Atticus pushes a strand of dark gold hair that came loose back from his face and nods as if this was all expected.
Wait until he hears the rest…
I press my hands between my thighs and try to remember the details.
I tell them how he pre-ordered lunch so we wouldn't be disturbed, and how he had someone from his personal security team in the room with us, even though I don't think it's essential. I try to skip over the small talk, but Atticus tells me he wants to hear it if I can recall everything that was said, so I do my best to rehash the entire inane conversation about the restaurant and my offer to show him how good Olive Garden's breadsticks were.
Seven snorts at that, letting out a deep chuckle that I know will soon vanish.
The knot between Atticus's brows deepens when I admit Ididask about how Ambrose's business trip in Nice went, even though he explicitly warned me against it.
I expect him to get angry, but he doesn't. He only lets out a small sigh and nods, like he expected this, too.
"Then he said he always has the last laugh."
"Not this time." Elijah's lethal words are an echo of the exact thought I had while sitting at that table with Ambrose.
"He did get something in Nice," Atticus corrects with a sigh. "I've already told the guys, but you might as well know, too. I found out he sold an original Vermeer from the Ashfords' collection to a private buyer the day before our Matisse heist. There's a chance he was never there to get that Modigliani at all. We were wrong."
I frown. But they'd been so sure.
Elijah massages his hand, expression dark. It must kill him every time Ambrose sells a piece of what his family spent their lives building.
"Anyway, go on," Atticus prompts. "What else?"
I explain everything Ambrose told me about my mother, and Atticus pays special attention to those details. I can see his gears turning, trying to discern if anything I say fits into his theory that Diana De La Rosa didn't get kidnapped or vanish without explanation, but instead left of her own volition.
I go into detail about his offer to visit his estate in Spain—to see where I was born and learn more about my mother.
My hands start to ache from the pressure of my knees against my knuckles as I edge closer to the atomic bomb Ambrose dropped. I have to tell them.
IknowI have to tell them.
But the words stick in my throat, and I'm hot all over. Itching beneath my clothes. Not sure how to start.
With the necklace that he recognized from the first time we met?
Maybe, I should…
My teeth clench, and I'm so close. I'm going to spit it out. Just say it—Ambrose is really my biological father—and then I can explain the rest. The necklace. The additional test. All of it.
My lips part, and I realize I've been quiet for too long when Seven asks, "Is that it?" so fucking casually that a fresh wave of heavy guilt crashes over me.
"I—"
In the kitchen, a timer goes off, blaring loudly down the hall to us.
"Perfect timing," Atticus says. "Maybe we can go over it one more time later this week? I have to make the gratin."
He's already getting up, walking toward the kitchen.
Wait.The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I'm not fast enough to tell him to stay, that I'm not finished yet, before he's gone.
"Atty will probably want to talk more about his offer to go to the Spanish estate. It could be a prime opportunity to?—"
"Not now." Elijah is firm. "We have all week to decide on how we want to play this."
"True," Seven agrees. "We can do this Saturday or Sunday before we take her back. I don't want a new plan hanging over any of our heads this whole fucking week."
