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“You’ll be the first.”
“Good.”
Shrugging, he drained the drink and set the empty glass on the bar. “Have a seat.” Waving to a couch, he pulled off his tie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. Dark hair dusted his forearms, and despite the season, his skin was tanned. “Just for the sake of argument,” he said, “how much would it take to have you close your mouth and go home?”
“Pardon?”
He rested his hands on the bar and pinned her with an uncompromising glare. “I don’t believe in bullshit, okay? It’s a waste of time. So let’s cut right to the chase. You plan on making a big stink, start talking to the press and lawyers and claim that you’re London, right?” He poured another drink, but let it sit untouched on the bar.
“I am London. At least I think I am. And so far, I’d like to keep lawyers out of it.”
“Of course you’re London,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You don’t need to patronize me.”
“All right. Then we’re back to square one. How much money would it cost to change your mind and decide that you are, after all, just Adria Nash?”
“I am Adria.”
“So you want it both ways.”
“For now.”
“Until we accept you as London.” The fire popped loudly.
“I didn’t expect you to believe me,” she said, refusing to leap at his bait. Her stomach was jumping. Sweat collected at the base of her neck and dampened her palms, but she told herself to remain outwardly calm. Don’t let him get to you. That’s exactly what he wants. “I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think I was—I am—your sister.”
“Half-sister,” he said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Get it right. If you’re gonna do this thing, Adria, get all the facts and do it right.”
Rankled, she said, “I have the facts and I know all about your family.”
“So you decided to take advantage of your resemblance to my stepmother.”
“Maybe you should just see the tape.”
“The tape?” he challenged.
“Yes, the videotape that brought me here.” The tape that had been the catalyst but certainly not the proof—not all of it. Suddenly it seemed frail, as fragile as her father’s dreams and beliefs that she was some sort of modern-day princess. “I found it after my father died. He left it for me.”
“Can’t wait,” he muttered sarcastically. Glancing at her for a moment, he poured a second glass. “But we’ll wait to start the show.” He set her drink on the corner of a glass-topped coffee table, then snatched his off the bar and claimed his position at the window. He stood like a sentry, staring through the rain-drizzled glass.
Standing, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to use the powder room.”
“Powder room?” he said with a snort. “Kind of a fancy term for a farm girl from Montana.”
She stared at her hands for a second, then lifted her eyes to meet his. “You love this, don’t you?”
“I don’t love anything.” His gaze raked down the length of her body.
“Oh, but you enjoy baiting me. You get a perverse pleasure in taunting me, trying to trip me up.”
“You started this.” His lip curled slightly. “Find the ‘powder room’ yourself. See if you can conjure it up from all those hidden memories.”
Silently counting to ten, she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room. The hallway was unfamiliar, but she turned to the right, rounded a corner, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what could only be described as a shrine to the family of Witt Danvers. Pictures, plaques, and trophies resting in a glass case cut into the wall were displayed prominently.
She swallowed with difficulty when she spied a large portrait of the three of them: Witt, Katherine, and London. Could this be…? Adria’s heart caught and she touched the glass, her finger displacing a tiny sheen of dust. Seated in a wicker chair, Katherine was dressed in a wine-colored dress with a scooped neck and long sleeves. Diamonds encircled her throat and winked from her fingers. She held a grinning London, who appeared near the age of three. London’s wild hair fell in ringlets and she wore a pink velvet dress with a lacy collar and cuffs on the short, puffed sleeves. Witt stood behind them both, one hand placed possessively over his wife’s shoulder. He was smiling at the camera and his eyes seemed to twinkle mischievously.
“Dad,” she mouthed, though the word wouldn’t come. Could this have been her family? Her natural family. Her chest seemed to cave in on itself. “Oh, God.” Tears stung the back of her eyes and she felt her teeth sink into her lower lip. After all the years of not knowing, could she be looking at her family? Her throat grew hot and she blinked as she traced the line of Katherine’s jaw, so like her own, wi
