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“Was Jacob supposed to kill her? Did he shoot her?”
“The shooting was an accident. He tried to save her when her stepbrother attempted to kill her, but the bullet hit her instead. You do understand that nobody can ever know Lily is alive? Her father believes she’s dead.”
“She doesn’t go by Lily Reid, any longer, does she?”
“We gave her and Jacob new identities, but I prefer not to disclose that information, not because I don’t trust you, but for your own safety.”
“What a messed-up family,” she said. “We seem to have a lot in common.”
“Alice.” Cain’s tone was reprimanding. “Your mother and I may have made a lot of mistakes, but you’re not one of them. If one good thing came from a string of bad decisions with terrible counter-reactions, it can’t be messed up.”
She was quiet for some time, studying her hands, but Cain wasn’t going anywhere. He stayed put in his chair, so she asked the question that had always been on her mind.
“Did you love her?”
“Very much,” he said without hesitation.
“Why?” She met his gaze. “I don’t remember anything that made her loveable to me.”
“The woman you remember wasn’t the same as the one I’d fallen in love with.”
“Why did you stick it out? You could’ve left.”
“I loved her enough to stay for better or worse.”
“Then again, you were always away.”
“I know.”
“Were there others?”
“While your mother was alive, there was no one else.”
“Yet, she cheated on you.”
“She needed the physical attention like some of us need food.”
Alice frowned. “You’re still defending her.”
“I’m only seeing things for what they are.”
“Like you saw Ivan for what he was, that night you threw him out?”
Cain’s face hardened. “That young man is not capable of affection, not the type that goes beyond the physical, and certainly not the type that will make a man stay with his wife through thick and thin. I did what I did in your best interest.”
“You ripped the only man I’ve ever loved from my life and walked out on me on the same day we buried Mom. You stripped me from all support and affection for my best interest?”
“You wanted me to leave as much as you despised me for leaving. I looked into your eyes that morning and saw the truth there. You blamed me. You thought if only I’d stayed that night…”
“I blamed everyone! Most of all myself. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left.”
He got up and reached for her. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She pulled away. “Yes, it was! I heard you argue. I heard what she said to you, and I was so mad at her. When I walked from the house, I wanted her dead. Do you hear me? Do you know what I thought?” Her voice broke on a sob. “I just wanted it to be over.”
“God, Alice.” His face turned very white, making his birthmark stand out like a red flare. “You should’ve told me.”
“What difference would it have made?” She stood. “You would’ve left, anyway.”
“Not like that.”
Whatever. Between Cain and Ivan, she couldn’t handle more. Not today.
“Excuse me.” She walked past him. “You have a job to take care of.”
Maybe a quiet, stable life with Henry was the best thing that could happen to her.
Their voices weren’t going to practice themselves. Ivan was mad as hell at Alice for not telling him Henry had proposed and jealous as fuck of the well-mannered editor, but it didn’t mean he wanted her less or wanted her to fail on stage. After he’d given himself some time to cool off alone, he walked from room to room through the big house, trying to find her. Eventually, he spotted her outside on one of the balconies, staring at the sea. An icy wind knocked into his body as he opened the double doors. She had her arms wrapped around herself and wasn’t even wearing a coat.
He removed his scarf, twisted it around her neck, and hung his jacket over her shoulders. She allowed him to dress her without acknowledging his presence. He turned her to him to tell her to go inside—if she caught a cold the show was off—but the words froze on his lips as he took in her face. He pushed her glasses on top of her head for a better look. A faint blue mark peculiarly shaped like a thumbprint marred her cheek.
He brushed a finger over the bruise, a sickening feeling rising in his throat. “Did I do that to you?”
She pushed his hand away. “It’s nothing.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes, you did,” she bit out. “You like hurting me.”
“Not like that.”
She walked past him back into the house. Bristling with self-directed anger, he stood on the balcony for another second before following.
He caught up with her on the stairs. “I don’t remember grabbing you that hard.”
