Page 97 of Desperate Games

And the truth? I want to be.

But my brain won’t shut up.

Ever since we visited my parents, it keeps playing back my father’s words, his unreadable gaze. My mother’s too-tight smiles.

The way Dad said, “Sigma’s jet left Greece yesterday,” like it was a warning bell.

Passengers. Plural.

Maui. Paris. Tahiti.

Parties, maybe. Royals, definitely. Women, it’s been known to happen.

And Remy? My Remy?

Where the hell is he in all of this?

The car jerks a little, and the death grip I have on my purse loosens as the driver takes a corner too sharply.

“Sorry, Mrs. Falco,” the driver murmurs.

“It’s fine.”

I force myself to relax, even though my pulse is hammering.

My cousins have been texting, and even now my phone is buzzing with unanswered messages.

I grab it before it can wake Callie up, and I freeze.

The text is from Clementine.

Clem

Hey girl, I know you’re like having this whole thing, but I just got Connor to confess. The uncles sent Remy to Greece to test him. To see if he was good enough for you. FYI, he’s coming home today. But, Andrea, there were women and?—

Shit.

I stop reading.

I don’t want to finish her message. Don’t want to know what she has to say about what Remy was doing while he was away because I can’t even go there.

One thing sticks out, though. He’s coming home.

Shit.

I don’t even know what I’d say to him when he gets home.

Do I scream at him? Demand the truth?

Or do I smile, pretend, play the good little wife while keeping a part of myself locked away where he can’t reach it?

Fuck, I just don’t know.

I do know I’m not built like my mother.

I’m not her brand of invincible.

I’m not Aunt Sofia, aka Z. Wolff, bestselling author with a husband who worships the ground she walks on.