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From the moment our eyes connected in Violent Delights, this woman saw to the core of me, pushing past my defenses and forcing me to face the truths of my life.
I wished I were more like my siblings. They’d washed their hands of anything to do with the Pierce family and bore no guilt for doing it. Grandmother Josephine had asked them for the same promise of looking after and keeping in touch with Stuart. They’d agreed as a gesture to her, not because they had any intention to follow through.
Then again, Sean was the spare, and Claire was the girl. Neither of them had the pressure of being the heir to the empire. I’d lived under the thumb of the narcissistic asshole, father, and son duo, who drilled it into my head that I was responsible for their legacy.
“I have no idea why I kept returning to that damn jail every few weeks. Everyone we knew had washed their hands of him. All except my grandmother.” I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “He put her through hell. He used her wealth, abused her, cheated on her publicly, killed his mistress, went to jail, and she still forgave him.”
Instead of saying anything, Sophia wrapped her arms around my waist, drawing me closer to her. Having her pressed against me calmed the rage brought on by the memories.
“He didn’t deserve her,” I said against the top of her head.
“But you did. Your grandmother stepped in when you lost your mother.”
“She was more than a grandmother to Sean, Claire, and me. She’d not only raised us but took the blows meant for us. Alcoholics only wanted a target for their rage, so she made herself available to protect her young grandchildren. She should have been the one to live into her eighties, not this fucker.”
“I wish I could say something to make it make sense, but I can’t. I’m constantly questioning why things work out the way they do.”
“You may not always tell me everything, but you never lie.”
“There is only one thing I haven’t told you, and it was because I made a promise long before I met you.”
Yes, the reason why her alibi for the night of the designer Keith Randolph’s murder had a huge hole. Whoever she protected had meant more to her than her freedom.
She slid her palm up between us to cup my face and then lifted a brow. “Annoying, isn’t it when you’re in the dark about the person you love?”
“Point well made, Ms. Morelli.” I brushed my lips across her forehead and then rested my chin atop Sophia’s head. “Is it wrong that I felt nothing but justice when I sold the company out from under Stuart while he rotted in jail?”
“No. If it helped you heal from your childhood, I say more power to you.”
“I’m not sure it did. I used the excuse of the promise I made to my grandmother as the reason for ten years of prison visits, but maybe I put up with his crap hoping one day he would admit just once that he was wrong for what he’d done to Grandmother Josephine.”
“I’m sorry. Men like that have too much pride to lower themselves to take accountability.”
“What now?”
“You tell me. Why did you come here, Sophia?”
“To be here for you. Nothing more.” She stepped back, holding my gaze. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”
“Then I take it that this isn’t a reconciliation.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I stated my terms in my studio. We can’t move forward until you accept them.”
“You know all my secrets now.”
“Not really. Perhaps in the future.” She offered me her hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere, so chaotic it will make it easy to forget about all of this for a little while.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sophia
Damon peered down at me as if uncertain of what I planned for him. Our dynamic always had him in charge, knowing what to do and where to go. The control being in my hand more than likely set him off kilter.
Seeing his hesitation, I asked, “Do you have a wake planned?”
