Page 183 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

He goes utterly still.

“Going to the Braes. Staying away. Giving her space. We keep talking about all of it like if we make enough correct moves, eventually Sophie comes back.”

“I want her back.”

“So do I.”

The truth tears through me.

“But no matter what, we have to do the right thing. Even if that means she never comes back.”

Silence stretches between us.

“What the hell do we do?”

“We give her back what we took.”

Lucian goes still. “Her choice?”

“Every fucking bit of it.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Sophie

Piper stares at me across the small wrought-iron table for so long that I finally reach for my wine.

After I sip, I look at her. “I’m going to need you to say something.”

“I’m deciding whether asking you if you need help burying the bodies would be supportive or whether it would create too much paperwork for you.”

Despite everything, I laugh.

It feels strange in my throat.

The patio at Vino & Vine is one of our favorite places, and normally our happy-hour meetings are easy—two glasses of the house pinot noir, the charcuterie board we pretend is dinner, and Piper talking enough for both of us.

I’m so glad she’s here. I needed a friend more than I realized.

After our drinks arrived, she listened while I told her what happened in Vegas—the archive, Adrian, Voss’s message, and the truth about what Lucian and Caleb had done to Dad. They hadn’t simply waited for him to destroy himself. They had spent years learning exactly which pressures would move him and making sure another terrible option was always within reach.

“They were wrong, Soph. Completely, what-the-actual-fuck wrong.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” I say dryly, appreciating her love and support.

Our server sets down our charcuterie board, and Piper waits until he walks away before her gaze drops to my bare left hand.

“Where are your rings?”

I tell her how I walked out and left them behind at the penthouse.

Her expression softens.

“Don’t.” If she gives me too much sympathy, I might cry.

Piper takes an olive, then studies me in the unnerving way people do when they know exactly which subject you’re hoping they won’t mention.

“What was Vegas like?”