“Help me with my things?” she calls out, her voice trying for casual but landing somewhere around desperate. She’s looking at all three of them, but her eyes keep returning to Silas. “The truck is almost loaded, but there are a few heavy boxes?—”
“Marcus has it,” Charles says without looking at her.
“But—” She takes a step toward them. Toward Silas specifically. “Silas?”
He finally looks at her. Just for a second. And whatever’s in his expression makes her physically flinch.
“Busy,” he says flatly.
Aria’s hands clench into fists. Her eyes fill with tears that look more real than any she shed during her dramatic exit.
Silas doesn’t respond. Just turns his back on her completely, his attention returning to the other three, like she’s not even there.
Like she’s nothing.
Aria makes a sound that might be a sob or might be a laugh. Then she climbs into the passenger seat of the moving truck, her shoulders shaking while I stand in the foyer where Sienna is waiting with a glass of water I didn’t ask for but desperately need.
“That looked intense,” she murmurs.
“Which part?” I take a long drink, my hands shaking. “The part where I physically removed Aria? Or the part where three men I haven’t seen in six years just found out I have children?”
“They seemed shocked,” Sienna observes carefully. “About the boys.”
“Everyone’s always shocked.” I hand the water back. “Single mom to twins. People assume the worst.”
“I don’t think that’s what shocked them,” Sienna says softly, and something in her tone makes me look at her sharply. “The way they looked at you when you said five years old—” She stops herself. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
But it is. It’s everyone’s business now, whether I’m ready or not.
Through the library doorway, I can hear the children laughing. Noah’s voice—bright and excited, pure Cal in miniature. Liam’s quieter response—measured and thoughtful, so much like Jace, it makes my chest ache.
My sons. My beautiful, perfect, innocent sons who have no idea their entire world is about to change.
I walk toward the library, toward the sound of their laughter, and try to memorize this moment. This last moment of peace before tomorrow, when we’ll stand at a graveside, and three men will finally see what I’ve been hiding.
When the truth stops being mine to control.
When everything changes.
18
JACE
The scotch burns going down, but it doesn’t touch the chaos in my head.
I stand at the window of our guest house, watching the main drive where a POD container is being unloaded by a team of movers Charles hired. Parker’s things. Five years of California life packed into a metal box that’s about to be unpacked into the house next door.
Fifty yards away. She’ll be fifty yards away.
With her sons.
I almost lost it before the funeral yesterday when Charles told us that not only was Parker going to start working for the Carter name again, but that she and her sons would be moving into the big guest house next door to the one Cal, Silas, and I share.
Fuck.
The whole funeral, I made myself busy watching the room. Clocking the exits, observing the guests, tolerating the show—anything to avoid thinking about how in twenty-four hours she’d be next door.
At least the murmurs and stares and awkward condolences shared with her during the receiving line gave some entertainment. She handled it like she handled everything else—chin up, shoulders back, that Carter steel in her spine even when I could see her hands trembling slightly when she thought no one was looking. A lot of the elders, some loyal, others still living in ridiculous fear that Dominic would rise from his casket at the audacity of Parker being brought back home, didn’t hide their apprehension well.
