He dropped his voice to a murmur, because a murmur was all that he could manage. For a secret that had ruled his whole life, for as far back as he could remember.
They hadn’t kept it a secret from him. He’d always known. And he’d always known he had to keep it under wraps. “Yeah. Robert makes everything messy.” Flat and emotionless. The name tasted vile on his tongue, but not because he hated Robert.
No, he’d loved the man. Resented him. Adored him. Craved his attention. Hate was too simple an emotion to encompass how Gabe felt about Robert Kane.
“You know, little brother... Robert is dead, and—”
A scrape from behind him had his head rising, a shot of adrenaline running through his system. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one was visible through the glass door. “I gotta go,” he told his sister.
“Okay, fine, I’ll stop talking about this.”
“No, it’s not that. I just have to go.”
“I’m not wearing a dress to this wedding,” Rhi reiterated.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I mean it.”
“Rhi, we’ll talk about this later. Love you, bye.” He came to his feet and went to the door, opening it. He took a step over the threshold. “Hello?”
“Sir?”
He startled. Alistair had seemed to melt out of the shadows. Was that who he’d heard? “Uh. Hi. Did you need something?”
“No, sir.”
Gabe mentally recapped the things he’d said to his sister, but he couldn’t think of anything terribly inculpatory. “I was waiting out here for Eve to get back to the house, but I think I’ll go to my room. Can you have dinner sent up?”
“Certainly. And Ms. Chandler arrived back at the estate. I believe I saw her heading toward the library.”
“Oh.” He glanced right, then left. “And which way is the library again?”
Alistair’s faded blue eyes didn’t so much as betray a hint of emotion. “To the left. Go down the hall, make a right, a left, and you’re there.”
“Fantastic. Thanks.”
He made it to the library and stopped at the threshold. Eve stood in front of a bookcase. Her hair had come undone from its braid, and little wisps were all around her face.
She looked up from the book she was perusing. The only trace of her earlier tears was the redness in her eyes and the slight puffiness of her skin. Her face was otherwise composed, as it always was. “Gabe.”
His remembered rage at Brendan rose up inside him. That story had been wild. How a man could be so needlessly stern and cruel to any child, let alone his own daughter, Gabe didn’t know. “You should have told me you were back.” He softened his tone immediately. “I mean, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” She closed the book. “I apologize for worrying you with my outburst.”
She wasn’t fine. That formal tone, her stiff posture, the carefully precise way she was speaking. He got it now. It was part of her facade, like the closemouthed smile.
And it’s none of your business.Who was he to think he could help? Even his closest relatives had made it clear he was nothing more than a shallow playboy.
Messy.
Yeah, it would be far too messy, and messy was intimate. So he plastered on his own mask and smiled. “I get it. We all have parental baggage.”
She turned and put her book away. “Do you? Have baggage from your father?”
Her back was to him, so he let his grin slip for a second. “My dad died when I was a kid.” He had some fuzzy memories of Reggie Hunter, and lots of photos and stories from Sonya.
“Right. I’m sorry.”
