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“Are you sure?” Lex asks, forehead creased with skepticism. I get it. It’s mind-blowing.

“You’re welcome to do a DNA test,” Wicker says, throwing off the jacket. “I suspect you have his sample.”

Lex is watching Wicker much the same way Verity is, like he’s trying to find the resemblance. “I can…gethis sample,” he says, casting a strange glance at her.

“Wait,” Rosi says again, this time holding up a hand. “Remy is really your brother?”

Scowling down at his feet, Wicker corrects, “Half-brother. Same mother. Different son-of-a-bitch fathers.”

“Ifthe test confirms it.” Lex is trying to sound like there’s an alternative, but I think we all know Maddox was telling the truth. Regardless, he shoots to his feet, headed straight for the door. “I need to get to the lab and confirm this.”

I watch him rush out, because Lex can’t confront something like this without hard data and concrete facts. But what wouldit matter, really? We’ve been floating in a sea, untethered by biological chains for as long as any of us can remember.

But not Wicker.

Not anymore.

I aim for the bottom drawer of my desk, shoulders tight as Verity approaches him.

“Look at me.” She grabs his face by the cheeks, twisting it this way and that. She’s so pretty tonight, already in her nightgown, the swell of her stomach more pronounced than ever.

Thirty weeks.

Coconut.

She looks infuriatingly awed as she inspects him. “This is just… wow. Okay.Wow! I can kind of see it. You have his chin.” I clutch desperately for the bottle of rum hidden in the back, finding it so close to being empty that I barely get more than a swig.

Wicker balks. “Maybe he hasmychin.”

She steps back, still gaping. “How didn’t I see it?”

“No fucking clue, Red.” He turns his mouth into her hand, pressing a kiss against her palm.

“Remy doesn’t even know, does he?” But before Wicker can answer, she gasps in delight, framing her stomach with two sprawling palms. “Oh my god, that means Remy’s his uncle!”

Crash.

The rum bottle slams against the floor, the explosion of glass so loud that Effie’s panicked flaps and squawks ring out from behind the sheet covering her cage.

“Can we please,” I say through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up about Remy?”

It only takes one glance at Verity’s ashen face to make me regret it. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I lie, kicking at a shard of glass.

But Wicker’s always had my number, and right now, he’s glaring at me in astonishment. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I fling an arm out, gesturing to Rosi. “It’s bad enough the Dukes claim our Princess as family, but sure. Why not? They can have my brother and your kid, too.” Sneering, I add, “Hell, let’s call Lex back and arrange a marriage. Then all of you can live happily ever fucking after in that death trap of a clock tower.”

Verity’s face falls. “Oh, Pace, it’s not?—”

But Wicker is marching up to me, growling, “You jealous freak! You’re more of a brother to me than any fucking West Ender will ever be. Blood or not.” His nostrils flare with outrage, but I’m too frayed to care.

“He doesn’t even know you, and now what? In the span of an hour, he’s your brother?” I swing my glare on a stunned Verity, hating the way my voice cracks. “Our baby is more related to Remy than me?” I hiss, “It’s not fucking fair.”

“I know.” Wicker’s face softens in a way thathurts, but he doesn’t back away. “Pace, it doesn’t matter.”

I burst, “Bullshit, it doesn’t matter! We all like to say that—to feel it—but I saw the way you looked when Maddox told you. When we don’t have blood ties, it doesn’t matter.” I take a ragged inhale. “But when we do… itmatters, Wick.”