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“I need to stand. How much farther?” My voice is breathless.
“Not much.” His hand returns to the smooth skin of my thigh when his phone buzzes on the console. “Probably Rich making excuses for why he never showed.”
I’m ready to say it doesn’t matter, when I see it’s Winnie. “It’s your aunt.”
“I don’t care.” His hand slides higher up my thigh, and as much as I want him to touch me, I can’t help wondering what she’ll say to him.
Will she tell him about the baby?
Will she say I’m trying to trap him?
It’s like cold water on my heated body. “Should I see what she wrote?”
His hand leaves me, and he makes an annoyed sound as he picks up the black phone and swipes his finger across the face before handing it to me. “Old cock blocker. We might as well read it together.”
“Are you sure?” I feel bad for breaking the mood.
“Positive.”
My tongue wets my bottom lip, and I lift the phone to read the words aloud. “Come to the house after you’ve taken her home. I have the diary you asked for. You need to see it.”
“Mother fucker.” Deacon’s voice is a hiss. “I knew she had it.”
Cold fear trickles through my chest as I watch the muscle move in his jaw. “What does that mean?”
The mood in the car completely shifts. “It’s about our grandparents.”
“We have to go.”
29
Deacon
“You were going to let me search the whole attic?” I’m so fucking angry, I’m doing a good job keeping my tone civil. “When you had it the whole time?”
Winnie’s dressed in her floor-length navy velvet robe, and her hair is wrapped in that white turban. “The things in my mother’s personal diary are private. I didn’t know your reason for wanting to see it. I was protecting her memory.”
I’m breathing fast, and while I understand this, I’m still pissed. “You could have told me that. We could’ve talked it out.”
“Does she have to be here.” Winnie eyes Angel.
Angel stands at once, starting for the door, but I catch her hand.
“Yes.” My voice is firm. “This involves all of us.”
Winnie looks directly at Angel. “Did you come here straight from the masque?”
Angel nods.
“So you didn’t—”
“We were on the way home when you texted.” Angel’s voice is quiet.
I hold out my hand. “May I see the diary, please? This is pretty important to us.”
Winnie’s lips tighten, and she slips her hand in the folds of her robe, taking out a brown-leather clad book. It’s slimmer than I expected, but clearly old.
“I guessed the part you wanted to see. The bookmark is there.”
