That’s where he’s wrong. It’s definitely his parents’ problem, and ours, too. This revelation has the potential to change the course of all our lives.
Freddie keeps ranting. “Why should I care about my poor uncle George and this supposed illegitimate baby? As if he would’ve acknowledged it anyway. He was supposed to marry someone else. Mother married Father the year after she finished university, and she got pregnant soon after poor George’s death. Legacy secured! All good.” He lifts his flask like he’s making a toast.
I remember what Dad said about how so many of their classmates were starting families around the time of the reunion. How it convinced Mom that George would be thrilledabout her pregnancy. She was living in a land of delusion even then, considering George was engaged to another woman. I want to believe she didn’t know—that she wouldn’t have knowingly slept with someone else’s fiancé. Not that the onus was on her to keep George’s dick in his pants. That was his job.
“Did Isla tell you … that George was my biological father?”
Freddie’s face scrunches into a disgusted grimace. “She did.” He takes another swig from the flask. He has to tip it up nearly skyward to get at whatever’s left. And while it’s not great that he’s finished the entire contents of that little silver flask, at least it’s gone now. “I told her she was full of absolute shite. I mean, come on. I’m to believe Uncle George had the world at his fingertips but he decided to get in the mud with a fuckingnobody? Because that’s what your mum was. Is. Was. Is. Whatever.”
He chuckles, and the sound makes me clutch my hands into fists. I want to smack him at the casually cruel way he’s talking about my mother. I’m about to defend her, but Freddie keeps speaking.
“Nothing but a scholarship student. Anartist, of all the fucking clichés in the world. Not a legacy, not even a politician’s kid. Just a nobody. She was probably lying anyway, trying to get at that Canterbury money. Typical gold-digging bullshit.”
My blood boils, my mind reeling. God, I can’t stand listening to him anymore, but I have to.Wehave to, in order to find out the truth.
Connor finally speaks. “Hate to break it to you, Freddie, but Isla had the right of it all along.”
“Bullshit.” The word explodes from Freddie’s lips alongwith a healthy spray of spittle. So gross. “Say what you want, Belinda.” He trips over his own feet, stumbling. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever Isla thought you supposedly deserved, well. It’s gone now. Assets frozen. We’ll probably lose at least two of the houses to cover it.”
“What I … deserved? Freddie, what are you talking about?”
Freddie wags his finger at me, crooning, “Nuh-uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “I don’tthink so, Belinda. Isla can’t spread any more lies, and I’m not going to do it for her.”
I take a step forward, but Connor rests his hand on my arm, stopping me from getting closer to Freddie. “Please, Freddie. I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Just—”
Connor interrupts me. “I do.”
I glance over at him with a frown. Freddie scowls at him as well, but Connor is completely unaffected. His face is set in hard lines, his mouth firm.
“Isla figured out you were George’s daughter, Billie. That means when he died, his trust should have gone to you. But it didn’t. Right, Freddie? It went to Daphne. And Daphne—”
“Gave it to William to start Lumateg,” I finish for him.
“Which means you’re a very rich woman. Or … you should be, at least.” Connor glances between me and Freddie. “Every Wickham family I’ve ever known invests with Lumateg. It’s a huge fund. If money that was rightfully yours was used to seed it, I don’t even know how to begin figuring out how much you’re owed. But you can be sure it’s an absolute fortune.”
The vertigo that plagued me in Isla’s hospital room comes back in full force. It doesn’t help that the wind seems to push at me from every side, blowing me left then right, back then forward. Like it can’t decide which way to send its power. Ihold a hand out to steady myself, to try to quell the sensation that I could fall off my feet at any moment.
Then suddenly, an anchor.
Connor’s warm hand wraps around mine, squeezing. The gentle, steady pressure feels like a clear dome dropped over this moment, shutting out the howling wind. We lock eyes, and he exaggerates his next inhale, letting me see the long rise and slow fall of his chest. I mimic him without hesitation once, then again. I let my awareness live in the space between his skin and mine. That’s real. That’s here.
That’s safe.
I’m brought back to the moment when Freddie starts laughing, but I manage to maintain a sense of calm amid his rising hysteria. Irritation flits across Connor’s face. We need to wrap up this conversation and somehow get Freddie back to Headmaster Harrington’s office as soon as possible. Maybe he’ll confess the rest there. Or maybe once he sobers up, the opportunity to learn all that Freddie knows will have passed.
I squeeze Connor’s hand, and I hope he understands the message.We have to stay.
“Too late!” Freddie shrieks, making me wince. “We’re all poor now,cousin. Not that anyone will believe you’re George’s child without proof. That’s why Isla called me out here, you know. To have me spit in a tube for some kind of mail-in DNA test. She wanted to prove that you’re a Canterbury and thought I’d go right along with it. As if I would.”
Connor and I share a look. We’re getting closer to the truth, and I don’t want to stop the momentum.
“She went on and on about your pathetic life. Drunk mum—no surprise there. No college prospects. Working in abar for minimum wage. I told her,not my circus, babe.Should have listened. Should have fucking listened! But instead she shoved that little tube right in my face! The audashitty.” He slurs the word and shakes his head like he can dislodge his inebriation. “So I shoved her right back. She tripped over her own feet, and down she went!” At my look of horror, he barks out a laugh. “No, notdowndown. Just … she shtumbled onto her ass. It was quite funny.”
He moves to drink from the flask again, remembers halfway through the gesture that it’s empty, and tosses it to the ground carelessly. Like it’s a plastic water bottle instead of an engraved piece of metal meant to last a lifetime. He ambles toward the cliff, and without exchanging so much as a glance, Connor and I follow him. We separate, fanning out on either side of Freddie, trying to put ourselves between him and the edge. But he keeps walking in circles, stumbling over his feet and completely unstable while mumbling incoherently to himself.
“I didn’t even realize the little brat was here. Yours—” Freddie points at Connor. “Though I should’ve. Emily was always Isla’s shadow, so I should have guessed she was lurking nearby, waiting to strike. The moment I pushed Isla, she came hurtling toward me. Emily. Screaming like a banshee.Don’t you put your hands on her!So fucking dramatic. I stepped out of the way at the last second, but she couldn’t stop herself in time and just …”
Freddie turns toward the cliff, gesturing at it like a conductor showing off the orchestra after a concert. Then he glances over his shoulder at us, a knowing smirk on his face.
