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Grace began to wrack her childhood memories for signs of her father's double life. He had been gone a lot. He was a very successful man, so of course, he always seemed to be on the way to a meeting or coming home from one. Had those trips been excuses to go to his other life? She thought about how busy her days at the Foundation were. Before he'd died, he'd done everything she was doing as well as looked after the family's extensive investments. Where had he found the energy?
"Well, obviously it had come from somewhere, she thought. Somehow, he had found the time to lead another life. To create another life.
Callie raised a hand and wiped some hair out of her face. "Now that I'm standing here with you, I don't know what I thought I'd accomplish."
Grace looked deeply into the woman's eyes.
Her father's daughter.
"It was you," she said abruptly, focusing on the slicker. "Watching me when I went in and out of work, waiting for me outside of restaurants. You followed me to the funeral, didn't you."
"Yes." Callie looked away. "It was hard to approach, you. I kept thinking I could just go up to you but you were never alone and I—I didn't want to cause a scene. As for the funeral, I just had to see him buried because a part of me refused to believe he was gone. The papers didn't say where the services were going to be held, just the date. I followed you because I didn't know how else I could say good-bye to him."
Grace's stomach lurched and she started shaking her head again.
"I have to go," she mumbled.
As she began walking blindly, she felt the rain flowing down her face. Or it might have been tears.
Calla Lily.
Her father's voice echoed in her head.
She'd gone a couple of yards when she paused and looked back.
The woman was staring after her, looking small underneath the slicker.
That coat was not expensive, Grace thought. Just a cheap, plastic rain jacket. And her shoes were old, serviceable. She wasn't dressed like someone who had money.
Was she looking to contest the will? Was she really just after some cash?
Grace thought of John. He could find out exactly who the woman was and sniff out whether she was someone with ulterior motives.
"It's cold out here," Grace said. "Do you live nearby?"
"Not really. My apartment's in Chelsea."
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Grace thought. Words to be damned by.
"Then come back with me and get dry."
Blue eyes regarded her warily. "Are you sure?"
No, she wasn't.
Grace nodded anyway and Callie approached with caution.
"You're bleeding," she said, pointing with alarm.
Grace glanced down at herself. She could see the scrape on her leg through a tear in the sweatpants. Blood was staining her running shoes.
That should probably be hurting, she thought. Funny, she felt nothing at all.
"Are you sure you can walk?" Callie asked. "I can get us a cab."
"I'll be fine."
Whenever this horror movie of a life of mine stops adding new scenes. And new characters.
They went back to the street together, moving slowly in spite of the rain because Grace was limping.
"You really didn't know, did you?" Callie said softly. “I'd always wondered if you might have guessed. It must be really hard to find out... It's been twenty-seven years and I still find the whole thing difficult to deal with."
Hearing Callie's age set off another cascade of anger. Twenty-seven years. Her father had been living a lie for over a quarter century. He'd made them all live a lie.
Grace thought bitterly back to that lecture of his on the importance of staying with Ranulf. He'd even thrown in a line about the significance of the vows they'd taken, a comment that was now harder to stomach than his recitations of the von Sharone family's prominence. Courtesy of Callie chasing her down, his words stank with hypocrisy and Grace found herself wanting those three extra months she'd spent with Ranulf back.
As well as all those years she'd believed her father was an honorable man.
When they stepped under the awning of Grace's building, Callie paused and shook the rain out of her jacket and her hair. Looking uncomfortable, she followed Grace inside, her eyes moving over the uniformed man who opened the door for them, the luxurious lobby, the brass and glass elevator.
"This is a beautiful building," she murmured as they rode up to the top floor.
When they stepped out of the elevator, Grace frowned. Her front door was wide open and an unfamiliar blond man, who was big as a linebacker and dressed in black, was standing in her front hall. When he caught sight of her, his smile wasn't friendly.
"I believe your countess is back," he said dryly.
John exploded into the doorway and Grace took an involuntary step back. He was livid with rage.
