I couldn’t judge how she was feeling, but she was in much higher spirits. I’d worked from home all of Thursday, wanting to stay near her and not repeat my mistake of leaving her alone again. My father didn’t mind, adding that he was eager to meet her. I hadn’t seen him that interested in anything in years.
Having my office above my room was convenient. Lunch was in bed, her body sore, but I massaged and kissed everyinch of her, including between her legs until she was spent and lax in my arms.
Thursday evening I’d gone out to the nearest bookstore, armed with a list of books she hadn’t yet read, and bought every single one she requested. I also bought myself the second book in The Montana Man series. At home, I worked and cleared an entire bookshelf in my bedroom, filling it with her new books.
It was Bee’s idea to get her a giant faux fur weighted blanket and a few comfier pillows for one of the chairs in my room. This way she’d have her own designated spot to sit if she didn’t want to lie down.
Growing up with Mom, our house comprised of many such nooks and crannies. It offered a way to move around through the day and not feel trapped in one spot. It was part of how my mother’s world operated, and I wanted to create that for Sybil, too.
Sybil was sharing more and more with every moment that passed. There was very little we didn’t know about her now, other than she hadn’t shared her secret identity, but we knew it wouldn’t be long before it all came out. We’d re-routed her panic from the last few days. The timing for the truth to surface was setting up perfect.
Bee had done some digging, as I knew she might. She pulled me aside in the kitchen yesterday while Sybil was out back and handed me a thick folder that contained information about her parents.
Reviewing it later that afternoon, it shocked me I hadn’t made the connection sooner. Sybil’s last name was one ofthose names that was common enough, but not so common as to click. The Kauffman’s were well-known figures around Beaumont Antiquities, though it’d been some years now since anyone had brought them up.
While her parents were alive, they’d attended almost every one of our auctions or galas, and were major donors to art museums all across New York. At one point, someone valued their personal art collection at almost 800 million. A staggering cache that Beaumont was part responsible for auctioning off after their death.
What broke my heart was that not once in Bee’s findings was a child mentioned. The history of Sybil was a ghost but for a birth certificate and sparse school records, bearing their name and signature. Of the hundreds of public photos and images of her parents, Bee hadn’t found a single one with Sybil.
When I left Sybil this morning, I couldn’t understand how anyone could hate a child as beautiful and interesting as her. She was already curled into the new spot we’d made, lamp on, coffee steaming, and book in hand. She was a marvel.
I’d always thought bringing a woman into my home would feel suffocating, but when Sybil was around, she fit. She enhanced the entire dynamic and often helped distract my sister when Bee was in one of her overly-chatty moods.
How could her parents not feel the way I did every time she entered a room? She was color to me, regardless of what she could or couldn’t see.
This afternoon, I’d called Sybil to see if she wanted me to come home and get her for the event. I was prepared to, in fact, but she’d refused, saying Bee was already there and shewas doing well. There was happiness in her voice. Knowing Bee, she was keeping Sybil’s mind in the present and treating her to a fun night.
I took the elevator down to the Beaumont Cafe, which was hosting a special dinner for some of our top clients. Unfortunately, today I wore a tie—I hated it. Its only redeeming factor was that I’d let Sybil pick it out for me. I straightened it in the elevator’s reflection before stepping out into the throng of the event.
It was an evening auction, which was normal for art and jewelry of this caliber. We sold tickets for this event given the amount of interest. Online bids were open to anyone, however, and expected to be sizable in number.
Pre-poured whiskeys sat atop the open bar, and I swiped one as I passed. Scanning the room, I was trying to find a very particular person. When I found Henry, it didn’t surprise me he wore a red velvet suit and gold patent leather shoes. He stood out, as always—but I still thanked God he wasn’t wearing the nipple suit.
He had a beautiful and demure new man on his arm who towered over him, dressed in a sequin shirt that unbuttoned all the way to his velvet black pants, ample chest hair on display. I made my way toward them, buttoning my suit jacket, catching Henry’s eye once I drew close.
“Well,helloMr. Beaumont,” he crooned.
“Henry.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he offered me his knuckles instead.
I wasn’t about to kiss his knuckles, but then again this was for Sybil, so I obliged. I needed to sweeten him up and get himready to bid high. His date sneered at me with jealousy.
“You look very ready forRedin that suit.” I motioned to his outfit.
He tilted his head and pursed his lips with pride. “Wellyes,my dear boy. I intend to get what I want tonight—as always.”
I winked at him. “Best of luck to you.”
He rolled his eyes with a little wave of his ring-covered hand. “Luck has nothing to do with it, Nash. You know very well that it’s thesizeof your wallet that matters, and mine has eleven figures.”
I chuckled and shook my head at him. “Of course, Henry. Listen, you have a wonderful dinner. I believe we even brought in your favorite caviar over there at the champagne table. Be sure to check that out.”
His eyes lit with delight, taking up his date’s arm again and pulling him in that direction.
I took out my phone, opened my messages and tapped to see Bee’s location. They were a block away. Scanning across the crowd, I made my way to the back and into the kitchens. Past the dishwashing station, there was a backstage door that led to the room where all the pieces on auction were held before showing them during bidding.
There was a service elevator at the back of the space that led down to the street level. This is where I’d instructed our driver to drop them off. The elevator required a security code, and I entered it.
Reaching the loading dock a few moments later, I stood at the edge of the curb just as the lights of the town car rounded into the alley. Pulling up, I stepped off the curb and opened thedoor to an eruption of sound and the distinct smell of champagne. Both girls were bent over in laughter, huge smiles on their faces and tears forming in their eyes. I couldn’t help but smile.
