“I don’t know how to say this.”
“Try a noun first. A proper noun—provided it is not ‘Edward.’ I assure you, I’m uninterested in any soapbox preaching about how I should get my life in order.”
Lane turned and faced his brother. “It’s about Father.”
Edward’s lids lowered. “What about him.”
The image of Rosalinda in that chair was preceded by an auditory replay of Chantal’s voice telling him she was pregnant and not leaving the house.
Lane’s lip curled up off his teeth. “I hate him. I hate him so fucking much. He’s ruined us all.”
Before he could start in with all that had happened, Edward put his palm out and released an exhausted sigh. “You don’t have to say it. What I want to know is how you found out.”
Lane frowned. “Wait, you know?”
“Of course I know. I was there.”
No, no, he thought in shock. Edward couldn’t have been in on the money losses, the debt … the possible embezzlement. The man was not just brilliant with business, but honest as a Boy Scout.
“You couldn’t … no.” Lane shook his head. “Please tell me, you’re not—”
“Don’t be naive, Lane—”
“Rosalinda is dead, Edward. She killed herself in her office yesterday.”
Now it was Edward’s turn to look surprised. “What? Why?”
Lane threw up his hands. “Did you think it wouldn’t affect her?”
Edward frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The money, Edward. Jesus Christ, don’t be dense—”
“Why would the fact that Father wouldn’t pay my ransom affect her?”
Lane stopped breathing. “What did you just say?”
Edward rubbed his eyes like his entire skull hurt. Then he went for the Beefeater bottle next to him and took a deep draw right from the open neck. “Do we have to do this.”
“He didn’t pay for your release?”
“Of course he didn’t. He has always hated me. I wouldn’t put it past him to have engineered the entire kidnapping.”
All Lane could do was stand there and blink as his head went rush-hour-traffic-jam on him. “But … he told the press—he told us—he was negotiating with them—”
“And I was there listening on the other end of the phone. That was not what was occurring. Further, I can assure you, there were … repercussions … to his failure to comply.”
Lane’s gut got to churning. “They could have killed you.”
After another lift of that bottle, Edward let his head fall back against the chair. “Don’t you know, brother … they did kill me. Now, what the hell are you talking about?”
THIRTY-TWO
She was on a strange type of high, Gin decided as she walked with her new fiancé among her family’s guests, nodding to those who made eye contact, speaking when required to.
The cotton-wool sensation that had enveloped her body was something between a saturation-drunk and a Xanax bender, the outside world coming at her through a filter that slowed down time, thickened the air into a custard-like solid, and removed any sense of temperature from her skin.
Richard, on the other hand, seemed very alert as he told everyone about their engagement, the pride in his face akin to a man who had just purchased a new home in Vail or perhaps a yacht. He did not seem to notice the subtle shock that was so very often quickly hid—or maybe he didn’t care about that.
You win.
As she heard Samuel T.’s voice in her head, she took a deep breath.
Timing, timing, she thought. Timing was everything.
That and money.
Samuel T. and his people were very wealthy by any standard, but they did not have a spare fifty or sixty million to fill up the debt cavern in her family’s balance sheets. Only the likes of Richard Pford IV did—and Gin was prepared to leverage her newfound position as the jackass’s wife to help out her kin.
But that was going to have to wait until after she put a ring on him—
A hold on her elbow brought her head around.
Richard leaned in. “I said, come this way.”
“I’m going to go inside for a moment.”
“No, you’re going to stay by my side.”
Looking him right in the face, she said, “I’m bleeding between my legs, and you know why. That’s hardly something I can ignore.”
An expression of both shock and distaste tightened those features she was already learning to hate. “Yes, do take care of that.”
As if her body were a car with a dent that required fixing.
Walking off, she found that weeding around groups of people who spoke too loud and laughed too much caused her a prickling anxiety—and yet the feeling did not dissipate as she stepped into Easterly’s cool, quiet interior.
She had bled after Richard had been done with her. But she’d already attended to that need with a panty liner.
No, she’d come inside for a different reason.