“A few days. But I suspected before that.”
“Any proof?” he asks.
“The coroner’s report stinks to high heaven,” I say. “He’s still alive, by the way. There’s also a bribed witness who can be ordered by a judge to talk. The body could be exhumed for a new autopsy.”
“Who else knows?”
I’m sure he already guessed the answer, yet I can’t bring myself to name Brigitte.
“Please, Alex,” I beg.
His expression sharpens. “So, what was your plan? What were you going to do if I hadn’t showed up, the lovesick fool that I am?”
I look away.
“Talk to me!” he commands. “Were you going to tell me?”
I close my eyes. “No.”
He doesn’t react at first. Eyes still shut, I brace for the inevitable. By now, he must’ve realized his inheritance was stolen eighteen years ago, and that by joining the cover-up, I was taking part in that theft. I shrink, waiting for the outburst of rage I learned to expect from Geoffroy.
But no slap comes. No shove. No raised voice.
I open my eyes. “You can reclaim the duchy now. No court would deny you. Not Sarrazin, not anyone.”
He says nothing, just exhales a long, ragged breath, as if ripping something out of himself.
When he speaks, his voice is hard. “I won’t destroy Millie’s life to restore what should’ve been mine. She’s duchess, and that’s final. The vow I made at MESS still stands.”
I gasp, “Alex?—”
He cuts me off. “I know exactly what I’m giving up. And I know exactly why. Don’t mistake this for weakness.”
His tone crushes me. The words leave me breathless. Alex, so brutally pragmatic and so unapologetically rational, is giving up his chance to claim the title, the estate and the power, all rightfully his.
He’s choosing to protect Millie.
“You’re sealing the lie,” I whisper, trembling.
“Then so be it.” His shoulders lift and fall. “I guess some things matter more than being right.”
My heart swells. I reach for him, desperate.
But he steps back. “I need space. Goodbye, Eva.”
And then he walks out the door.
37
ALEX
The apartment is perfectly quiet, the way I once preferred.
I shut the last folder, close the lid on my drafting pad, and slide the pen into its place. Numbers, probabilities, graphs—done for the night.
I lean back, resting for a moment. But it takes seconds for my mind to drift to last night. I can’t escape the memories, flashbacks of Eva falling into my arms, then drawing back and dropping a bombshell… It’s too much. I can’t handle the emotional swings I went through last night. It almost sent me off a cliff on my late-night drive back to Pombrio.
The irony would’ve been cruel if I’d died like Geoffroy.
