“He came all this way, looking like a jackass,” Robert added. “Maybe you should hear him out.”
She shot the two of them such a look of betrayal that Rory sighed with relief that he himself hadn’t chimed in. He too was extremely curious. Had she won the lottery? Gotten an inheritance? Received an award?
“Fine.” Mathilda walked back to the man in camouflage and folded her arms across her chest. “Let’s get it over with. Who are you, first of all?”
“My name is Philip Phelps, and I’m a barrister from London.” He handed the tin cup back to Sasha. “Can you confirm your identity, if you please? Are you in fact Mathilda Daisy Spencer-Sutton Wheeler?”
What a name. One with hyphens. One that none of the others seemed to recognize.
Mathilda glanced around the group of researchers, then stared at the ground. “I am.”
She certainly didn’t seem happy about that. Rory had never seen her so subdued. He was used to the dynamic, free-spirited, expressive Mathilda, not this resigned, rueful woman.
“Go ahead. Let’s hear the message.”
Philip Phelps ponderously dropped down to one knee. Among the crew, mouths dropped open as they watched. Only Mathilda didn’t seem surprised.“This message is verbatim from Duncan Aberdeen to Mathilda Wheeler. It goes, ‘Mathilda, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?’”
Rory froze. This was a proposal? It was either the most bizarre or the most romantic one he’d ever witnessed. Along with his surprise, something else moved inside him. Jealousy? Or maybe panic? Say no. Say no. Give me a chance.
“Is that it?” Mathilda asked, her face showing no emotion. “That’s the whole message?”
“No, there’s more, but it’s in written form.” Phelps patted various pockets of his camo jacket until he found the one he was looking for. He withdrew a sheaf of folded papers. “You can read it at your leisure. Now is there perhaps a loo I could visit?” He climbed back to his feet, accepting a helping hand from Robert.
“There’s an outhouse,” Mathilda said absently as she took the packet of papers. “But if you only have to pee, you can go in the jungle.”
The man looked like he wanted to cry. Sasha bustled forward and took charge of him. “Here, let me show you around. We’ll get you taken care of. Tell me about your journey. Did you really come all the way from England?” She guided him toward the outhouse.
The others gathered around Mathilda, asking questions, chattering. “Who’s Duncan Aberdeen? Are you going to say yes? That was insane. Did anyone record that?” That sort of thing.
Rory caught the expression on Mathilda’s face—trapped, desperately uncomfortable—and clapped his hands. “Hey! Everyone! Let’s give Mathilda some space, okay? Don’t you have projects to work on? What about that chore chart? Have you done your task for the day?”
After the scientists had all dispersed—even Bjorn, who looked shellshocked—he stepped toward Mathilda. She was still staring at the folded-up papers as if they held some kind of curse that would be released if she opened them.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. Just when he was wondering if he should let her be, she finally looked up and released a long, wistful sigh. “Let me ask you something, Lincoln. Do you feel like your own person?”
“How do you mean?” he asked warily. Right now, he sort of wasn’t his own person. He was someone else. Should he answer her question as Rory or as Lincoln?
“I mean, your family, I know they’re wealthy. You’re the CEO of your family’s business. Do you feel more like a Kerr or like…Lincoln? Like a person or like a set of duties and responsibilities?”
Damn. If only he could say “neither, I’m Rory Baker and I’m just a pilot” and be done with this charade. He’d been intending to do just that, until Philip Phelps dropped his bombshell. This didn’t seem like a good moment to let loose another one.
He searched his mind for an answer that would ease the unhappiness from her face. “Everyone has responsibilities. We try to do our best for the people we love.”
That statement held the ring of truth, because it was true for Rory. He did do his best for the people he loved. Did Lincoln? Honestly, he had no idea. If his sister was actually suing him, the answer was probably no.
She looked back at the sheaf of papers. “Do you ever feel like you’re in a prison that was built before you were even born?”
Her wistful tone made his heart twist. The answer to her question was “not really.” His family obligations didn’t feel like a burden to him. They felt like an expression of love. He adored his grandmother. He deeply loved his brother. The fact that he had the ability to make enough money to support them all was a blessing.
Gently, he pulled her over to the plastic lawn chairs around the fire pit, dusted two of them off, and sat her down next to him. “Do you want to tell me about it? You don’t have to,” he added quickly. “But if you want to, I’m here. It sounds like…well, like you think I can relate to your situation.”
He’d certainly try his hardest.
She let out a tiny sob. “I’m embarrassed to tell anyone here about it. They wouldn’t understand. But you might because you’re, well, because you’re you. You’re probably the only one here who would get it.”
God damn it. He shifted uncomfortably on his lawn chair. What he wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time and make a different choice after the crash. Everything she was about to tell him was under false pretenses. But she clearly needed to talk. So he shushed his conscience and let her spill her guts.
