“You didn’t strike me as the type of person who lets their mate speak for them,” Werner said to Cece. “That’s disappointing.”
“One, you know nothing about me,” Cece said, “and two, I trust Briggs with my life and know he only wants what’s best for me. You, on the other hand, are a stranger who may or may not be trying to kill me. So, keep your mouth shut when you get the urge to share your opinion of me or my life because I can assure you, I do not give one flying fuck what you think of me.”
A slow grin crossed Werner’s face. “You are definitely your father’s daughter, Nietita.”
“What does nietita mean?” Cece asked.
“In Spain, it is a pet name for a granddaughter,” Werner said.
“You’re from Spain?”
“Yes. Your grandmother and I emigrated from Spain about three years before your father was born.”
“Why are you contacting me now?” Cece asked.
“To make it easier to kill you,” Briggs said.
Werner glared at him. “I don’t know why you have this preposterous idea that I would ever harm my granddaughter, but I’m growing weary of your constant insinuation that I would.”
“Oh, it’s not an insinuation,” Briggs said. “This is me straight up saying you’re trying to fucking murder her.”
“I don’t care that you’re my granddaughter’s mate,” Werner said. “No one speaks to me that way. Most definitely not an ill-tempered shifter with zero self-control and -”
“Enough!” Cece hissed when Briggs growled so loudly that even the baristas stopped to stare at them. “Both of you knock it off with the macho bullshit. I am fucking over it.”
Werner and Briggs stared sullenly at each other as Cece said, “Someone has been trying to kill me for the last few weeks, and my aunt was so certain it was your family that she came back from the dead to warn me.”
“Why would she think our family is trying to kill you?” Werner asked.
“Because you tried to kill my mother when she was pregnant with me, and you killed your son instead,” Cece said.
Werner’s mouth dropped open. “My son died in a car accident.”
Cece glanced at Briggs. He was studying Werner with a slight scowl, and no doubt he could see the genuine confusion on Werner’s face just like Cece could.
“Maybe the amnesia spell is still working?” she said to Briggs.
“If it were, he wouldn’t remember you at all,” Briggs said.
She chewed on her bottom lip. “Maybe it’s only half working.”
“Is that how an amnesia spell works?” Briggs asked.
“No, not usually, but…”
“What amnesia spell?” Werner leaned forward. “Nietita, what are you talking about? I had no idea of your existence until a week ago.”
“A week ago?” Cece echoed.
He nodded, and Cece glanced at Briggs again before she said, “This will sound strange, but I need you to tell me exactly how and when you remembered I existed.”
Werner sat back. “Well, I didn’t remember anything. Until I found the letter, I didn’t know about you.”
“What letter?” Cece asked.
Werner took a deep breath. “My wife, Adora, your grandmother, bought a new desk for her home office. I thought I would do her a favour by arranging for her old desk to be given to a charity shop. As I was emptying the desk, I found an envelope hidden in one of the drawers.”
He stared at his coffee, his smile a little melancholy. “She had taped it to the bottom of the drawer, but it had been many years, and the tape had dried out. It fell onto the floor.”
