When Scarlett came to, her head felt heavy. As she stirred, something on her arm pricked at her skin. She forced her eyelids open to find she’d been hooked up to an IV. She was in a different room—a private one—filled with beeping monitors. For a moment, she hoped it had all been the most realistic nightmare she’d ever had in her life. But then she looked down at herself. Someone had put a blanket over her legs. She lifted it and saw her skirt still had blood on it. She began to wail.
Her father’s body.
The blazer falling away.
The gaping hole in his head.
Her body shook as she cried. Someone had murdered him. She hadn’t even been looking at him when he was shot. She’d wasted the last moment she’d had with her father resenting him for pushing her to talk to Alastair. She wished she could go back and tell him she loved him one last time. Her sobs grew louder.
A nurse entered the room, followed closely by Laylani.
“Lady Heroux, are you in pain?”
“N-no. I mean, I don’t know…” Her body wasn’t in pain, but everything was horribly wrong. Scarlett couldn’t be Lady Heroux yet. It was too soon.
“Your stepmother just arrived. Would you like some water? We gave you a relaxant after you passed out. You should feel calmer now,” said the kindly nurse.
Scarlett shook her head before turning to Laylani. “Where’s my dad?” Her voice wobbled.
Laylani’s elegant face was blank. “He’s in the hospital morgue.He was dead on arrival. You’re Lady Heroux now.”
Scarlett’s vision blurred as fresh tears spilled over onto her cheeks, the massive well of pain inside flooding through her once more. She glared at Laylani through her tears. How could she be so cold?
“Pull yourself together, please,” her stepmother hissed. “My husband is dead, and you don’t see me collapsing on the floor wailing as if the world is ending.”
Scarlett sniffed and shuddered, finding Laylani’s lack of distress inhuman. “Is Beni here?”
“He’s at home. Where we should be. Get up, and let’s go.”
The nurse, who’d been clicking away on the computer in the corner, returned to Scarlett’s bedside. “Lady Heroux collapsed and lost consciousness. The doctor would like to keep her for a couple more hours to monitor her.”
“Is that what you want, Scarlett—to stay and be monitored? Or do you want to go home to your brother and your grandmother?” asked Laylani. “Makes no difference to me.”
Scarlett pushed herself up. She needed her brother and her grandmother. She needed Brayden. “I want to go home.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
The next morning, Scarlett awoke to pink and yellow light streaming in through her window, along with flickers from the shimmering water of the Sapphire Canal. Her body and her soul were raw.
How long was I asleep?
After an awful car ride home from the hospital, she’d stumbled into her grandmother’s arms and been put to bed.Beni.The thought of her brother was enough to make her sit up. He’d been in his room when she got home, and she hadn’t spoken to him since…
Scarlett put her face in her hands. She kept seeing the hole in her dad’s head in her mind. Other memories intruded, bringing white-hot pain: a quiet dinner they’d enjoyed, just the two of them; the time he’d given her ten of his favorite novels for her sixteenth birthday; the day he’d taken her to visit the University of Soleil. Arguments they’d had. Times she’d said too much, or things she’d left unsaid. Shuddering, she forced herself to take several deep breaths. She had to be strong. Falling apart wasn’t an option.
Once the jagged feelings and memories were below the surface, she stood and took a few steps toward her dressingroom, rubbing her eyes as she went. She needed to get dressed and check on Beni. He was her responsibility now that their father was gone.
The dressing-room door opened from the inside, and her grandmother Manon appeared, her eyebrows knitted tightly in concern.
“Oh, Scarlett, you’re awake. Can I do anything for you?” Manon was already wearing a long-sleeve black dress for mourning, and her hair, the palest blonde with streaks of gray, was in an elegant bun. She looked nowhere near as wrecked as Scarlett felt, but then Jules wasn’t her son—Manon was Scarlett’s maternal grandmother.
Scarlett’s face crumpled as it hit her she was now an orphan. She opened her arms. Her grandmother came closer and squeezed her tightly, rubbing her back as she held her. Scarlett breathed in the familiar smell of her peony-scented perfume as hot tears fell down her cheeks.
A minute or so passed, and then Scarlett pulled away.
Her grandmother’s face was pinched with concern. “Oh, my darling girl. Let me do something for you. Anything. I was about to ask Martin for some coffee. Would you like some?”
