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He escorted me to the entryway. “It’s really not the best time, Laura.”
“Do you know who’s behind this?”
“No one’s naming names. And they can’t be bought—because the other guy is always outbidding us for secrecy.”
My father had a lot of enemies, but none that had this kind of power. “I want to see Catherine. Can you take me to her? I don’t know where she lives, and I don’t have her number either.”
He nodded. “Let’s make it quick because I’m needed elsewhere.”
* * *
He dropped me off at her apartment.
It was a nice piece of real estate, something that rivaled Bartholomew’s place. It was soaked in wealth, and now it made perfect sense why my sister was under my father’s thumb. She couldn’t live without this kind of luxury.
I missed it sometimes, but it wasn’t worth the price.
I asked the butler to see her, but when he returned, he denied my request. “Catherine is resting right now. Perhaps another time.”
She was blowing me off—and for good reason. “I don’t think so.” I walked around him and marched in the direction I’d seen him disappear.
“Stop! She wants you to leave.”
I ignored him and kept going, finding her in a sitting room, wearing her athleisure as she sat on the couch, her arm in a cast—and her face black and blue.
The butler made the mistake of grabbing me by the arm.
I twisted out of his grasp like a pro then shoved him in the chest.
He stumbled backward, his eyes wide and affronted. “I’ll call security.”
“It’s fine.” Her quiet voice came from the couch. “It’s not going to stop her.”
“Damn right, it’s not.” I grabbed one of the armchairs and dragged it closeto where she sat. I’d been so focused on getting here that I didn’t anticipate how I would feel once I arrived—once I saw how terrible she looked.
For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words.
Catherine couldn’t look at me. She avoided eye contact as the silence deepened.
“Catherine…” I expected grand words to leave my mouth, but they never did.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Really?” The comment snapped me out of my astonishment. “Because your arm is in a cast since it’s broken. And the reason your face is all those different colors is because it’s bleeding and healing at the same time. Yes, it’s as bad as it looks.”
She wasn’t going to look at me now.
“Why do you put up with this?”
“Because I love him.”
Jesus. “Well, in case you haven’t figured this out, he doesn’t love you.”
“He just gets angry—”
“I’m angry right now, but am I hitting you?”
She just sat there.
