He felt a sudden, immense relief as they shook hands. One crisis averted. But the one that mattered most remained unresolved.
“Thank you,” he said, gathering the signed documents. “Oath Capital will honor your trust.”
“My security alerted me through text that Ms. Sinclair arrived some time ago,” Andrew said. “Rather determined to speak with me. Eleanor’s been keeping her company while we finished here.”
His breath caught. “Devney?”
Andrew nodded. “Apparently she is quite distraught, by all appearances. Said she needed to make things right.” He paused. “Eleanor is rather taken with her. She recognizes a kindred spirit.”
He was already moving toward the door, his pulse pounding. “Where did you say they were?” he asked.
“Eastern veranda. Through the main hall, past the library, then right at the?—”
But Ronan was gone, striding through the house with singular focus. All he could think was that she was here. He rounded the corner past the library, sunlight streaming through tall windows. Another turn, and the eastern veranda came into view through the French doors—a wide, covered porch that looked out over the formal garden and the sea beyond.
And there, seated in wicker chairs angled toward the ocean, were two women. Eleanor, composed and serene. And beside her—Devney. He recognized her instantly, even from behind. The ponytail. The gentle slope of her shoulders. The tension in her posture, like she couldn’t quite let herself relax, even here. She still wore the same clothes from yesterday.
As if sensing his presence, she turned—enough that he caught a glimpse of her profile.
Even that was enough to see the exhaustion in her expression.
He moved toward the doors, hand reaching for the handle?—
And paused as a hand touched his arm.
Andrew stood beside him, having followed from the study. “Give them time,” he said, his gaze moving between Ronan and the women on the veranda. “Some conversations need to reach their natural conclusion.”
He wanted to protest, to push past him and rush to her side. To demand explanations, to offer apologies, to say all the thingsthat had been burning inside him since she’d walked out. But an unspoken message in Andrew’s expression gave him pause.
“What is she doing here?” he asked.
“The same thing you are, I imagine.” Andrew’s gaze held firm. “Trying to fix what matters most.”
Through the glass, he watched as Eleanor reached across the space between the chairs to take Devney’s hand. Whatever Eleanor said made her tense shoulders relax, her head nod in apparent agreement.
“They’ll be finished soon,” Andrew said. “We’ll come back in a few minutes and check on them.”
Ronan nodded, gaze still locked on the veranda. On her.
“Come,” Andrew said, already turning. “While we wait, perhaps you can tell me more about your expansion plans.”
He hesitated. And maybe Andrew was right. Maybe this was the time to compose himself before the most important conversation of his life.
.
Chapter 22
“He won’t forgive me,”she said, her voice barely louder than the breeze rustling through the sea grass. “I destroyed everything.”
Eleanor Beauchamp studied her from the adjacent wicker chair, the ocean breeze ruffling her silver hair. “You give yourself too much credit, my dear. And him too little.”
The Beauchamp estate stretched before them, manicured gardens cascading down to a private beach. So different from her cramped Brooklyn apartment or the crowded streets of Manhattan. A different world. One where people like her didn’t belong.
“I stood there with the entire office watching, your husband included, and announced our engagement was fake. A business strategy. A lie. I betrayed his trust.”
“Yes, you did,” Eleanor agreed, her bluntness startling. “But the question isn’t whether you made a mistake. We all do that. The question is why you’re here.”
She turned to face her host, struck by the directness of Eleanor’s gaze. No judgment, but no coddling either.
