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Chapter Forty-One
I standin front of the double-size mirror in the bathroom of our hotel penthouse. Of course, we don't just have a room; we have one of the two penthouse suites on the top floor—Nate staying in the other—with my friends and family one floor underneath in the slightly smaller suites.
My wet hair hangs down my back, and my stomach clenches as I'm debating the appropriate hairdo for today. Curls, straight, up, down, French twist...how should one look coming out to the public as the illegitimate heir to a billion-dollar empire? Not to mention the other news that will drop today. My pulse increases, and my fingers tighten around the edge of the vanity. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
"Calla?"
Rhys's voice startles me, and my eyes snap open. He's standing in the doorway—butt naked. I let my gaze trail his body. Rhys has bulked up over the last three months. He's been training with George every day, and it shows. Every muscle in his body is toned. Between his bulging biceps, defined pecs, and ripped abs, heat pools in my core, and I have to clench my thighs together.
Hell, he just gave me a mind-blowing orgasm not twenty minutes ago.
He chuckles. "Don’t do that."
"Do what?" I ask innocently, meeting his eyes. I’m fully aware of him noticing my shift in stance. And I can certainly see how it affects him.
"We don’t have time." His face turns serious. "G called. Henry landed."
Henry. My heart starts pounding. Henry is in Los Angeles.
Henry had beenin a hospital in Virginia when Heather and Tristen filled Rhys and me in on everything they knew or had suspected about Emily. From there, he went straight to one of the best physical rehabilitation facilities in the country. Nate took care of the logistics, and I couldn't have been more grateful to him. At first, it was debatable if he would ever regain full functionality of his legs after years of paralytic drugs. The doctors labeled his one almost-escape a fluke. He shouldn’t have been able to stand on his legs, but he did—one time.
Henry got the best therapy, and because of that and his hard work, he’s regained 75% of his leg mobility over the last few months. He still relies on a wheelchair, but his right leg is stronger than his left, and on a good day, he can move around on crutches for a little while or stand in one place on his own.
It took me almost a month before I found the courage to call him. Whenever I put in his number, my hands started sweating, and I'd become nauseated. The guilt about Emily's actions was eating my insides. Everyone kept reassuring me that none of this was my fault, and deep down, I knew they were right. After all, I was a kid when it started, but still. He was trapped by her for years—because of me.
I confessed my feelings to Heather during one of her visits to LA. We were in the kitchen, preparing dinner at the time, with Natty doing her online schoolwork at the breakfast nook. Heather wiped her hands on a dishtowel, placed it on the countertop, and walked over to the island where I was chopping onions. I don't remember if the tears running down my cheeks were from the vegetable or from the deep-rooted feeling of being the reason my father...stepfather—we still hadn't defined his role—was partially paralyzed for years. She hugged me before pulling back and placing both palms on either side of my face.
"My sweet Lilly, I’m going to repeat myself as many times as you need to hear it. None of this is your fault. None. Henry is not upset with you. Quite the opposite."
"But I still haven't talked to him," I interrupted her reassurance. My hands started to shake, and I had to let go of the knife's handle.
"He is processing himself, sweetheart. Tristen and I have been in touch with him. We feel just as guilty because we didn't see Emily's...problems either. Not how sick she really was. Henry is working with a therapist to move past his guilt of not noticing Emily's mental issues before it was too late, letting his daughter get physically abused and later not being able to protect her from his wife's plans."
"But he couldn't have done anything about it." Sudden anger makes my cheeks heat.
"Exactly. And neither could you. Both of you were victims in a game that used you as pawns." She placed a kiss on my forehead, and when she pulled back, I nodded at her. She was right, but there was no saying how long it would take for me to truly believe it.
"Did you know that Henry spoke up for Emily’s employees?" I asked Heather. Nate had informed me the night before that Henry gave a testimony that the maid, Elise, and the medical staff, who were charged as accessories, had all been threatened or blackmailed by Emily and Gray.
"Yes, I heard about it. The court will have to decide how to proceed with that." She directs an apologetic smile at me. She wouldn't give me any more answers on that topic. Her professional side never gave any predictions on a legal matter. We would have to wait and see on that one.
Heather was just moving back to the stove when I swiveled on my heels.
"Mom?" Heather had become Mom again. She was my mother. My anger toward her for keeping me in the dark had long since been replaced by light. She had cared for me since I was a baby, even when I wasn't yet her daughter.
She turned back around while continuing to stir the sauce. "Yes?"
"Do you remember what you said to me at Hill Crest?" The hospital where George dropped me off in Nebraska.
Her eyebrows rose. "We said a lot while you were there." Her expression turned pained for a fraction of a second, but she smoothed it out just as quickly. "You have to be a little more specific."
I drew in a deep breath. It’d been nagging on me for weeks, months, but it’d never been the right opportunity to bring it back up. "After I told you that I knew about me not being your daughter...biological daughter," I correct myself, and she smiled softly at that. "You said to me, 'No matter what you know or think you know, you are my little girl.’ What did you mean?"
Heather—Mom scrunched her forehead and looked up at the ceiling. When she found my gaze, she opened and closed her mouth several times before speaking. "That was a very emotional day. Dad had just confessed to me about his suspicion that Henry was not your father. Yet, I didn’t know how much more there was."
"Hannah and the cameras," I finished, and she nodded.
It was the other bombshell that Tristen confessed to Rhys and me when Heather first came to LA. He had kept the extent of the home surveillance to himself for years to not scare his wife and children. He didn’t understand why Emily would come after our housekeeper—after no communication from her since I had moved in with the McGuires—and steal my teddy bear, of all things. Was it because Brooks had given me that bear? Was it her way of making a point? That she could get to me if she wanted to? Or was it simply part of her mental illness, and there was no real reason? Hannah was most likely a victim caught in the crossfire. We may never know. Not unless Francis Garrison (Gray) Turner shows back up. He’d been missing since the day he shot Emily, and we could only speculate about his motive. I repeated his words to my family. No one betrays me. But none of them could make sense of it either. Did Emily betray him?
