“Oh, it’s Grace.” I held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
His hand had just slid into mine when I felt this peculiar prickling sensation on the nape of my neck. Some instinct made me glance over my shoulder.
Logan stood in the doorway of the room, his eyes boring into me.
For a moment I was breathless as our gazes held across the room.
And then, just like that, he gave me that annoying chin nod of his before looking away. I followed him with my eyes as he strode across the room toward Braden. A number of other women followed him with their eyes as well. He cut quite the figure in his suit trousers and black shirt. He’d left the shirt open at the neck, and the sleeves were rolled up, displaying his tattoo.
“Do you know Logan?” James said, drawing my attention back to him.
I thought I did.
“Not very well.” I reached for my glass of champagne, suddenly not so very distracted from my worries.
“So what do you do, Grace?”
I let myself be carried away by the conversation, hoping that it would take me somewhere else for a while, but unfortunately it was too late. My chest ached so badly because I couldn’t manage to steer my thoughts away from either my mother, father, Sebastian, or Logan. The pain was only compounded when Logan came into my line of sight beyond James, and I saw him flirting with a pretty blond woman whose name I couldn’t remember.
I lowered my gaze, pretending to laugh at what the lawyer was saying. I didn’t know what he was saying. I could barely remember what he’d just said. There was a whooshing sound in my ears, and I felt like I was observing myself in this conversation from a distance.
I don’t know how I managed to last as long as I did, but suddenly the room was too warm, too loud, too everything. “I’m sorry,” I interrupted James. “Could you excuse me for just a minute? Sorry.” I spun around and walked away, moving through the crowd in the main living area of the town house. The hallway was packed with people, too, but when I glanced upstairs, all was silent and dark.
I knew it was a little intrusive, but I needed some peace and quiet for a moment, and Joss had relayed to me that her children were with Jo and Cam’s and Nate and Liv’s, being looked after by Olivia’s father, Mick, and his wife, Dee. They’d been cracking jokes about the two of them being brave to take on six kids for the evening.
While no one was paying attention, I went upstairs onto the first floor. Light from the moon pouring in through the large window on the front of the house illuminated my way, and I hurried into the first room I came to.
I left the door open a crack, allowing a little light into the room, and shapes leapt out at me in the darkness.
It was the nursery for Joss and Braden’s youngest, Ellie. She was only one year old. I walked quietly over to her crib and saw the night-light on the dresser beside it. When I switched it on, pale blue stars began dancing around the walls of the room as the night-light spun slowly around. Noting the large comfy-looking chair in the corner by the window, I zeroed in on it and sat down to catch my breath.
I stared at the stars circling the room so far above my reach and suddenly felt a bit like a cat trying to catch a beam of light in its paw. Why did I keep doing this? I wondered. Why did I keep letting my parents do this to me? Hurt me like this.
A creak on the floorboard made my breath catch. The door opened slowly, and a tall figure slipped inside. A star of light caught his face, and I tensed.
“Grace?” Logan stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
He walked toward me, and my muscles grew more strained at his nearness. “You’re not fine. I was watching you downstairs. Something has happened.” He stopped a few feet from me, and I stared up at him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it bloody matters,” he snapped, and took another step toward me. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Where’s Maia?” I said instead.
“With Shannon and Cole. Stop changing the subject.”
“My name isn’t Grace Farquhar,” I blurted out.
In the dim glow of light I saw his eyes narrow. “What the fuck?”
“I mean it is Grace, but it didn’t used to be. I used to go by Gracelyn Bentley. Only Aidan, Chloe, and Juno know that. Now you.”
“Grace,” he whispered, concern deep in his voice. “I don’t understand.”
“Have you heard of Gabriel Bentley?”
“The guy with the media empire?”
“Yes.” I don’t know why I was telling him. Perhaps I was a glutton for punishment – confiding in a man, seeking affection from him, when I knew there was no hope of its real return. “He’s my father, Logan.”