“You were never any good at hiding your emotions.” His voice softens with tenderness when he stands beside me and I rest my head against his waist. Thomas hugs me to his side. His warmth surrounds me, and so does his desperation to fortify my dwindling courage. “Your father always said you wore your emotions like armor for the world to see. It’s why you never won at a game of cards against him.”
“I was never playing to win,” I say, as more tears sting my eyes. “I just wanted his company.”
“Your father knew that too.”
My chest tightens, and it’s hard to breathe under the surge of memories. There are so many things I wish I’d said to my parents that day and so many things I wish I hadn’t.
“And your mother, bless her heart, indulged both of your shenanigans.”
My mother was our rock. She knew how to be calm in the face of storms, and in the Remington family, there were many storms. But I credit her poise and serenity to her years as one of Europe’s top Black models in a time when the paparazzi picked apart everything she did in hopes of a story.
“Do you think that’s why Dad gave my aunt and uncle so much power, because he didn’t think I’d ever be capable of separating my emotions to run the family empire?” I ask quietly. According to Maxwell, my parents had the foresight to see I didn’t have what it takes to be a majority shareholder. A fact Uncle Maxwell reminds me of often.
Thomas tilts my chin until I stare into his compassionate eyes. Eyes that are lined in defeat and frustration. “I think your father wanted to protect his girls more than anything in this world. From people who would threaten you, use you, and manipulate you. Your parents saw the innocence I see now and wanted you to hold on to it for as long as possible.”
I’m suddenly young again, standing over my parents’ graves. My face buried against Thomas’s waist. He holds me as my world crumbles. As the skies open, rain pours down, pelting the ground and flooding my senses with the fresh, earthy scent. Friends and family run from the cemetery, but Thomas and I remain. I heard none of my aunt’s yelling for us to get shelter over the roar of my own crying. I felt nothing that day except a deep chill.
“I miss them terribly.”
“As do I, Miss Remmington.” Thomas exhales. “As do I.”
“What am I going to do?”
Thomas didn’t answer, nor did I expect him to.
There’s nothing to do.
The apartment becomes quiet except for my labored breathing.
“For Anna’s sake, Miss Remingont, perhaps you shouldn’t deny your aunt entirely,” Thomas suggests.
I swallow hard. The thought of my sister’s safety outweighs my pride. “You’re right. Priscilla will only find new ways to hurt me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering my last visit with Anna… hearing the beeping of the machines, and remembering wishing she’d squeeze my hand again. Then, another memory shoves its way forward, and I swallow. The memory of me colliding with Caden West.
The weight of my situation presses down on me, and I realize I need an ally with power and influence. Someone who can helpme navigate the treacherous waters of family politics and deceit. The very thought is terrifying, yet what choice do I have? Caden, Starlight’s most eligible bachelor, is known for his ruthless business acumen. It’s a dangerous gamble, but one I must take for Anna’s sake.
“Thomas, I need a favor.” I hop to my feet. “Can you buy me some time?”
“With pleasure,” he replies.
I’m no fool to think Caden will help me out of the goodness of his Christmas spirit. I’ll have to offer him something even he can’t refuse.
CHAPTER FIVE
CADEN
Idon’t usually open my penthouse door myself. That’s what the building staff is for—one of the many perks of being the man people whisper about in boardrooms and curse in corridors. But when the concierge called up to say she was here, insisting she needed to see me—no appointment, no explanation—I felt something tug under my ribs. Curiosity, maybe. Or an old, unwelcome echo of hope.
When I pull open the heavy door, winter air snakes around my ankles. And she stands there—Kamiyah Remington—looking nothing like the polished, unreachable woman I remember from charity galas and small-town holiday events I attend only out of obligation. She’s bundled in a deep green trench coat, raindrops weighing in her hair, cheeks flushed from the chilly dampness. But her eyes—those velvety chestnut eyes—are what hit me hardest.
Fear.
Desperation.
And something she’s fighting hard to hide.
“I have a proposition for you,” she says without preamble.
