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For a moment, they pass each other, trading places.
For the briefest second, they stop.
A long, deep look passes between them.
Their hands brush, and my heart aches so deeply for the love denied, and for the touch of Elle’s hand. What Clara and Yvette had, what was torn away from them ...
Goddamn, I really am stupid for waiting so long.
I want that with Elle Lark.
I want to reclaim it before I’m grizzled with denial, looking back on years of regrets, wishing like hell I’d never let her go.
Aunt Clara takes the stand and tucks her hair back, drawing a deep breath.
“It’s true,” she says plainly. Marissa almost screeches, but Aunt Clara continues: “I’m sorry. I lied, Marissa. I lied because ... because I felt like I owed you something. Because of our secrets, your father became bitter, and he lost himself. I felt responsible for his death, so much that I slowly lost my will to draw the gentle bird that caused us so much trouble. But I’ve always loved your mother. There’s never been a day I haven’t missed her. But I felt like I didn’t have the right—not after the pain we’d caused. The only thing I could do was stay away, trying to protect her, and keep her from getting dragged into this legal battle.” Her blue eyes lock on Yvette. “An attempt that I know now was misguided. I should have told you I loved you years ago. So I’m telling you now. I love you, Yvette Sullivan.”
Gasps.
Even our lawyers are wiping their eyes now, and dammit, I’m losing my dignity and pushing a cactus of emotion down my throat.
At my side, Yvette falters, swaying faintly.
I clasp her elbow to steady her.
“Clara,” she whispers. “Oh, Clara, I never—I could never not love you. You’ve been my whole heart. I’ve missed you so much ...”
“Yvette ...” Clara’s trembling smile is so full of joy it could blind the whole room.
Judge Harris clears his throat. His eyes are suspiciously soft.
“Yes. Well. That’s all very touching, but it’s not legal proof. You said you had proof.”
“Oh—um, yes.” Yvette fumbles around in her dress pockets, then walks toward the judge quickly and passes over a crumbled sheet of paper. The handwriting on it looks blurred by time and repeated handling. “That’s it. That’s the letter where Clara Marshall first told me about what eventually became Inky. It’s dated years before the publication of the first Inky book.”
“Oh my. You kept that?” Clara lights up.
“I kept everything,” Yvette admits with a shy grin.
Damn.
They’re like schoolgirls with each other, sweet and hesitant.
Judge Harris scans the letter while the entire courtroom holds on to silent, bated breaths.
“Thank you for letting me read something so heartfelt and personal, but technically, this isn’t admissible because it was never entered into evidence,” Judge Harris says flatly, passing the letter back to Yvette.
The entire room deflates with a groan.
Marissa smirks.
“However ...” Harris raises his voice to be heard. “If you’ll pardon me, this entire case is a cluster. The dates on this mean nothing when they could have been added after the fact, and it would require extensive forensic analysis that we don’t have on hand, do we? No. No, we don’t. Therefore, it’s all down to a case of ‘he said, she said,’ and I can’t pass a judgment based on that kind of testimony.” Another bang of the gavel before he points it at Marissa. “I’m throwing your case out without judgment and dismissing your claim.” Snorting, he leans back in his seat, adjusting his robes. “Jesus Christ. Sort your goddamned lives out, people. Case dismissed. Everyone out of my courtroom.”
I sit stunned for a moment.
Relief sweeps through me in a rush.
Deb shoots up at my side with a fist-pumping shout. “Yes!”
