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CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Lazarus & Alexis Engagement Day

CAPE COD

"His cousin was really generous, letting us use his house for the engagement party," Mom says. "But I’m not planning on spending the night here, Alexis. There’s no reason to when we’ve got our own place just a few miles away.

Let’s leave this mansion to your fiancé’s family.

Besides, Badger would never go for it. He’s not the kind of man who’s comfortable staying at someone else’s house. "

I smile and nod. "I think he’s changed a lot, Mom. Ever since you moved in together, he’s become more sociable."

She squeezes my hand. "Never in a million years did I think I’d fall in love like that again. Or maybe I should say, fall in love with someone else."

"So, when are you two getting married? My tatted-up stepdad seems pretty eager to make you Mrs. Marla Gillis Hill."

"I am too, but I want you to go first."

"I love weddings," Brooklyn says, walking up to us. "Weddings and babies are my weakness."

My mom laughs. "As for babies, I’m done. I don’t want another child. I just want to spoil my grandkids."

"Oh yeah," Taylor adds, joining us. "But not because you physically can’t, right? Women have kids in their fifties these days, and you’re not even there yet."

"Right, and I’m healthy as a horse. I could have more if I wanted to."

The four of us arrived last night. Eleanor—Brooklyn’s stepmother—and Madison Kostanidis, her sister, whom I met a few weeks ago at dinner, will bring the "kid squad" later today.

Lazarus must be on his way now with his two partners, flying in by helicopter after an emergency meeting at the hospital. As for Badger, he’s organizing all the food for the party.

LJ’s cousin offered to let him cook everything here, but Badger’s a perfectionist. He likes his own pans and his own kitchen.

"You’re really generous with your sister-in-law," Brooklyn says, probably referring to the fact I let Sedric sleep over at LJ’s parents’ house at Lois’s request. The five of them—my son, his grandparents, and Lois—are flying in tonight.

"It’s love for Sedric, not generosity. He adores her. It’s kind of ridiculous, honestly."

Mom makes a face. "True. Even Lazarus was shocked at how Lois drops everything the second our grandson so much as sneezes."

Both she and I haven’t fully forgiven Lois.

Mom might even be more resentful than I am, though I know it’s going to take a long time for me to get over everything she did.

Still, I can’t deny how devoted she’s been to my son.

And the way Sedric lights up around her? That’s not something you can fake.

"I used to be super rigid," I admit, since both Taylor and Brooklyn now know my whole story. From the tragedy that struck our family before I was even born to my mom’s arrest and, finally, everything that happened between me and Lazarus.

"Not anymore?" Brooklyn asks.

"I’ve learned not everything has to be black or white. Some people are just who they are. You can cut out toxic ones permanently—but others, like Lois, who like it or not is family, you kind of have to deal with. But if she screws me over again, I’ll have no problem snapping her neck."

Taylor bursts out laughing. "You’re sneaky, Alexis. All blonde, quiet, and sweet-looking—people probably think you’re some angel."

I bat my eyelashes at her. "I am an angel. I just happen to have a little demon in me too."

"But now you believe in second chances," Mom says.

"How could I not, Mom? It wasn’t just LJ who messed up—I did too. It’d be so hypocritical of me to expect him to forgive me for keeping Sedric a secret all that time, and then not forgive him for not reaching out while we were apart."

I take a sip of the chilled champagne and sigh with pleasure. Even though it wasn’t lunchtime yet, we decided to open one.

It’s the first time I’m having alcohol since my surgery. Until now, the only wine I’d ever tried was at dinner. Being banned from alcohol for months had made it all the more tempting.

When we arrived yesterday, there was a box of champagne waiting for us in the fridge—a thoughtful gift from Morrison, the owner of the house, to celebrate our engagement.

According to Mom, who read the label and looked it up online, it’s a rare vintage.

And since there was also a note inside the box encouraging us to indulge in a bottle, along with some treats he had ordered from a delicatessen in Manhattan and had delivered to us, we decided to take him up on the suggestion when we woke up, as when we first got here, each of us had gone straight to our own rooms, exhausted.

Morrison called around eleven last night, introduced himself, welcomed me, and asked what we thought of the champagne. I told him we hadn’t tried it yet. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, we decided to open a bottle this morning.

"I think I hear a car pulling up," my mom says.

I glance at the watch on my wrist. "It must be Morrison. LJ told me his cousin would arrive early. I'll go meet him."

I step out of the "club" where I danced for Lazarus over two years ago, wondering at the same time if his cousin knows what happened in his house that weekend.

The thought makes my cheeks burn.

When I reach the front hall, I don't need the man standing in front of me to introduce himself to know it’s Morrison Seymour.

Even though he looks more worn than he did in the photos I saw of him online back when the accident happened, I still recognize the unique eye color—a strong trait in their family—through the thick lenses of his glasses.

I smile, and he smiles back, but I feel a pang of guilt as I watch him drag himself toward me with the help of a cane, reminded of what caused it.

Every time I think of Jodie, I feel a mix of pity for how far she fell into madness, and anger for the pain she caused LJ and me. I rarely think about Morrison, but seeing him now reminds me that he almost died with her, spent time in a coma, and woke up with amnesia.

"Hi, my name is Alexis Gillis," I say, extending my hand.

He moves as if he’s going to hurry toward me but loses his balance. "I’m sorry," he mutters, looking embarrassed.

I offer an awkward smile and pull my hand back. "No, I’m the one who’s sorry. My mom, along with Athanasios’s and William’s wives, is downstairs in your club. We finally opened that champagne you sent us this morning. Thank you, it’s delicious."

He smiles. "I think I’ll go join them," he says.

I feel my face heating up but force myself to ask, not wanting him to get hurt. "Do you need help getting downstairs?"

"No. There’s an elevator."

"Oh, I didn’t know."

"Very few people do. Only LJ and Seth, I think. And as far as I know, you’ve only been here once before, right?"

God, how embarrassing!

"Yeah. Well, if you can get down by yourself, I’ll head to the kitchen and grab more food. None of us are used to drinking, and we’ve already polished off a whole bottle."

"All right. See you down there."

He walks away, and I make my way toward the ultramodern kitchen, a place that also brings back spicy memories of that weekend that feels like it belongs to another lifetime.

I glance over the trays of food and decide to grab a cheese platter, since we’ve already sampled one with various cured meats.

I’m carrying the tray toward the basement stairs, because I forgot to ask Morrison where this elevator is, when something in the corner of my eye catches my attention—a photo frame.

At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. I set the tray down on a piece of furniture and pick up the frame.

No, I’m not imagining it.

It’s a photo of Morrison, LJ’s cousin, posing with several members of the DeCarlo family—the same people we’re currently fighting in a civil lawsuit because of the false accusations against my mother.

My mind, trained to connect dots quickly—the very reason my show is so successful—races through all the possibilities.

I remember my conversation with Mr. Matheus Berardi, the lawyer who believed the plot had been orchestrated by an unknown enemy.

Morrison?

Could it be possible?

Did they know each other?

I start trembling all over, fumbling to pull my phone from the back pocket of my shorts.

I type a message to the only person who can help us if this man means us harm:

Badger, I need you to come to LJ’s cousin’s house immediately. Please don’t make any noise when you arrive. We’ll be in the basement. Maybe I’m crazy, but my gut says we’re in danger.

Before heading down to the basement, I go back to the kitchen and grab a knife. I try to run toward where my mom is with Taylor and Brooklyn, but my legs feel like they weigh a ton. I feel sluggish, but I force myself to keep moving, trying to dial the police at the same time.

The screen of my phone blurs before my eyes. I can't even remember the emergency number, and I end up giving up altogether.

The club is silent, and when I step onto the last stair, I understand why. My mother and my friends are tied to chairs, sitting side by side, their mouths taped shut.

I try to scream, but before I can, a strong hand clamps over my lips.

Yes, a strong hand—not the weak hand of someone who could barely stand.

And that’s when I realize he was faking it.

Morrison is truly our hidden enemy.

"Took you long enough, moron," he sneers, grabbing me by the hair and dragging me to a chair that I now realize has been prepared for me.

He ties me up just like he did to the others and tapes my mouth shut too. To my surprise, he rips the tape off my mom’s mouth.

"Don’t touch my daughter, sir," is the first thing she says.

His eyes widen, his face twisting into a mask of rage. Suddenly, he screams. Not a scream of anger—a guttural, wounded animalistic roar.

" Sir? You call me sir , Marla? What do I have to do to make you remember me, huh? To make myself unforgettable?"

I look at my mom, confused, but she seems just as lost as I am and asks, "Do we know each other?"