Her eyes narrowed. She knew.
“If she looked anything like she does in the painting, Clemence was really quite lovely.”
“Quite.” It was possible the moment could go soft and pliable, and he might be able to slip inside it.
“Then what?” Olivia asked.
“Pardon?”
“After you saw my sketches. Then what?”
“How do you mean?” Sometimes in the ring, it was necessary to shuffle around, to avoid an opponent’s blows, to regain one’s bearings and devise a way forward.
“What incredible serendipity that you and I travel in the same circles.” Sarcasm laced her every syllable. “What fantastical serendipity that our needs happened to align so neatly.”
The moment closed with a snap, firm and definite. He shifted on his feet, absorbing the impact of her words.
“The Duke’s mentorship”—She began ticking items off a list, finger by finger—“The house hunt. Seeing Mina placed at school. Those were all secondary to . . . what?”
“I needed to get closer to you.”
“Youneededto get closer to me? Well, you certainly succeeded on that front.” Her sharp laugh sliced through the air. “What is so important about Jiro and the paintings?”
“They were stolen from the most powerful family in Nagasaki, the Kimura.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “And Jiro—”
“Stole them.”
Sudden understanding dawned across her face. “He could know the truth about Mina.”
Jake nodded. Again, he felt that the moment could grow soft, that opportunity, fragile and skittish, was presenting itself.
“Why didn’t you simply ask me for his direction?”
He inched forward, his footsteps muted by springy grass underfoot, encouraged by the direction of their conversation. “I couldn’t risk anyone connecting him to Mina. I didn’t yet know the sort of man he is.”
A loaded heartbeat passed. “Or the kind of woman I am?” she asked, steady and controlled.
Too steady. Too controlled.
Jake stopped cold. Separated by a few feet, the chasm that opened between them spanned the boundless sky.
“Did you think I would betray her?” A note of hurt ribboned through the question.
“I couldn’t risk her.”
“I wouldn’t have risked her.”
He knew that. But he couldn’t say it. Not now. It would only sound like so many manipulative words.
“Jiro wouldn’t have risked her. He’s not that sort of man.”
“Olivia,” he began, anxiety curling through him. The sort of anxiety when it sank in that he’d lost a fight, but must stay in the ring and take his pummeling like a man. “His name isn’t Jiro. He is Kai, Mina’s—” He hesitated, the next word twisting his throat into a hard knot. The truth would become more definite,final, spoken aloud.
Olivia’s pupils flared, pushing her irises into thin, blue rings. “Father,” she spoke for him.
Another layer of betrayal slipped between them and pushed the chasm wider. She glanced at the half-empty glass in her hand as if wondering how it got there. She lifted it to her lips and downed the champagne in two great swallows. With a simple flick of her wrist, she tossed the empty glass into dense shrubbery. She cleared her throat. “You used me.”
