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Iris Gates had tried to clone her daughter into a replica of herself—a soulless, heartless bitch who cared for no one but herself. Olivia was one of the warmest, most loving women he’d ever known. Many people didn’t see that—they looked at the cool exterior and never saw the gentleness beneath.
Without asking for another explanation, she loosened her hair and allowed it to fall onto her shoulders in soft waves.
“Perfect.”
He glanced at her hand, double-checking that she still wore her wedding ring. Though he knew she had never taken it off. Over the last two years, hundreds of photos had been taken of her, and every time her hand had been in the picture, he had zoomed in to check her left ring finger. He had never seen her without her wedding band. The fact that she still wore hers, even after their divorce, did something to his heart. At some point he should ask her why, but not today.
He’d taken his off the day he’d left, but he was wearing it now. Iris needed to see them as a united front against her.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He held his hand out to her. “Let’s go.”
Armed for whatever came next, they walked out the door together.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Yuma, Arizona
Olivia was grateful for the air-conditioned SUV waiting for them on the tarmac. The weather in Montana had been chilly, on the edge of cold. The temperature here was a sizzling ninety degrees at least.
She glanced down at the dress she wore, thankful it was made of light, breathable material. It was ultrafeminine, and she knew exactly what Hawke had meant when he’d told her that Iris needed to see that she hadn’t won.
He knew everything about her upbringing and what she had endured. She remembered the first time he’d seen the scars on her back. They’d just begun to realize their feelings for each other, both of them easing into things. Well, her more than him. She had just not been able to wrap her head around falling in love. The concept had been so foreign to her.
They had gone swimming at a hotel pool where they’d been staying for a few days. She had worn a semimodest two-piece and had been thoroughly enjoying herself—until Hawke had asked about her scars. At first, it had been a teasing question. A few days before that, they’d been laughingly talking about various scars they’d earned along the way. So when he’d touched a scar on her back and told her she’d forgotten to tell him about that one, he hadn’t realized the significance. She hadn’t yet told him everything.
Olivia had frozen, unable to say anything. Stupid, she’d known, but there had been such shame in her. She hadn’t wanted to admit to being beaten. Even though she had been only ten years old at the time, it had been humiliating.
She had rarely thought about the scars. They were as much a part of her as her eye color or the dimple in her left cheek. But Hawke had gone quiet, and then when she’d felt him touch another scar, higher up on her side, she’d known he was realizing it wasn’t just any kind of scar.
“Who did this to you, Livvy?”
The fury in his voice had been so cold, so lethal, that even now she could shiver at the sound of suppressed violence.
When she had told him, it was all she could do to keep him from flying to England to confront her mother. She had convinced him it no longer had an impact on her. She had gotten over it and had escaped that life. That was all in the past.
But she knew exactly what he’d meant with the words she needs to see she didn’t win.
Iris had wanted Olivia to be just like her. Her mother already knew she had failed, that, despite her best efforts, Olivia was nothing like her. But this dress, this look, would emphasize that failure. She would be on the defensive, and she would reveal more than she planned.
Or that was the hope.
She glanced over at Hawke, at his rigid, unyielding jaw. “I’m glad you shaved your beard.”
His mouth twitched in a small smile. “I decided I’d had enough of the untamed look.”
Her gaze traveled over his suit, and she noted it looked as though it had been tailored just for him. Her eyes moved to his right hand on the steering wheel, and she remembered how those long fingers had trailed across her body, bringing her to pleasure over and over again. They had yet to talk about what had happened, and they couldn’t right now. They needed to focus on getting as much information as possible from Iris.
He wore a wedding band on his left hand. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. She told herself it didn’t matter even if it did mean something—nothing could ever be the way it was. She told herself they weren’t the same people they had been before.
She told herself a lot of things, but that didn’t stop the gnawing ache.
“You’re wearing your wedding band.”
Without moving his eyes from the road, he gave an abrupt nod. “She needs to see a united front.”