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I scrubbed a hand over my face, mind racing. “We can’t let that happen. What will happen to Thatcher if the truth comes out?”
“Jail time, most likely.” Ellington sighed heavily. “But we can’t do that to Gwen and Seraphina either. Dad knows people, we can work this out.”
“We always protect Fifi,” I murmured. It was Zane’s mantra since we met the St. Clairmonts.
“Maybe the old bastard will show some honor for once and confess,” Ellington said without much hope. “Either way, we need to have a family meeting about this. Figure out our next steps.”
* * *
(Now)
“Why would you take the blame?” Seraphina’s voice wavers, her eyes sparking with a combination of fury and disbelief.
“That’s not exactly what happened,” I reply cautiously, my gaze fixed on her intense expression. I have to tread carefully, especially when it comes to talking about the deceased. “But your dad made sure to fuel the rumor mill, convincing many—including my father—that I was at the controls that day.”
Her nostrils flare, her hands clenched into tight fists. “You should’ve stood up for yourself,” she hisses, the weight of her glare nearly knocking me off balance.
“If I had, my dad would’ve sent Thatcher straight to jail,” I say, my voice edged with regret.
Her face reddens, anger evident in every line of her features. “He would’ve deserved every second of it,” she snaps.
“We wanted to?—”
“Protect Fifi,” she cuts me off sharply, her tone dripping with bitterness.
“And your mother, too,” I add, hoping to find a sliver of understanding.
Some of her anger dims at that. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Why did the engagement rumors continue?”
I hesitate, exhaustion creeping over me. I want this conversation to end but I know we have to push through. Everything has to come out today before we can move on to what really matters: our children.
“Your dad kept spreading the narrative that Iris and I were together, engaged even after her death.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension knotting there. “He wanted the world to see her as he did—perfect.”
“Why didn’t you stop it?” Seraphina demands.
“The moment I pieced everything together was the same moment you shut me out, both from your house and your heart,” I admit, a pang of regret hitting me. “By then the damage was done. Your parents had you convinced it was all my fault.”
I touch my temple. “Losing our bubble, facing reality—it unraveled my mind. My best friend was gone, but I was still here. I couldn’t handle the losses.” I meet her gaze. “And well, you know what happened after.”
Seraphina looks away, anger morphing into sadness. “I’m starting to really hate my father,” she confesses, rubbing her forehead as if trying to chase away a headache.
A sudden thought seizes me. “The kids—they didn’t have much contact with Thatcher, did they?”
“He met them a few times,” she says carefully. “None of the visits were pleasant, so I avoided him as much as possible.”
I exhale in relief. But then recall the twins’s words. “Ary and Ewan said he was mean to them.”
Seraphina nods, fresh pain in her eyes. “As I mentioned, he didn’t see them often. But he could be very cruel. I assure you that I did everything I could to shield them from him and what I thought was bitterness at the loss of his family.”
Since we’re on the subject of the kids, I have to ask, “Have you talked to them about me?”
“Often,” she says. “They’re hopeful you’ll get better soon.”
“I’ll always be a recovering addict. The cravings will still happen.” I meet her gaze directly. My hand clenches instinctively, the old cravings stirring as the anxiety increases. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this is almost over. Nothing bad can happen, she already hates me and might continue for the rest of my life. Her feelings are something I can’t fix, but I can figure out ways to have a good relationship with my children.
“But I have a strong support system now,” I add, after I calm down. “Including my brothers. I’m committed to this.”
Her next question catches me off guard. “Have you spoken to your dad yet?”
