What did you say to the man who she’d wager Scott had no intention of ever meeting but whom he must now be indebted to?
It took a moment for Natalie to process that. Scott had done this for her. The fact that he’d been willing to put aside his anger and resentment toward his biological father to keep her safe had to mean something.
Could he possibly be—she almost didn’t want to put it into words—starting to forgive her?
The former senator was trying to hide his disappointment at Scott’s continued stoniness, and something about the longing in his expression broke her heart.
For both their sakes, Scott needed to talk to him before they left. It was clear they might not have another chance. Though the senator stood tall and was dressed impeccably, he was barely recognizable from the powerful, distinguished man she remembered from TV.
With forced lightheartedness, the former senator said, “I will have Dalton show you to your room.” The butler she’d expected suddenly appeared out of nowhere behind her. “You must be tired. Dinner is at six, or if you would prefer, food can be sent up. Just let Dalton know.”
Natalie didn’t need to turn to feel his eyes on them as Dalton—who was about fifty and not, to her disappointment, wearing tails but khakis and a tailored button-down—led them up the grand flight of stairs.
It was clear Scott didn’t want to talk and she knew this would not be the time to push him. She’d let him rest first.
After a long walk down the hall, she was shown into the first of two connecting rooms. From the pink tones of the room, she suspected it was the female half of a master suite. It was enormous and beautiful, furnishedcomfortably but tastefully with a mix of antiques and modern pieces that somehow all went together. The large windows looked out on the back of the house, which she could see contained an enormous pool and guest quarters.
She would explore more later, but for now she didn’t know what she was more excited to see: the big fluffy bed or the enormous white marble wading pool–sized tub in the bathroom.
When she slipped under the warm bubbly water about fifteen minutes later, she knew. The tub. She sighed and closed her eyes. Definitely the tub.
• • •
Scott wasn’t just edgy, he was downright agitated. The long, hot shower had helped, but as soon as he’d lain down on the bed to try to sleep his mind had raced in all kinds of directions.
He shouldn’t have come here. He didn’t want to feel sorry for the bastard who’d cuckolded his father.
Seeing the senator face-to-face had been a shock. Not because Scott could see the resemblance. He’d seen that from photos—it was one of the reasons he’d been pretty sure he and Kate were related even before the test results came back.
No, the shock had come from realizing that Kate hadn’t been exaggerating about the old man’s health. Thomas Greythorn III was a shadow of the imposing figure Scott had seen for so many years on the news and in the papers. It was as if all the lifeblood and vitality had been sucked out of him.
Greythorn had once been Scott’s size and build, but he had to be three inches shorter and forty pounds lighter now. “Emaciated” was putting it lightly. More alarming than the shrunken appearance, however, was his skin tone, which was so sallow it looked almost green. Hisonce-thick head of white hair was now thin and military buzz-cut short—probably due to his treatments. Scott knew he was in his early sixties, but he looked decades older.
The former senator had been diagnosed with prostate cancer two years ago. He was now in the late stages of the disease, which had metastasized to the bones. He’d been through the gamut of treatment from surgery to immunotherapy, to hormone therapy and chemo, but nothing had worked. Now the cancer was impacting his spinal cord, confining him to bed most of the time. Kate mentioned that he’d been trying a new drug that was supposed to be promising, but it just seemed to be making him weaker and more ill.
It was one thing to confront an older, healthier version of yourself like Scott, with anger and resentment, had seen on TV, and another to confront a man with one foot in the grave who’d obviously used a good portion of his remaining strength to get out of bed to greet the son who’d refused to meet him for over three years.
Overabundance of pride was obviously in the DNA.
But recognizing any similarities only made Scott more furious. It felt like a betrayal of the father who’d raised him and the man he’d looked up to more than anyone else on this planet. Knowing that he looked like his biological father was bad enough; he didn’t need any more connections.
That was why he hadn’t wanted to come here. Scott had one father; he didn’t want another.
But lying in bed, trying to force the sleep that wouldn’t come, he could feel the relentless prickle of emotions he wanted to ignore. Guilt and, worse, compassion.
The bastard wasdying.
Scott twisted around a few minutes longer before tossing the covers back and getting out of bed. He wasn’t going to get any sleep like this.
Not for the first time, his gaze shifted to the closed door that was another reason for his edginess. The thin piece of wood that separated him from what he really wanted seemed to be taunting him.
There were a lot of reasons he shouldn’t give in to that temptation, but he couldn’t think of any of them right now.
He crossed the room and opened the door. If she’d been sleeping, he might have turned back around. But she wasn’t. She was lying in bed, reading a book that she must have picked up from one of the shelves.
She glanced up, obviously surprised to see him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, as if him showing up in her room in nothing more than his boxer briefs was the most natural thing in the world.
