taking a wide step back from temptation. “If you’re going to keep distracting me with all your muscles and hair and mouth, then you can at least help me get the rest of this out of here. I’m pretty sure that bag of flour is older than I am.”
I grunt in disappointment but slide off the counter, adjusting myself in the process. She seems surprised when I don’t leave, instead opting to help her sort and remove everything from the pantry.
“What’s that up there?” she asks, leaning against the door frame and cradling the baby with both hands. “That brown thing?”
The ceilings are high and the top shelf is almost out of my reach, but pushing up on my toes, I catch the corner and grab it. It’s a wooden box, small yet big enough to require both hands. I carry it out and place it next to the other items from the pantry.
“I’ve seen this before,” I say, blowing a layer of dust off the top. “It’s Danner’s tea box.” Opening the lid, I’m greeted with the heady scent of trapped spices. The inside is divided into small slots, tea packages filling each one. Chamomile, peppermint, lemon-ginger.
Verity stretches her back. “Those are the teas he made me.”
A strange sense of wistfulness overcomes me as I run a finger down the packages. “Danner made the best night-time drinks.”
Verity pulls the box toward her and frowns. “It’s heavier than expected, right?” She tilts her head and touches a corner. She then pinches her fingers on one of the dividers and lifts. The tray moves. “Look,” she says, “there’s a second layer.”
“Or a secret compartment.” I help her lift off the entire tray. “Sure enough, secret tea.”
I’m joking, but the items at the bottom aren’t the pre-packaged teas from the store. There’s a small mortar and pestle, and bottles line the box, each with peeling labels on the side. A stack of thick cards rests against the back wall. Verity picks up one, squinting at the words, which are faded and in a squiggly cursive. I pluck up one of the bottles labeled in that same curled script. More old, weird shit. No matter how much Verity spruces, this house will never be rid of it. I drop the bottle back inside with disinterest.
“Can you read this?” Red asks, showing me the card. “Is that Danner’s handwriting?”
“Maybe.” Now, I squint, reading aloud, “Purple Mercy. Crush seeds—ten to twenty-five. Bring ten ounces of water to a boil in a saucepan. Add one tablespoon of fresh or one teaspoon of dried foxglove, reduce the heat, and simmer for five to ten minutes. Strain the tea into a cup with a sieve, add crushed seeds, and add honey to taste. Speak now a prayer for the fruitless...”
“Foxglove?” Verity rummages through the jars until she pulls one out with the name written on the label. “I think there’s some of that in the solarium. They’re pretty.”
“Pretty,” I agree, “but toxic.”
Her eyebrow raises. “How toxic?”
I take out another jar. “I’d have to ask Lex, but I think it can cause serious cardiac issues. And look, all of these are weird. Like this one?” I show her the bottle, giving it a rattle. “What’s he doing with wisteria seeds in his tea box?”
All of the pretty color in Verity’s cheeks drains away. “Crushed seeds,” she says, eyeing the bottle with wide eyes. “Wisteria seeds are poisonous. Why would Danner have such toxic things in his tea box?” The question hangs there until she stiffens. “How many nights did he bring me chamomile tea before bed, or lemon-ginger to help with morning sickness?”
“I think we need to talk to Danner,” I say quietly, dread building in my gut.
A prayer for the fruitless…
“When?”
I close the tea box lid, tucking it under my arm. “Now.”
We’re just outside Danner’s room when Lex grabs me by the arm, pulling me aside. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I know you’ve always had a closer relationship, but if this tea situation means what I think it does?—”
“I came to you,” I snap. “Immediately, I may add.”
Lex brushes his hair away from his face. He’d never admit it, but he wears it down specifically because it gives Red the warm tinglies. I can barely remember the last time he had it up. “I just know it’s been an emotional few months. Dealing with Father, learning about your biological family history, becoming a dad, and now Danner?—”
“Lex.” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice as I grasp him by the shoulder.
He gives my hand a baffled look. “Yeah?”
“I know you’re trying out this new thing where you try to feel your emotions and stuff, but now isn’t the time.” I nod down the hall where Verity and Pace are waiting. “This has been going on too long.” Obviously, longer than we realized. “Let’s go do this.”
Eyes rolling, he nods, both of us watching as Pace unlocks the door.
A moment later we’re all pushing into the room, Danner’s eyes lighting up when he sees us. “Boys.” His smile is weak. He’s weak. Or maybe that’s what he wants us to think. Maybe it’s always been some demented act. “And Princess. How marvelous it is to see proof of your creation. My dear, you’re positively glowing with life.”
From the way her attention shifts, it’s obvious that if he hadn’t spoken, Verity wouldn’t have seen him tucked away in the dim corner of the room. And not just because Pace has positioned himself between them. We haven’t allowed her to see Danner since the attack, but now, trying to view him through her eyes, I imagine it’s a shock. Danner’s always been old, like old-old, but he always managed his job with a certain grace and agility. Now, he’s a shadow of himself, pale skin wrinkled and withered. He seems smaller, but maybe that’s just the circumstances, an old man who’s finally about to have his reckoning.
Lex steps forward, lifting the box, and Danner’s expression instantly registers understanding.
“Ah, my tea box,” he says, reaching out with a shaky hand. “Belonged to my father.”
Lex sets the heavy box on Danner’s lap. “I’ve been running tests for weeks trying to figure out how the princesses died. There were no wounds, no bullet holes, signs of strangulation, or other trauma. It’s like they just faded away. But I realize I missed something.” He holds the old man’s eye. “Poison.”
“Purple Mercy,” Pace sneers.
“You were always a smart boy, Lagan.” He opens the lid and inhales deeply, expression softening. “I knew the day would come when you’d discover the truth. I just hoped I would be long gone before you did.”
“So you admit it,” Pace says, fists flexing. “You poisoned them.”
Danner nods, seeming more frail by the moment. I can’t tell if it’s a ruse or some kind of trick, because if what we suspect is true, then Danner isn’t just an accomplice to Father’s crimes.
He’s a perpetrator.
“How?” I ask sharply.
Danner removes the top tray to reveal the bottles underneath. “The nettle tea was my father’s recipe. It has many holistic purposes and anti-inflammatory properties and soothes a variety of irritations. It can also be used to encourage contractions, and over the years we attempted to assist princesses who were beyond their due date. Stinging Nettle, although a vicious little plant, was not used to harm those women.” He lifts another bottle out. “Purple Mercy had another purpose altogether. Think of me as monstrous if you like, but that’s exactly what it was.” He looks up. “A mercy.”
This seems to hit Verity the hardest, her eyes brimming with horrified tears. “But why?”
Danner looks tired, but he doesn’t shrink away from the question. “I already told you that he was relentless in his quest to create an heir, even if that meant using the failed princesses.”
“I think you mean to say we know he raped them.”
He makes a soft, dismissive sound. “I would argue that he was well within his rights as King and by the covenants signed when the girls accepted their role as Princess,” he waves a tired hand, “but that’s neither here nor there. What I didn’t tell you before was the conditions of their tenure. While I was up here helping raise you, he was down there, spilling his seed into those former princesses who wouldn’t produce him an heir.”
It’s Pace who speaks. “The dungeon. He imprisoned them in the dungeon.”
All my life, I’ve been told how despicable and deranged my own bloodline is, but this? This proves he’s worse than even Timothy Maddox. “Is that true?”
Danner nods, as if he’s pleased we’re finally unraveling the thread. “Naturally, he had to ensure any conception truly belonged to him. It was a very philanderous era in Forsyth history.”
“So you killed them to… what?” Pace asks, face twisted in fury. “Erase the evidence?”
Danner’s words are spoken with a patience that galls me. “I mean it when I called it mercy. None of them conceived because none of them could. In the chaos of his grief, Rufus kept trying, over and over, like a man possessed. He kept one of them trapped down there for a whole year. What else should I have done?” he wonders, head tilting curiously. “Releasing them wasn’t an option. They would have destroyed your father’s reign. But even if it were an option, there would have been nothing left of them. He blamed those women, treated them cruelly because he couldn’t accept the truth.” He nods, confirming all of our suspicions. “He’s the one who’s infertile. Well…” He beams at Verity, his wrinkled lips stretched grotesquely. “Mostly infertile. You were a miracle of miracles, my dear. Once he confirmed that you were his biological daughter, all of the rage lifted. The sun shone on his kingdom again. All of that angry determination turned to ash. He finally was at peace with having the chance at a new legacy.” He looks up, engaging Pace. “My only regret was not giving that tea to your mother soon enough.”
I sense Pace’s lunge before Lex does, which is probably for the best. If it were up to our brother, he’d let the red-hot fury in Pace’s eyes land on Danner like a hammer. I grab him before he can, hauling him back.
“You son of a bitch!” Pace roars, struggling against my hold. “I knew you were a conniving little fucking worm!”
And while I’m expecting all of this, I’m not expecting Verity to sweep forward, expression hard. “You love my father. I know you do. So tell us what happened to Odette, or I’ll go down to the dungeon right now and tell him you betrayed him.” It’s fucking genius, which is apparent in the way Danner suddenly expands.
His spine stiffens, straightening. “You wouldn’t deny an old man his life’s work.”
“I would,” she insists, voice full of steel. “I’ll say you spilled all his secrets. He’ll go to his grave believing you were disloyal.” Danner must see the credibility of the threat because his eyebrows crouch low in a glare. Red adds, “We already know she was a Princess,” and Danner grins.
“She was a handmaiden before she was ever a Princess.”
My hold on Pace goes slack, but he doesn’t move a muscle.
At all of our stunned expressions, Danner nods. “Oh yes, Miranda’s handmaiden, to be exact. They were the best of friends. She was a fixture to the family, after a time, not unlike your Miss St. James was to you. The bond between a Princess and her handmaiden is very special.” His expression turns pensive. “She aided Miranda in her conception of Michael, and then once Miranda gave birth, she saw to the boy day and night. Changed him. Fed him. Rocked him to sleep. Gave him medicine when he turned sickly. She mourned him almost as badly as Miranda did when he died.” Suddenly, he looks at Pace, frowning. “It’s a shame you never met her because I believe motherhood rather suited her.”
“But…” The wheels turn in my head, struggling to understand. “She became Princess.”
Danner purses his lips. “Miranda drafted her invitation to the masquerade herself. They wanted to be mothers together. And not long into Odette’s reign, she was confirmed to be pregnant.” He gives a slow, grim blink. “Unfortunately, that was the year the roses died.”
Lex’s eyes narrow. “You mean Michael and Miranda.”
Heavily, Danner nods. “Your father was overcome with grief, hardly able to perform his duties. I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it was for him to see such a creator thriving in his own home—and the creation not his own.” His eyes grow misty. “But even early on in the pregnancy, there was… speculation as to the potential father of the child. Odette was overly familiar with a member of the West End frat, which is something I’m sure all of you can appreciate, and she fell pregnant so soon that it hardly seemed likely to be by one of her Princes.”
“What did you do to her?” Pace snaps.
Danner balks. “Me? Not a blessed thing.” Here, he sighs, tugging a weathered kerchief from his pocket. “But Rufus wasn’t in his right mind back then.”
“You’re a broken record,” Lex spits. “Always making excuses for him.”
“You must understand,” Danner pleads. “He was a wild, enraged animal in those early years. I think he saw it as a grave disrespect to Miranda and Michael’s memories for Odette to have conceived under such illicit circumstances. It’s an affront to the institution of East End.” He twists the kerchief with his gnarled fingers, seeming to have difficulty with his next words. “So he locked her up. In fact, she was the first.”
Pace staggers back, eyes filled with horror. “No.”
“Yes,” Danner says, meeting his gaze. “She was locked down in the dungeon for her entire third trimester, and then…”
Verity lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. “Pace was born down there?”
Danner scoots forward in the chair, eyes beseeching. “He couldn’t let her keep you. It would have been unbearable to watch such a bastardization of motherhood in his state. He gave her a choice. Either they could both spend the rest of their lives in that cell, or they could both leave it—separately.”
“He wouldn’t let them out until she signed him away,” Lex guesses, snarling. “That sick son of a bitch.”
“After you were gone,” Danner says to Pace, “Odette and your father made a… mutually beneficial deal.” He gives the kerchief another twist, smiling at Pace. “I always thought you had her eyes.”
Pace’s hands ball into tight fists, jaw tight. “Is she dead? Did he use her and throw her away, just like all the others?”
Danner sinks back into his chair, shifting his gaze to the window. Outside of it, the wisteria has climbed the stone exterior, so thick that it obscures half the view. He watches as a passing breeze makes the petals shiver and sway.
“Perhaps,” is his dull answer. “Perhaps not.”
Lex and I share a glance, understanding that this discussion is roughly the equivalent of an old man’s deathbed confession. If there’s something else he knows—something he’s taking to his grave—then there’s no torture in the world that would get it out of him.
An hour later, Pace is still arguing against the truth of this. “We can still make him talk,” he reasons, stalking back and forth across the parlor we’ve retreated to. His eyes are full of rage, fists flexing. “We should put him down in the dungeon with Father.”
I sigh. “Dude, he’s like a million years old. We’d pull his tooth and kill him.”
“Then we start with fingernails,” he snaps.
Lex and I have never been able to relate to Pace’s dogged determination to find out who his parents were. We’ve always just known. They might be fuzzy and borderline mythical to us as adults, but we have a grasp on where we come from.
Pace deserves that.
Lex says, “I can’t tell you what happened to your mother, but…” He looks at Verity, and I see understanding dawn on her face. “But I can tell you what happened to your father. Your real father.”
Pace freezes, turning to meet my gaze. “What?”
Exhaling, Lex leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He gives his linked fists a long, considering look. “Remember when I took those blood samples from the West Enders?” The only thing that greets him is silence, and I watch as Pace hovers over him, brows knitted in confusion.
“You found a hit?” he asks. “Already?”
I raise my hand. “When the fuck did this happen?” Nobody keeps me in the loop anymore. Assholes.
“I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Lex explains, tossing me an apologetic look. “And you suck at keeping secrets from each other. Don’t,” he warns, “deny it.”
I roll my eyes.
Clearing her throat, Verity explains, “There was someone I sort of suspected. Someone I know. So, I asked Lex to compare his DNA with yours—just to speed things up and leave others their privacy.”
Lex nods. “And she was right.”
Pace sinks into the couch suddenly, my eyes tracking him the whole way. “Who is it?”
Verity straightens, voice reluctant. “You’ve met him, actually. It’s, uh,” she tosses me a nervous look, “Pauly. You know, from the gym?”
Pace’s face goes slack as he takes this in. “That guy’s my father?” he asks, but there’s not a trace of skepticism in his tone. He knows Lex would never bring him news like this without being completely certain. His brows crash together in a frown. “Does he know?”
Verity shrugs, a helpless tilt to her mouth. “I don’t know. I mean… I haven’t said or asked him anything.”
“We should go there,” I say, standing. Lex was right. This thing about keeping family revelations under lock and key? It’s bullshit.
Secrets aren’t the kind of power I want.
That’s Rufus’ MO.
“Pauly,” Pace says the name like he’s testing it out, rolling it around his tongue. He crosses his arms over his chest, and then uncrosses them. “Well.” He crosses them again. “Fuck him.”
Verity shoots Lex a stunned look. “What do you mean?”
Pace’s jaw goes tight. “I mean he fucking left us to rot here, so he can rot in West End.”
I watch, deflating as he storms off. When I turn my gaze to Lex, I raise an eyebrow. “Bet my secret family reveal with Remy is looking real smooth right about now, huh?”
Usually, after something unpleasant, I sleep like a baby. Torture sessions, nights out at Mayfield, championship losses. I chalk it up to years of desensitization. It’s hard to be upset when everything is upsetting.
But tonight, I’m wide awake, staring straight up at the ceiling and holding Verity a little closer than before.
I think of all the nights Danner tucked us into our beds. The way he’d keep the light on in the hall for Pace, or move Lex’s shoes out of the doorway in case he sleepwalked and stumbled. I think of the end of each day and the words I’d speak to his old, hunched, retreating silhouette.
Goodnight, Danner.
I lay there for so long that the overwhelming urgency I felt during her month in West End rises back up. It writhes inside of me, just like the monthly melon I can feel shifting in her belly. Like some incomprehensibly small appendage is reaching for me through her flesh.
It requires a lot of patience and care to slip out of bed without waking any of them. Once I do, I stand at the foot, assessing them all. As if sensing my absence, Lex rolls toward her, burying his nose in her hair. Pace is buried inside of her as she curls around the lingering warmth on my pillow.
It’s them I think about as I grab Pace’s T-shirt off the desk chair. While I’m pulling it on, in the muted darkness of this room I’ve come to see as safe and warm, it hits me that this isn’t all just temporary. The nursery is finished, and it’s been decorated with care—the kind you don’t just throw away.
As I walk down the hall to the security room, I try to think of the palace in this light. Home. With all its nooks and crannies and secrets, it doesn’t feel anything like the abomination I used to think of it as. It feels familiar and full of potential, and as I creep down the stairs to the kitchen, I do what Remy Maddox once accused me of.
I put dibs on it.
Mine, I think as I fill the kettle, and mine as I wait for the water to boil, and mine-all-fucking-mine as I pull the tray out of a cabinet, getting everything in order. I don’t have very far to carry it, and when I reach Danner’s door, I don’t even consider knocking.
When I walk into the room, he’s sitting up in bed, a book fanned open in front of him.
He doesn’t look shocked to see me. “You’re back, my boy,” he says, offering me that same soft smile I’ve known all my life. “I thought you may be the one to return.”
I set the tray down on his bedside table, making sure everything is prepared just-so. He’s done this for me—for my brothers, for Red—so many times that it twists something in my gut to realize how close any of us may have come to the end.
“We had a discussion after we left earlier,” I say, lingering at the foot of his bed. “They’re going to kill you.”
He doesn’t look surprised at this, either. “I suspected as much.”
I avert my gaze, wishing I could be stone like Lex, or angry like Pace. “My brothers are good at killing, as I’m sure you know by now. But the kind of killing they’re good at…” I shrug, accepting it at face value. “It’s not quick. That’s not what we were created to do. So I guess I’m going to give you something you probably never gave those women you buried out back.” I square my shoulders. “A choice.”
Danner glances at the tray. “I suppose you’re not here to set me free, are you?” When all I do is stare at the cup of tea, he nods. “So you’re going to kill me.”
“Don’t think of it as murder,” I say, voice clipped and crisp. “Think of it as mercy.”
It’s difficult not to see this as a show of weakness. The death I’m offering him—a death of his own making—is the easy way out. A Duke like Remy would shoot him in the head. A Baron like my father would cut him until there was no more blood left to give.
But blood means nothing in this family, and I’m not them.
“I used to think I loved you,” I say, looking around the squat room. He’s lived here longer than even Rufus has been alive. “You were the closest thing we ever had to a real father. A grandfather, maybe.”
Danner reaches for the cup. “Then I couldn’t die prouder.”
But I watch him take it, lifting the mug to his lips, and decide, “It was a lie. You were too loyal to him to defend us. To protect us. To save us.” I watch his throat swell with the first gulp, stomach twisting. “I wanted to love you because I wanted to be loved, and I didn’t know what it looked like—felt like.” With a speed I didn’t know he was still capable of, he tips back the cup and swallows the whole thing in three strong swallows. I exhale shakily, looking away, and he coughs.
“Whitaker, look at me.” His voice is thin and wan, and when I meet his gaze, he offers me a gentle grin. “Don’t despair over this. I’m not afraid. I’ve lived a long, loyal life, pledged to the glory of creation. I know you won’t believe me, but my actions with you and your brothers were true. I did my best to protect you from him, to heal your wounds, and to keep you fed and safe.” The cup rattles against the dish as he sets it back onto the tray. “I’m aware that what I did for you wasn’t enough, but I feel peace knowing that any one of Rufus’ children will be an excellent leader for East End.”
If I was expecting to feel triumph, then I’m wrong. Mostly, I just feel sad. Danner’s killed people, but so have we. There’s no mercy in what my brothers and I do. No special teas. No quick ends. There’s no satisfaction in watching this old, frail man grimace as the poison meets his stomach.
But I can’t trust him with my life anymore.
Not with my brothers’.
Not with my Princess’.
Not with my son’s.
When I place my hand on his, holding his foggy-eyed stare, I can only think of two words to part with. They’re the same words I spoke to him every night as a child as he tucked me into bed.
“Goodnight, Danner.”
He gives me a feeble smile, eyelids fluttering closed. “Goodnight, Whitaker.”
I leave the tray and the old man behind. When I close the door behind me, locking it, I’m thinking that when Pace and Lex come for him in eight hours, all they’ll find is a corpse. I’m so caught up in the notion that a shifting shadow across the hall startles me.
But as soon as my gaze jerks up, I catch the color of fire, Verity’s wild hair framing a pale face. “You didn’t have to do that alone,” she says, stepping into the light. Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. “How long will it take?”
Realizing that she heard the whole thing, I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. “Three, four hours, maybe.”
For some reason that I don’t quite understand, she approaches me like I’m a spooked animal. She takes these tiny, slow steps, her eyes never leaving mine, until she’s so close that the apex of her belly grazes mine.
Gently, she lifts a hand, placing a palm against my cheek. “You are loved, you know.”
Her eyes are so unbearably penetrating that my stomach clenches. “Sometimes…” I start, needing to catch my breath. “Sometimes it really fucks me up to know that everything I’ve come to love was given to me by Father.” I glance down at her belly, thinking even that hasn’t been untainted by his influence. But when I push my hand out, grazing against the heat of her stomach, I don’t feel the bitterness. “I used to wonder if it was even real, like maybe I’m just making the best of it, or maybe I’m so broken that I cling to the smallest crumb of warmth, claiming it like a parasite.”
Immediately, she insists, “That’s not true.”
“It was with Danner,” I argue, reaching up to take her face in my hands. I hold her there as I look into her eyes. “But it’s not with you.”
“I love you too,” she says, repeating what I didn’t exactly say, but she understood anyway. “And so will he.”
I’ve tortured the truth out of men before. Their deepest, darkest secrets. But Verity’s confession isn’t something forced. It’s what I’d hoped for, it’s something real, tangible. I kiss her mouth and take her hand, leading her away from what I accept as my past, instead guiding her back upstairs to our future.