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“I wish I could tell you that they’re usually not this rowdy, but that would be a lie.” He winks.

His voice carries because as soon as he speaks, the voices quiet down in the other room. In the next beat, they all come out to greet us in the living room.

“You remember Gardenia, Fisher and Jacob.” Archer gestures toward them.

“Hi.” Gardenia steps in and hugs me tight. “It’s good to see you.”

“Thank you. You too.” I relax, feeling relieved that she’s not mad at me anymore.

“I trust you’re well.” Fisher nods politely.

“I would hug you.” Jacob tilts his head toward Archer. “But I don’t want to lose my arms.”

“Smart man.” Archer smirks, then turns his attention to the woman joining us.

Archer’s mom is in her late fifties with high cheek bones and long dark hair. She’s a classic beauty with the bluest eyes like turquoise lagoons. Hers is an older version of the face I’ve been venerating in my room every night for the past twenty-one years.

“Mom?” I croak.

CHAPTER29

WHAT’S WRONG WITH LOSING MYSELF?

Archer

“Paloma, this is my mother. Freya.” I take Paloma’s hand in mine and gesture toward Mom. “Mom, this is Paloma. My wife.”

Mom beams at Paloma and steps forward to shake her hand, but Paloma shuffles back looking like she’s seen a ghost. All the color drains from her face as her hands grow cold. Her reaction is slowly sinking in, but for the life of me, I’ve no clue what she’s reacting to.

“What does this mean?” Paloma looks up at me. Sheer terror marring her beautiful features. “Archer? Why does your mother look exactly like mine?”

“The fuck?” Jacob blurts out.

Now it’s my turn to feel horrified. Paloma lost her mother when she was four. Whatever image or memory she has of her mom is from stories her father told of her. If she recognizes my mom, it’s because she’s seen her portrait. But what the fuck does that mean if Paloma thinks the woman in front of her right now is her mother?

“Oh my God, Archer.” Gardenia places a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and pity.

“Let’s all take a step back.” Fisher puts up his hands and turns to Freya. “Freya, care to chime in?”

Mom stares at Paloma. The minute it takes her to formulate an answer is the longest of my life. Because even if no one has said it aloud, we’re all thinking the same thing. Are Paloma and I half-siblings? What the fuck? How is that even possible.

“Mom.” I stalk toward her. “This is not the time to grow silent.”

She looks at me in disbelief, then turns to Paloma. “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to be blasé about this, but who are you again? Why do you think I’m your mother?”

“Because you look like her? You are her.” Paloma rubs her temple. “Are you?”

“Mom? Did you…?” I can’t even say the words. For one, because being related to Paloma would be the most fucked up turn of events. But also, because the implication that Mom of all people would have a relationship with Senator Davis, the man that murdered my father in cold blood, is just unfathomable. “Mom.” My voice booms in the room.

“Aunt Freya,” Gardenia says tentatively. “This is Senator Davis’s daughter.”

“Yes. You mentioned that.” Mom points at Paloma. “What I’m trying to understand is why she thinks I’m her mother. Why in the world would I ever?—”

“Mom.” I cut her off before she says too much in front of Paloma. Even though I’ve decided to tell her the truth. Right now, isn’t the time. My family’s portraits need to be secured before I unleash the truth, before the Senator finds out who I am, and why I’m here. “Is Paloma your daughter?”

“Good grief, Tristan.” She glares at me with so much disgust in her eyes. “Do you understand what you’re asking? Me and that awful man?”

“Okay.” I put up my hands. “I just had to ask to make sure.”