Page 51 of The Princess and the P.I.

Fiona had to get some air. Those photos hidden away were too much for her.

Kofi hadn’t burned all the photos of their family after all.

He had kept them for himself. All his lies that family was idolatry, his big show of taking any memories of her mother and Kwesi away—only to see that he had secreted his pain away to gorge on when no one was looking.

When their mother died, Fiona had been forced to perform joy until her face ached, repeating, She’s with the Lord, she’s with the Lord , until it felt like a curse.

Grief had been treated like sin, beaten back with scripture and scorn, while Kofi had kept his precious pictures, mourning in secret, crying over his lost son and the woman he called his life’s great love.

He had taken everything from her and Esi—memories, names, closure—and hoarded it for himself.

The betrayal ran marrow-deep.

She walked aimlessly, the cold cutting through her coat like teeth when she saw him. Running blindly like he’d lost a child in a theme park.

When she met his eyes, she sucked in a breath. The mask he wore so expertly was gone—he was naked with fear—terror.

The November wind whipped around him, stirring brown leaves at his feet and whipping his collar up about his face. The set of his jaw, clamped tight, looked like a bronze sculpture, unmoving and hard. He had never looked at her like this…like…

Volatile.

Coming toward her with wild energy.

“Back to the house,” Maurice barked out, his voice low and smoke-bitten.

Fiona took a step toward him. Whoa . Where was all this bass in his voice coming from?

Despite his mad face, she was happy he found her.

They could walk, talk, think this through—Mark, the break-in, the twisted path of lies they were wading through.

Maurice would help her clear her head. He always did.

“Here’s why all the evidence points to Mark—” she started.

“Let the police handle the break-in, Fiona.”

She blinked, stunned. “Let the—What? Did you get body snatched?”

“I’m serious.” His voice was a growl. “This got too messy, too fast.”

“Maurice…”

He shifted, curling inward like he was bracing for a hit.

He looked up again, and his face was cold as stone.

“You’re sabotaging this investigation,” he said.

Fiona recoiled. “What?”

“I would have had this wrapped up weeks ago if I wasn’t playing fucking Inspector Training Wheels with you.”

His use of the past tense felt like a kind of violence. A severing.

Fiona squared her shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. “You didn’t seem to mind playing with me tonight.” She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded despite the crack forming in her foundation.

He just looked at her, eyes so unreadable.

“I think I know what this is about,” she continued carefully. “This case isn’t going to end the way you’re afraid it will—”

“Don’t manage me, Fiona. Don’t coddle me.” He looked alarmed, and it made her know she had hit the exact right thing. “You want it to be deep, but it’s not. I don’t want you on this investigation anymore. You can tell yourself any bedtime story you want, but that’s the truth. You’re costing me.”

She took a breath. “Costing you ? Maurice—”

“Yes,” he said. “All this detective business? It’s dress-up for you, Fiona.

Cosplay. You’re playing pretend. Listen to me.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t speak up for your brother three years ago.

I’m sorry you went along with whatever bullshit your dad sold you.

But stealing a fifty-million-dollar vest?

Reburying your brother? All this energy trying to be the person you should’ve been three years ago, and it. Is. Costing. Me.”

He emphasized each word like he was hammering nails into a coffin. Her coffin.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

It was unfathomable that this closed-face man had held her in his arms just hours ago, rocking her on his pulsing hardness and whispering.

You’re okay.

I got you.

She blinked those memories away. They felt distant now.

So Maurice was but a man after all. Hadn’t Solomon lost his anointing? Hadn’t King Saul?

“I didn’t ask you to bail me out, Maurice,” she said. “I could’ve sat in that jail waiting on God. But you bailed me out. You wanted the church. Look around. You see all this death, all of this destruction? You got the church! And now you don’t like the price tag.”

He flinched, just barely, but she saw it.

“Sara died trying to break free from this thing.” Fiona stepped closer now. “But it’s got you. You’re second-guessing yourself, backing off leads. You’re circling the drain, and you don’t even know it,” she said.

“Then let me go down the drain myself. I made you come tonight.” He shrugged. “That’s it. We’re not bound in holy matrimony, and we don’t owe each other shit. Stay with your dad. Lay low.”

The intensity of his stare loosened the tendons in her knees, but still, she held his gaze. “I will not hide. I will not shrink.”

He shrugged once more. “Mmm, Kwesi begs to differ.”

Fiona reached out before she even realized it, and her palm connected with his cheek in a sharp slap.

“Don’t speak my brother’s name.” Her voice trembled with fury and something stupidly close to tears.

Maurice grabbed her wrist with one hand and pressed his palm to the sting with the other like it was a gift.

“Two slaps in one night, Kitty Cat?” His voice was amused, but his eyes flashed hot. “I gotta admit, I’m a little turned on.” He tilted his head. “Now unless this is your way of offering me something sweet…”

With his words, Fiona remembered her father’s “friend” and his sickening, generous offer. Suddenly, she saw a way out of this whole mess. She hated the idea—but not as much as she hated the thought of going to prison. Not as much as she hated the thought of another person abandoning her.

“Let me go,” she said. But he held her tighter.

Fiona snatched her wrist free. “You know what? My sister found the tox report, and what did we find on Mark? Pearls? Some desperate sales meetings? I mean, what did you actually do? I would give up too if I were you.”

Maurice’s jaw flexed, something working behind his eyes. She knew that look. He was reading the crowd, seeing if his stupid trick had worked.

Always misdirection with him.

She turned on her heels and walked back into her father’s home.