Page 25

Cadence

PRESENT TIME

Keiran's penthouse apartment is just like his watch.

It's everything my father would have loved to own, but it's also something he was never able to afford.

I run my fingers along the cool marble countertop, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the Boston skyline like an expensive painting. Even the air smells expensive here—some subtle masculine scent that isn't quite cologne but distinctly Keiran.

But seriously, though.

How did my ex-husband get this rich in three years?

A part of me wonders if this is all ill-gotten wealth. But then there's also the possibility he's won the lottery. Or maybe he married someone really rich and really, really old?

"Everything alright?"

I try not to look guilty as Keiran's cool tone has me spinning around to meet his gaze. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves revealing forearms corded with muscle. His dark hair is slightly damp, like he's just stepped out of the shower.

"Yup." There is absolutely no way I am going to tell him I find his lifestyle a little too good to be true. My heart still hasn't fully recovered from the last time I showed any kind of distrust.

Smoky-gray eyes narrow at me. "Are you sure?"

I fidget with the hem of my blouse, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "It's my parents," I hear myself lie, and with far greater ease than I expected myself to manage. When you've recovered the most important thing you've lost, it can make you desperate enough to do the impossible, apparently.

"I haven't been able to contact them since last night."

And in this case, it's this newfound skill in telling little white lies without fidgeting.

"You can always visit them," Keiran suggests. He moves into the kitchen with the silent grace of a predator, reaching past me for a glass. His proximity makes my pulse quicken.

I shake my head, a few strands of hair falling across my face. "They're not in town. The press has been hounding them nonstop since news of Dad's problems broke."

"And you?" Keiran questions silkily, pouring water from a crystal pitcher. "Did your parents remember to include you in the equation?"

My fingers curl around the edge of the counter. "I'm not a child—-"

"But you are still their daughter. And that makes you a target as well." His voice is casual, but his knuckles are white around the glass.

"I can handle myself." I lift my chin, trying to project confidence I barely feel.

"Or you're just not willing to face the truth about your parents." His gaze is unrelenting, picking me apart.

And there it was again, I can't help thinking.

I should've known it would come to this.

Keiran and I were only married for two months, but it was enough time for him to form extremely strong opinions about my parents.

The kind that hurt me dreadfully.

And when no amount of pleading could convince him to at least pretend he liked them—-

There were nights that I had opted to sleep in the guestroom just to make my point.

God, I was so immature back then.