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“What are they going to ask her?” Jesse said quietly.
“They’ll ask her about her daily routine,” Emory replied in a monotone. “How much time she spends with me. And what she’s seen and heard about the house.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Jesse said carefully. “She loves living with you.”
Emory didn’t answer. He was still as stone with his hands folded in his lap. His blue-black eyes were locked on the small figure beyond the glass. Jesse dropped his gaze to the floor.
On one hand it seemed like the poor girl was trapped in that room for hours. On the other, it was all too soon that someone was saying Jesse’s name. He blinked and sat up.
Dimity put on a brave smile as Emory talked to her off to one side. The Child Services rep stood a polite distance behind them. Joanna was waiting in the doorway in her coat, her expression guarded.
“Go on home now, darling,” Emory said, standing and urging Dimity toward Joanna. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Mr. Truelove,” the man in the doorway repeated, and Jesse’s heart began to race. Then Emory was at his side, taking his hand.
“Remember what I said. There are no wrong answers,” he murmured softly. “Just tell them the truth.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Jesse said, his voice hoarse. “That’s the problem.”
Emory pressed his hand to Jesse’s chest. “In here you do.”
Jesse gazed into his eyes. His mind raced and his blood surged. Emory held his gaze for a long moment, gave him a minute nod then pushed him toward the door.
Jesse sat facing the line of lawyers, finding it hard to focus. Kelly was on his right, rigid as a carving with his long fingers interlaced on the table in front of him.
“Mr. Truelove,” the square-faced man in the middle spoke while scrolling through something on his tablet. “Have you had the deposition procedure explained to you?”
The courter reporter clicked away in the corner. Jesse swallowed. “Yes.”
“And you understand that everything you say will be provided as evidence in the custody case of Baron Emory Von Magnusson and Dimity Hawthorn?’
“Yes,” Jesse said, a little steadier.
“Good.” The man raised his head. “I’m Brandon Harrison. This is my associate Francis Ivor,” he indicated the balding man on his right. “And these other people are senior partners in my firm. We are representing Helena Hawthorn in this matter, but I suspect you already know that,”
“Mr. Truelove has had the procedure and your role in it explained to him,” Darragh Kelly cut in. “That is now on record. Please, can we proceed?”
Jesse resisted looking over his shoulder to where Emory sat, alone, beyond the glass behind him as Harrison spent a moment looking Jesse over. He was suddenly glad he’d caved to Kelly’s nagging and put on a suit and tie and tidied his hair.
“Very well,” Harrison began, swiping the tablet’s screen and picking up a stylus. “Firstly, what is the nature of your relationship with the baron?”
Jesse tilted his chin. “We’re fucking.”
Harrison raised his eyebrows. The other people went very still. Kelly’s face was unreadable.
“So, it’s a sexual relationship?”
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” Jesse kept his voice level, despite his heart doing cartwheels in his chest.
Harrison carefully scribbled a note on his tablet. “I thank you for your candor, Mr. Truelove. Now perhaps you could expand how you think your relationship impacts Dimity Hawthorn.”
“Impacts?”
“Yes,” Harrison said. “It’s a challenging enough situation to have someone of another species as the parental figure. To be aware of that parental figure being involved with a male member of his staff—”
“That sounds like gay-bashing to me, mate,” Jesse said. “You might wanna be careful there.”
His balding associate gave Harrison a pointed look. Harrison’s jaw tightened.
