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“Fine,” I say, pretending to move on. “What about one of Emerson’s brothers? Will is a venture capitalist who lives in Tribeca. He doesn’t care about dad’s money, either.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Are you going to be a matchmaker now?”
Tears spring to my eyes. It’s unexpected in this moment of levity. “I want you to be happy.”
Concern softens her expression. “I am happy. I have you back, safe and sound. My family is together and healthy. That’s all I need.”
Except it’s not all she needs. There are glints of sadness in her eyes. An air of loneliness that she tries to hide from the world. I didn’t think I needed love, not until I found Emerson.
Now I can’t live without him. I want her to find the same thing.
Hesitation tightens my throat.
“What?” she asks, sensing my indecision.
“This older man. It occurs to me that he may have been part of our circles. That you met him at some gala or ball. That he might still be around. Are you still in love with him?”
She looks away. “He’s dead.”
I can’t hold back my gasp. I have a sudden vision of a man like Hugh Hefner, passing away from old age. “Exactly how old was he?”
That earns me an amused huff. “Not as old as you’re thinking. He was in his forties at the time we were together. I was nineteen. The age difference was big enough to make me a cliche. Man steps out on his wife with a younger woman. Of course he wasn’t serious about me, but my heart didn’t understand that. I was foolish.”
Anger pierces me. “He was the one who used you. He was the one who should have known better. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No one actually knows how he died. There are rumors it was murder.”
A chill runs through me. There’s one man in Bishop’s Landing who died under mysterious circumstances. A man with incredible power and wealth. A man who was good-looking even in his fifties. And the absolute last man a Morelli should ever be with. “Eva.”
A sad smile. “I loved him. And I hated him.”
“Lane Constantine?”
“I told you he was forbidden.”
God. No wonder she doesn’t trust men.
I never really thought poorly of Lane Constantine, despite the fact that he’s our family’s enemy.
He was known as being charming and gregarious. There were rumors he stepped out on his wife, that he had a separate family even, but things like that are common enough in our world. I don’t really care except when it involves my sister.
“Fuck him,” I say.
Eva’s eyes widen. “Daphne.”
“Twenty three,” I remind her. I’m twenty three years old. “I’m allowed to say fuck. I’m allowed to say that he’s a bastard for taking advantage of you. I’m allowed to say I hope he rots in hell.”
A moment of surprise, and then she laughs. “I didn’t know you had a vicious streak.”
I take a sip of the butternut squash soup and let it warm me. “I am a Morelli, after all.
