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Now, it’s my turn to be inquisitive. “Such as?”
“All this stays between us, right?” Denny asks.
“Absolutely.”
Denny’s big eyes narrow. She smooths her hair on either side of her part. “Harrison had a bastard child. I’m not sure if Dottie knew.”
She knew.But this time, I keep my mouth closed. It’s not my secret to share.
“He did everything in his power to cover it up. His parents…” Denny lets out a sharp breath. “He got his drinking from his mother. His father was a very cruel man. They took the poor woman he got pregnant, paid her off, and threatened her. She was so scared and without an ounce of fight or good sense. She could’ve ruined them. Instead, she took the money and disappeared. The child was a bargaining chip.”
Crossing my arms, I cradle my elbows, feeling the goose bumps against my forearms. “How do you know all this?”
Denny’s eyes drop to her clean, black Manolo’s. “You don’t hang around the Hesslers for decades without overhearing some secrets.”
Lies.My Nancy Drew instincts kick in, and I’m more certain than ever… All the pieces are clicking together like finding the final part of a 2,000-piece puzzle. Here it is: Dex is not a true Hessler.
But Denny is.
Dex
“Goddamn,” is all I can say when I see Lennox fixed up like royalty. She’s wearing a strapless, floor-length, sparkling pearl gown. Her makeup matches her hair. Colorful but elegant. I can’t really see her shoes, but judging by the way she’s walking so carefully across our living room, I know they must be dainty stilettos.
She shows me my favorite sassy smile. “Same to you,Sir.” She stumbles as she takes another step. “Dammit.”
“Are they too uncomfortable?” I ask, holding out my hands to her.
“No, not bad. I’ve worn worse. It’s just…” She drops her voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to mess them up. I googled these shoes. They are custom Stuart Weitzman’s, and the internet says they are worth half a million dollars, Dex. The stylist didn’t bring me any other options.” She teeters and holds up her foot. The thin straps are embedded with small diamonds. “I mean, they’rereal. There are enough diamonds on here to fill an entire case at Kay Jewelers.”
Lennox’s hair is slicked back, tucked behind her ears, not a stray hair out of place. Her hairstyle shows off the massive diamond studs in her ears. I touch the stones one by one. “They are indeed real. These too.”
“Dex, this is bananas. My shoes are worth more than a diamond engagement ring.”
I scoff. “Baby, the ring I put on your finger will be worth way more than these shoes.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to it.”
“Good. Don’t,” I say. “Then I’ll have a lifetime full of surprising you. Actually, speaking of which,” I say, reaching into my inside coat pocket. I pull out a small plastic bag with my present for Lennox. “It’s nothing too fancy. But it’s your favorite color,” I say as I pour the thin bracelet into my palm. I hold the end clasps in my hands, ready to put it on her. “I think it matches well enough.”
“You’d have to check with my stylist. It might ruin the ensemble,” Lennox says, rolling her eyes. She eagerly holds out her wrist. “You picked this out for me because it’s purple?” she asks, bright-eyed.
“Sort of. I told you me and my mom were born in February, right? This is Amethyst. Her birthstone. It was her favorite bracelet. It’s the only piece of jewelry of hers I have. Happy accident that it’s your favorite color.” I fasten the bracelet around her wrist, a perfect fit. I glance at her eyes, starting to water. “Don’t cry on me now, baby. You’ll ruin your pretty makeup.”
She sniffles and shakes her head. “No, no, it’s basically superglued on. I was in the chair for like four hours. I didn’t realize how long it takes to get glam.” She chuckles as she sniffles again.
I gently dab her cheek with the tip of one finger. “Still… You look so beautiful. And I hate making you cry. You were never a crier until I brought you out here.”
“Wrong.” She holds up her wrist, examining the little purple stones alternating with small, round diamonds. “I cry a lot, just not in front of people. I don’t like when people think I can’t handle things. Crying makes me feel vulnerable. But I guess now I’m willing to be vulnerable with you.”
I pull her into my chest, hugging her tightly. I breathe in the smell of all the hairspray, perfume, lotion, and makeup as Ikiss the top of her head. She smells like a meadow of about five different types of flowers. “Me too, Len.”
Pulling away, she asks. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Then may I ask… How come you don’t like talking about your mom? She seemed like such a wonderful person.”
“She was.” I feel myself shutting down, the way I always do when Mom gets brought up. I don’t avoid the topic because of anything other than human nature. It’s still too painful. Isn’t it basic instinct to avoid the things that hurt us most?