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Zane frowns. “Why—”
Stella lifts her eyebrows.
“Oh. Right.”
Lucille clears our plates, and Stella kisses her cheek. “Goodnight, Lucille. Thank you for dinner.”
She smiles. “You’re welcome, doll. Goodnight.”
Zane stands and holds out his hand to Gage who shakes it firmly. “Have a safe drive back into the city, and thank you for coming. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
They step into the hallway, both dressed too casually to sit in the dining room, but I think they did that on purpose so I wouldn’t have to change my clothes and Gage would fit in. He’s wearing jeans and a black flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos cover every inch of skin. I want to trace my fingers over the ink, but I don’t dare.
I don’t want him to leave yet and ask, “Do you want to stay a little longer? We can have coffee in the living room.”
“Sure. That’d be great.”
I show him to a large den located at the rear of the house. I chose the carpet, furniture, and watercolors hanging on the walls and it’s my favorite room. The couches are dark grey and soft. When you sit, you sink into them like the cushions are going to swallow you whole.
Wiping my damp palms over my jeans, I say, “I’ll run to the kitchen quick. I can call Lucille over the intercom, but we hardly use it. I’ll be right back.”
I hurry to the kitchen, and Lucille helps me put together a tray. She uses the espresso machine and adds homemade whipped cream to the café mochas. They’re almost too much after the rich cheesecake we ate for dessert, and I hope Gage doesn’t mind.
Lucille holds the swinging door open. “I like him. Polite,” she says.
Carefully, I carry the tray. She would have, but I want to serve Gage myself. “He’s nice,” I agree.
“I’m going to my cottage. Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks. Zane and Stella stay up later. I can call them if I need something.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Zarah.”
“Night.”
I’m eager to get back to the den, and Gage is where I left him, the dogs napping in front of the crackling flames in the fireplace.
“Let me help you,” he says when he sees me. He relieves me of the tray and places it on the coffee table. “I was looking at all the pictures.” He points to a snapshot sitting on one of the bookshelves of Mom and Dad dressed for a night out. Lucille must have taken it. “Is this your mom?”
I stand next to him. “Yes.”
“You get your coloring from her.”
“Yeah. She’s half Armenian. Zane takes after our father’s side.”
“She was very beautiful.”
“Yes, she was, and she was kind. She cared about everything and everyone. Stella reminds me of her. Compassionate. She knows there’s more to life than money.”
“I like her. She’s smart. Brave. The shit she went through...the stories are incredible.”
“She did it for love,” I say softly, brushing my finger over the frame’s glass. I think I was ten or so when this picture was taken. By then my parents had been together for almost twenty years, and my father was looking at her like she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“So did you. Zane’s having a tough time with what happened,” he says.
“Dad and Clayton were best friends, and Zane believed in their friendship. He believed in Ash’s friendship, too, and I don’t blame him for that. Other things, maybe, but not that. Ash told me he had information that would destroy our company andhurt Zane, but I didn’t know he was lying. I only wanted to protect my brother.”