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There was such a deep-seated sentimentality to his words. They felt so personal, and a hundred things I'd overlooked clicked into place at once.
Bastian had feelings for me. Old and deep ones. He must have for some time, though we hadn't spent any real time together in years, and never without Dante.
Dante. So that's where the resentment for his half-brother came from. Not from some family rivalry or Durant snobbery. It was always about me.
"I'm so sorry," I said to Bastian, and it had too many meanings for me to ever articulate.
"I want you to be happy," he said simply. "I want you to finally get back what was stolen from you."
That was impossible, but even so, his sacrifice was significant. Life changing.
Unacceptable.
"Don't you feel a little pathetic blackmailing someone into marrying you?" I asked Tiffany.
"Winning doesn't make me pathetic."
Jesus, some people you couldn't even insult.
"No." I was shaking my head. "We can't let you do this."
"You also can't stop me," he said it with resigned bitterness. "This is a part of the solution that cannot be screwed up. Without Tiffany, all of the rest could easily get away from us."
He had a very good point. But it was so wrong. He deserved so much better.
I swallowed the bitter pill and tasted it all the way down.
"We have two confessions. And a witness," he said, as though that settled it all.
"You should have been a lawyer," I told him.
"Yeah probably," he agreed with a sad smile.
It took me a minute to catch it, but then, "Two confessions?"
He was back to studying my face intently as he said, "Yes. Two. Adelaide incriminating herself in the death of Gram. And, I'm sorry I'm the one to tell you this, there's no easy way to say it, but also, your grandma."
I was so confused I thought I'd misheard him. "My grandma?" The words made no more sense to me when I said them.
"Yes. Glenda's going to confess to killing Detective Harris. In self-defense."
If Dante hadn't still been holding me, I thought I'd have needed to sit down. I doubted I was holding any of my own weight. "I don't understand," I said finally. Nothing made sense.
"This can no longer be used to hurt you, to be held over your head, if someone else confesses to it. Glenda has agreed to confess. We worked on the story. It doesn't incriminate you in any way. You're free and clear."
I realized suddenly that Dante had had no reaction to anything for quite some time. He'd known most of it. I shouldn't have been so shocked by that.
Actually I wasn't. I was still just reeling from the idea of my grandma doing something completely selfless that would help me.
"Why would my grandma do that?" I asked no one in particular.
Bastian cocked his head to the side. "To help you. To keep you from being on trial yourself." He looked away, appearing suddenly uncomfortable. "Again, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you. She wanted me to, though, actually. She said she hates doing things like this herself. But . . . she's been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Late stages. Her doctor's given her six months to live, perhaps a little longer. She's willing to spend that time on trial, in prison, however it goes, if it means you'll be free of the burden. Again, I'm sorry to have to tell you like this."
I didn't know what to say. What to think. "Why would she do that?" I asked again. It didn't match up with anything I knew about her.
"She wants to help you," Dante said into my ear. "She's sorry for the way she treated you. She's stopped drinking, and while no one will ever accuse her of being a pleasant woman, she's not as awful as she used to be. She does love you, Scarlett. In her own way, she does."
"You did this," I said to Dante. "You talked her into this."
