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It feels like she just throttled me, but I force down the wanting and the harsh bite of disappointment. And I get out of the car and circle around to open her door.
“Mrs. Royce?” I hold out my hand.
She goes rigid for a second, then says, “I think I prefer Queen Ruthie.”
She laughs as she takes my hand, and I try to laugh with her, but I know, with a sense of clarity that hurts, that I’ve truly fucked myself over this time.
I won’t ever stop wanting her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Shane
“How did you two meet?” asks Hilda, otherwise known as Mrs. Legal Beagle. She’s a nice enough woman, although she errs on the side of saccharine, just like her husband. I wouldn’t be surprised if she carries candy in her purse on the off-chance she might come across a crying child.
Freeman rented out a private room in the restaurant. There are high tables and appetizers that get cycled around every five to ten minutes, as well as glasses of champagne brought around on circular trays. By my count, Ruthie’s had two, maybe three. I’m guessing she’s drinking to drone me out.
She’s been snippy with me ever since we got out of the car. Maybe she’s mad at me for toeing the line she drew last week. Or maybe it was being called Mrs. Royce she objected to. There’s no knowing, because we haven’t been able to talk privately, which is inconvenient, because the only thing I really want is to get her alone.
It doesn’t help that I can’t keep my eyes off her. The dress is even sexier when it’s not half covered by a coat. She looks like the queen she called herself in that slinky red dress that has the nerve to cover up a good portion of her body but the good grace to do it in a way that shows more than it hides.
But Josie and her boyfriend haven’t shown yet, so we’ll likely be here for at least another hour. The other attorneys are present, except Daniels, who’s still off living his best life somewhere. Michael greeted Ruthie with interest but thankfully said jack-all about the not-so-fake rings. He’s proven to be both competent and discreet. He’s also put in the legwork of contacting the first round of Josie’s witnesses, several of whom he quickly identified as liabilities.
It’s an Italian restaurant, and the whole place smells like tomato sauce, a scent memory that has me on edge. When I mentioned the smell to Ruthie, she shook her head with a small smile and told me I’m probably the only person in the world who objects to sauce. I didn’t bother telling her that I used to like it just fine.
“Well,” Ruthie says to Hilda, giving me a sidelong look that promises trouble. “As it happens, we do have a funny how we first met story.”
“No really,” I say, putting an arm around her waist. “I’m her brother’s best friend.”
Ruthie pouts at me, then turns conspiratorially toward Hilda. “You know, I carved our initials into a bench when I was ten. But he thought I was a pest back then. I heard him talking smack about me to my brother, and it broke my heart.” She waves a hand. “But that’s how it is when you’re young. Your heart gets broken every five minutes.”
My heart feels like it stopped beating for a second. Because I can tell from the slight quaver in her voice that it’s true. Or at least my gut tells me so.
Distantly, I hear the door opening, but I don’t swivel to look at the latest plate of appetizers or champagne. My attention is so utterly Ruthie’s that I temporarily forget Hilda exists. Ruthie’s lips are parted slightly, and there’s a look of remembered hurt in her eyes.
“You never told me that,” I say.
She lifts onto her toes and bops my nose with her finger, as if we’ve been transformed into those children again. Ruthie, the little ten-year-old pest who kept following Danny and me around, when the last thing I wanted to do was take care of anyone else. I was doing enough of that at home. “You never asked.”
“Where?” I ask, my voice ragged. Because even though it shouldn’t matter, I want to see the proof that I mattered to her once. That I meant enough to her that she wanted to make the evidence of it permanent. I wouldn’t have cared then, if I’d known, but I care now.
“The safe place,” she says in a whisper, and that’s a real gut punch. I know the safe place. It’s a lookout in the mountains where Danny always goes when he needs to get away from everything. He’s brought me there before, and I know he used to take Ruthie. To tell her it was a place where their parents’ chaos couldn’t touch them.
And she wrote my initials there…
“Ruthie.” Emotion pounds through my veins.
“Goodness,” Hilda breaks in, the interruption nearly making me growl. “How romantic that you found each other again later in life. How did it happen?”
“Well,” Ruthie says, turning toward her. “He got so blind drunk he puked on me.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” I comment.
“You wouldn’t,” she says, angling a glance at me. “I didn’t like it either. It was a very nice dress. But then he told me the truth.”
“Which was?” asks Hilda, clearly on the hook. Ruthie’s good at enthralling an audience. If she’d had a taste for it, she could have been an excellent lawyer.
“That he was the one who’d been sending me a red rose every Valentine’s Day since I’d turned eighteen.”
