Page 65

My phone buzzes constantly, but I ignore it. My head feels like it’ll explode alongside my heart, the pain so eviscerating, I wish I were unconscious so I’d be out of this misery.

My mind keeps flashing to the way Mother kneeled with me in the mud and grass, soiling her couture dress.

If the revelation came only from her, I might not have believed it.

After all, she wasn’t party to the affair.

But then, Father’s shock and how he whispered, “Y-You found out? You know?” I’d never forget the horror on his face and how he promptly collapsed in front of me. How I wish he’d tell me it isn’t true.

I don’t want to speak to anyone, not my family, not the Anderson siblings, who’d taken turns appearing at the door of my suite once someone spotted me back at The Orchid, not Charles, not my brothers-in-law, Adrian, Parker, or James.

I don’t want to see anyone except Grace.

Despite everything, I still can’t bring myself to admit she’s my sister, that we’re related by blood.

There’s a rightness between us, the way her rough edges fit against mine, how our souls call out to each other, how our bodies connect and become greater than our individual selves, how everything in the world makes sense when she’s by my side.

Life is a sick, cruel joke if this feeling is an illusion.

It’s a terrible nightmare, one I wish I could wake up from. I’d take a thousand nights of violent storms and howling winds over this .

Popping a few ibuprofens, I chase them down with a large sip of water before I stagger back to the sofa in the dark living room.

The shades are mostly closed except for a small sliver of light peeping through.

I told Jarvis to go home, but he insisted on leaving a sandwich on the counter for me to eat.

“The heart can’t mend until the body has strength,” he said.

But a huge part of me doesn’t want to get over this, because if I accept this pain, I’m accepting reality and perhaps there’s still a kernel of whimsical inside me, a piece of Grace I’m carrying in my chest, the hope somehow, there’s a way out of this, and I can keep loving the only woman who’s ensnared my whole heart and taken off with it.

I frankly don’t think I can ever stop loving her.

I don’t see a way out of this.

The pounding in my chest worsens as I lie on the sofa, staring into the blank ceiling above. Empty, like my soul.

By now, she should’ve woken up and read my letter.

I didn’t want to leave her this morning, when she curled up sweetly against my chest, her hand clutching my shoulders like I’d disappear.

She had a beautiful bloom on her face. Her chocolate strands spread like a halo on her pillow, but she looked so happy with the small smile on her luscious lips.

She looked breathtaking.

She looked like she belonged there next to me.

She looked like mine.

I wanted to stay by her side as she read the letter, but my heart was too heavy and I couldn’t bear to witness her pain, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to heal her, to fix the problem.

And so, I ran away, back here to my suite at The Orchid, waiting for her to find me, waiting for her to end things with me, because I know I don’t have the strength to.

I hope my letter brings her answers—at least she doesn’t have to search for her father anymore.

At least that hole inside her will be filled.

Maybe in time, with distance, I’ll be able to bring myself to see her at family reunions with a smile on my face, making conversation with the man she brings home with her, hiding the pain in my chest, the impulse to punch whoever claims Grace as hers, the clenching and fluttering of my heart in her presence.

Because I don’t foresee myself ever falling out of love for her.

Buzz. Buzz.

As I mull about the dismal future, the doorbell buzzes to the suite.

I don’t move to get off the sofa—it’s probably another Anderson. Why the fuck are there so many of them? I throw my arm over my eyes to block out the sunlight filtering in through the gap between the curtains.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Nuisances, all of them. I groan and yell, “If your last name is Anderson, please go away. I’m alive.”

“It’s me, Grace.”

Her sweet voice jolts me from my stupor, and I sit up, my head protesting at the sudden motion.

Grace. My sweet darling, Grace.

I clamor to my feet and lurch toward the door. My hands are clammy as sweat gathers on my forehead. My fingers tremble as I grab the doorknob and twist, pulling open the door.

Her thick hair is in disarray, her face bare of makeup, her body hidden by an oversized sweater reminiscent of the ones she used to wear when I first saw her at Pietra. The thought sends a small ember of warmth inside me.

She’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

Her lips are flattened, her eyes narrowing and with a huff of breath, she shoves me hard in the chest and I stagger back into the suite.

“How dare you, Steven Kingsley!”

The darkness enveloping me recedes briefly as confusion enters the picture. “Grace?”

“You think I’ll just accept a letter and a photo from you and let you upend my life?” She stomps into the suite, all fire and blazing glory, determination lacing her voice.

I’m awed. Floored by her passionate anger .

“Darling, my mother told me the truth. My father collapsed when I confronted him. Trust me,” my voice breaks, “this is the last thing I want to be true.”

She whirls around, her hair flying behind her like a whip through the air.

“And your mother is the end-all-be-all truth-holder now? The last I checked, it takes a man and a woman to make a baby and that woman definitely does not include the jilted wife. And your father…did he specifically say the words ‘Grace is your sister?’”

My breath catches and I stay silent.

Grace charges forward, her finger wagging at me, and presses me against the door. “I asked Mom multiple times if Uncle Bobby is our father and she always said no. And forgive me, but I believe the woman who birthed me out of her vagina over your mom or whatever you thought your father said.”

My pulse thrums in my ears as her words sink in. A kernel of hope, the one tiny piece of her left in my chest, wants to take root, to blossom inside me.

Can it be? Can this all be a misunderstanding?

“Grace, why would she lie? She was devastated. I’ve never seen her like that before. And Father…he looked at me with horror and shock when I confronted him.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “I don’t know! Mistakes happen. But I don’t think my mom would lie to us either. You believe your parents and I believe mine.”

Grace heaves out a frustrated breath, her small frame shaking, her face flushed, her body teeming with energy, with determination, with life. And I can’t help but love her even more, even though that’s the last thing I should be doing.

She’s one of a kind. Amazing. I fucking love her to the ends of the earth.

She shakes her head. “I’m not going to believe anything unless I see the truth in front of me. ”

Suddenly, her frame stills, mere inches from my body as her eyes take on a sharp glint. I can practically see the gears turn in her head. I read the look in her eyes as the first logical thought in the last twenty-four hours lights up my mind.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.

She dips her head in a nod.

“This is so stupid.” She mutters other things under her breath before she takes out her phone from her purse and swipes on the screen, her brows furrowing in concentration.

The phone rings three times before a deep male voice answers.

“Emerson Clarke speaking.”

Her investigator.

The breath lodges in my chest as I take in her furrowed brows, her eyes fierce and determined, because she refuses to give up, because she’s running the facts to the ground, like the meticulous intern I met a year ago, the one person who never misses the details because it’s the details that matter at the end.

“E-Emerson, this is Grace,” she says breathlessly, nervousness in her voice.

“Perfect timing. I was just about to call you.”

She grabs my hand and clutches it in a tight grip. I lace my fingers with her, telling her without words I’m with her every step of the way. “You were?”

“I just got the DNA results back. One of my candidates is indeed your father.”

There are moments when the world stops spinning and time slows to a standstill, when I swear I could hear every second ticking by, feel every atom of air brushing against my body, my nose picking apart every component of her sweet fragrance—the heady notes of mint, followed by the middle notes of jasmine, and a lingering base note of sweet, summer grass, everything that makes up her intoxicating aroma .

My body freezes, my lungs cease to work, my heart clamoring inside my rib cage like summer rain—whether it becomes a much-needed reprieve from the heat or a hurricane is yet to be determined.

I squeeze her hand tightly as every auditory nerve focuses on the deep, smooth voice of Emerson Clarke.

“Tell me, please. Is it Robert Kingsley?” Grace’s voice is shaky as she trembles before me.

A second passes by, but it feels like forever.

“He was one of our three candidates. I’d ask you how you knew that but I gather you probably don’t want to satisfy my curiosity at the moment,” Emerson begins, oblivious to the tension in the spacious foyer, which suddenly feels as small and claustrophobic as the trunk in the back of a car.

“And the answer is…no, he’s not your father.”

Grace lets out an audible sigh as she collapses on my chest, and oxygen, much needed oxygen, rushes into my lungs as I hold her against me.

Shell-shocked. Disbelief.

My body can’t begin to respond, to process his words. It seems too good to be true.

I clutch her against me, feeling her warmth in my arms, something I thought I wasn’t going to do again because there’d be no way I could hold her in my arms even as her brother because it would be the cruelest torture to do so.

“Your father is Linus Anderson.”

The proverbial gong strikes, the sound echoing in the room.

“What!” Grace exclaims, the shock evident in her voice. She looks at me, her eyes wide.

“Linus Anderson, as in the Anderson family patriarch? The family owning Fleur Entertainment and The fucking Orchid?” I couldn’t help but interject, suddenly finding my voice.

Emerson stays quiet at my intrusion as Grace stammers, “S-Sorry for not letting you know, but Steven Kingsley is here with me right now. ”

Another long pause before low chuckles filter through the line. “Ah, I see. You don’t need to answer my question from earlier. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity.”

The fucking bastard. Emerson Clarke is one of the best in the business—I’ve known other businessmen who use him for investigations, and they’ve always called him a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch, and I can see why he got that nickname now.

“And yes, the same Anderson of the Anderson family you both know.”

“You’re sure?” I push. Now instead of upending my life, it turns out we’ll be upending my friends’ lives instead.

“DNA doesn’t lie.”

Grace’s mouth is slack as she gapes at me, her arms still around my waist.

“And my sister?” she asks.

“Still one hundred percent your sister. Same father. I tested his sample against hers too. And still the same answer as last time, don’t bother asking me how I got your samples. I have my methods.”

After a few more moments of shell-shocked silence, Emerson clears his throat. “I’ll email you the test results. Do with it what you will. I hope this brings you closure, and I’ll send you the rest of my bill. If you or your friends need my services later on, just call me.”

I start shaking, my muscles relaxing as a delirious laugh rips out of my mouth. I’d pay him my entire net worth and give him all the fucking stars on Yelp for this news. The chuckles soon become laughter as I bowl over and clutch her waist tightly to keep me upright.

A thousand sensations filter through me—the zinger of shock, the heady intoxication of happiness, the sweetness of love—and it’s as if my heart, which I thought was irrevocably broken, has suddenly been pieced back together by divine intervention and my body doesn’t know how to behave or respond.

I find myself laughing, crying, tears streaming down my face as sobs tear from my throat, all the while trembling, my head against her stomach as she cradles me in her arms .

“Steven? Steven!” Grace’s voice is so sweet and so beautiful.

I rake in a few gasps of air as my body catches up to my mind and I straighten up, my blurry vision taking in her smiling face, her brilliant violet eyes also red and wet with tears.

“We’re not related,” I rasp out in between inhales. “We’re not siblings.”

I haul her into my arms and clasp her tightly against my chest, feeling her heart beat against mine.

“You’re so stupid , Steven Kingsley. I could’ve told you that. There’s no way life would be so cruel to us, to give us each other, only to keep us apart. There’s no way. I refused to believe it and I was right,” Grace mutters into my chest.

“You’re always right, Grace. Always.”

Tilting her face up, I lean down and claim her lips with mine once more.

This time, I’m definitely never letting go.