Page 104 of These Summer Storms

“Right.” Alice agreed with the experience of a kid who’d had thisconversation a thousand times, built by cool emotion that came from four hundred years of New England winters, always threatening to ice out the other 50 percent—the undeniable heat of her arrogant, overbearing father.

It wasn’t until that moment, standing in the brutal humidity of the greenhouse, that Alice realized the truth. Elisabeth and Franklin had somehow existed in strange, perfect balance.

Until last week.

And now, without fire, there was nothing but ice.

Elisabeth inhaled sharply, the sound startling Alice from her thoughts, releasing words she might not have said if she’d thought about them. “Mom—this is terrible. You’re allowed to say that.”

“Why would I say that? People seem to be having a lovely time.”

Alice’s brows shot up. “A lovely time—” She stopped, unable to keep the horrified laugh from bubbling up and still measuring her words as she’d been taught. “You remember why everyone is here, don’t you? Hedied,Mom. He’sgone. And we’re all sad. And people aresorry.”

Innocence morphed instantly into anger, Elisabeth’s blue eyes narrowing, the skin around them—so carefully preserved—pulling tight into lines. “I know he died, Alice.I was here.”

Elisabeth didn’t have the same rules of battle as Alice; she deployed the words without hesitation. Without even a moment of considering the edge they would carry. Or maybe she was aware of it all along.

“I wasn’t here, you mean.”

Elisabeth did not reply, her gaze flickering past her, to the exit and the dark hallway that yawned beyond.

“What do you want from me, Mom? I came as soon as I heard,” Alice said, the words turning to dust on her tongue. “I came as soon as you called.”

“Precisely.”

“What, I was supposed to ignore that he never reached out? That you never did?” She knew she shouldn’t say anything. That even if it was the right time for this conversation, it wouldn’t end in anything new or fresh or healed. She shook her head. “He told me toget the hell off hisislandand I did as I was told—as I had done for my whole life, I might add, right up until I couldn’t anymore—and this entire family wrote me off.”

“Don’t be silly. You were always welcome to come home.” She said it so firmly, like it was settled law.

“Tail between my legs, begging to be let back in,” Alice said. “Because God forbid any of us stand up to him. God forbid anyone tell him he was wrong. Even now. Well, Mom. He was wrong. And you let it happen.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

God, she felt dramatic. She wanted to scream her drama into being, in this room made of glass and terra-cotta and flagstone. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes, you are.” Her mother turned on her, something like fire in her eyes, like Alice had finally knocked her loose. “I fought your father all the time.”

“Not for us,” Alice said. “Not for Greta so she could actually love her person, not to make room for Emily, not to ensure that Dad respected Sam. Not when Ibeggedyou to convince him to let me have a life outside of Storm. You never once fought for us. You fought foryourself. And that’s different. You never stopped him from any of it. Not even when he pushed me out and turned his back on me.”

“No one ever stopped your father from doing anything. We lived according to his whim.” A convenient lie, as though Elisabeth had been a jellyfish in Franklin’s ocean rather than queen of storms (Storms?). Her tone went bitter as she waved a hand toward the south-facing window of the solarium and the crowd beyond, in the distance. “Even this week.”

“Right,” Alice said, her voice growing louder, angry and hurt and frustrated. “Because he died and you couldn’t even find your way to having a goddamn funeral. Instead, we’re passing mini quiches and champagne at a fuckingcelebration.”

Elisabeth froze, and Alice wondered at the shock that flashed over her mother’s face, even as Alice’s words reverberated through the space, banging against the glass, passing through it. And when it dissipated—leaving the caterer no doubt reminding the staff nearby that they’d signed NDAs—the only evidence that she’d heard Alice at all was the slight rise of her perfectly shaped brows.

Something whispered through Alice at the expression, cold and unpleasant and incomprehensible. Before she could say anything, Elisabeth’s attention slid past her again, over her shoulder to the entrance to the room. Alice knew who was there before she followed her mother’s gaze. Claudia had found Jack. Told him Alice needed him. And he’d come.

Like a fucking Boy Scout.

“Elisabeth.” He acknowledged the older woman but didn’t look at her, his focus entirely on Alice. “Do you need something?”

Alice shook her head, but he didn’t leave. Of course he didn’t leave, stepping into the room, the sound of his oxblood loafers like gunshot on the flagstones. Her gaze tracked over him, sliding over his broad shoulders, down the pristine line of his jacket, the length of his sleeve, to the gleaming white cuff peeking out at his wrist, liked he’d been dressed by a personal valet.

His left hand was fisted when her eyes found it, and he flexed his fingers almost immediately, as though he could feel her notice. He shook it, barely, and she tracked the movement. Jack had come ready to fight. To fix.

Of course, there was no fixing this.

“Are you—”