Page 1 of Heartless

Prologue

Sienna

The officiant clasped my hand between his bony fingers.“My deepest condolences, Sienna.”

The downpour had plastered his thinning hair over his pale forehead.He hadn’t been prepared for the rain either, and we were both drenched to the bones.

The knot in my throat swelled, so I nodded while he kept comforting me.

“Your mother was a gentle soul, and she will be greatly missed.”He tapped the back of my hand.“Greatly missed.”

I’d started missing her nine months ago when the cancer had returned for the fourth time.It’d been more aggressive, and it’d ended up taking the woman who had been my whole world.Rolling thunder growled through the deserted cemetery.

The man’s brows furrowed.“Are you here alone?”

Mr.Cranston, Mom’s and my boss at the bank, had sent flowers.The family she’d had left—her parents had died when I was a toddler, and she had no siblings—hadn’t been able to make the trip from England.Mom’s friends and some of the nurses who had cared for her over the years had come and gone.And there would be no wake.

Shivering, I blurted, “Gabby was supposed to be here, but I guess she...”I let the resigned hitch of my shoulders conclude what hurt too much to voice.My best friend was a no-show.

Releasing my hand, his fingers gripped his collar, and his chin scrooched down into his shoulders, readying for the trek back to his car through the inclement weather.“Take care, my child.”

A sob bubbled out of my chest.I wasn’t anyone’s child.Not anymore.

The unrelenting rainfall pelted the soft ground in minuscule punches.Mom loved rain.She used to say it had been part of her British DNA.Me, I must have taken after the father I’d never met.

As suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped, and I lifted my face toward the skies welcoming Caitlin Winslow to her new home.

“Sienna Winslow?”

I jumped at the male voice behind me.Spinning toward it, I stared at the tall, older man.His navy-blue three-piece suit, the sky-blue shirt, and the silver and dark blue tie looked expensive.

“May I speak with you?”

It was formulated as a question, but his inflection landed as an order.A black car beside which a black-suited man was standing loomed a few feet behind him.

I fastened my hand around the bottom of the strap of my purse and took two steps back.“Who are you and how do you know my name?”

His expression softened.No, not softened exactly, more like blanked.“Maybe we should discuss this in a more civilized setting.”

My mind stuttered, and I gaped at him.“Thesettingis my mother’s funeral, so I really don’t care if it’s not civilized enough for you.”

Brushing past him, I started toward my car.

“Sienna, please wait,” he called to my back.

I kept walking.

“Wait.”

He was closing in, so I sped up.“Sienna, my name is Nigel Morrison, and I believe I’m your father.”

Thatstopped me.

I pivoted slowly toward him.When he was, yet again, standing before me, I gawked at him.“What?”

“I’m your father.”

That was when I noticed his eyes.The same ones that had been reflected back at me in the mirror.