Chương 2
“Not to the person whose medical account paid for it.”
“It was a family account.”
“It was Natalie’s.”
“You were unreachable.”
“I was in Nevada, not underwater.”
“You were dealing with the sale. I protected the family.”
Natalie shifted against him. “Ethan.”
He looked down.
“Please,” she said. “Not here.”
Above them, thirty people were drinking champagne in the great room and on the upper terrace. They had come for Lorraine’s annual fundraiser, a polished afternoon supposedly benefiting a local cancer support organization. A white banner near the entrance thanked donors for helping patients maintain dignity during treatment.
Ethan had walked beneath it twelve minutes earlier.
He had found Natalie kneeling in the service courtyard, scrubbing mud from Brooke’s SUV mats while Brooke complained about streaks on the leather.
The absurdity of the banner had not fully reached him yet. He suspected it would later, in some quiet place, when there was no emergency left to hold his anger in shape.
He guided Natalie toward the shaded bench beneath the overhang.
Lorraine followed. “You cannot drag her through the party looking like this.”
Ethan turned.
Lorraine stopped.
It was not fear in her face. Not yet. It was offended surprise that he had interrupted her sentence without saying anything.
He had spent most of his childhood watching rooms reorganize themselves around her. She rarely raised her voice. She did not need to. Disapproval moved through her features with the efficiency of a closing door.
“Get the documents ready,” Ethan said. “All of them. Brooke’s title. The operating accounts. The villa. The Desert Ridge house. Anything transferred while I was away.”
Lorraine folded her arms. “Your father left me this home.”
“My father left you lifetime residency.”
“He intended—”
“He put the intention in writing.”
“You have been home for less than fifteen minutes.”
“Fourteen.”
“And you believe this woman before you believe your mother.”
Natalie’s fingers tightened against Ethan’s sleeve.
He felt it and answered Lorraine without taking his eyes from her.
“I believe the empty medical account.”
Lorraine’s face changed again, less visibly this time.
That was the first useful confirmation.
She knew he had checked it.
Brooke pushed damp blonde hair behind one ear. “Can we not do this in front of people?”
Ethan looked toward the glass doors. Several guests had drifted closer, though all had found reasons not to be watching. A man in a pale blue jacket examined a painting he had passed twice already. Two women near the champagne table spoke without moving their lips much. Lorraine’s event coordinator stood beside a floral arrangement with a headset pressed to her ear, waiting for instructions.
Public humiliation was one of Lorraine’s deepest fears. She called it privacy when it concerned her and reputation when it concerned everyone else.
Ethan considered walking Natalie through the center of the party.
He wanted every guest to see her knees, her arms, the dressing, the scarf.
The desire was hot and simple.
Natalie leaned closer. “Please don’t.”
That stopped him.
It was her humiliation, not his weapon.
He turned toward the side gate. “We’re leaving through the service drive.”
Lorraine stepped into his path. “You have a speech in twenty minutes.”
“I’m sure you can speak for me. You’ve been doing it for months.”
“The donors expect—”
“They can ask where the donation account went.”
This time, Lorraine’s face did not merely change. It emptied.
Brooke looked at her mother. “What donation account?”
Lorraine spoke without turning. “He is upset.”
Ethan almost laughed. It came out as a short breath.
Natalie watched him with a distant, frightened attention. She knew this version of him: the calm voice, the slight smile, the dangerous stillness. Years earlier, during an argument with a subcontractor who had falsified inspection dates, she had told him that his anger became most frightening when it became organized.
He hated that she was seeing it now and hated more that some part of her seemed relieved.
He led her through the side gate.
A catering van blocked half the drive. The driver was unloading ice and muttering into a phone about being sent to the wrong entrance. Ethan had to wait while the man moved two plastic tubs. The interruption felt obscene. Natalie stood beside him, swaying slightly, while a stranger complained about navigation software.
Real life, Ethan thought, had no respect for revelation.
The driver finally looked up and noticed Natalie.
His irritation vanished.
“You need help, ma’am?”
“She has it,” Ethan said too quickly.
Natalie glanced at him.
The driver did too.
Ethan loosened his grip around her. “Thank you,” he added.
The driver moved the tubs aside.
Ethan’s rental car waited beyond the gate, dusty from the road. He opened the passenger door and helped Natalie lower herself into the seat. She winced when the belt crossed her chest.
He stopped.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere is dramatic.”
“Where?”
She touched the edge of the dressing. “Mostly there.”
“What procedure did you have?”
“A biopsy.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
It was Friday.
He stared at her.
“Who took you?”
“No one.”
“You drove?”
“I used a rideshare.”
“After sedation?”
“I waited.”
“How long?”
She looked toward the villa wall. “I don’t know.”
Ethan closed his eyes for half a second.
The service gate opened behind them. Brooke came out carrying a towel and her wet keys. She paused when she saw them.
“Mother says the signing should be at eight,” she said. “Her attorney can come.”
“My attorney will come.”
“She doesn’t like your attorney.”
“That has always been one of Daniel’s best qualities.”
Brooke’s gaze moved to Natalie. “I didn’t know about the biopsy money.”
Natalie said nothing.
Brooke looked at Ethan. “I thought the car came from the line of credit.”
“You never asked.”
“Mother handles that stuff.”
“You are twenty-eight.”
Brooke’s mouth tightened. “I said I didn’t know.”
Ethan leaned across Natalie to close the door, then stopped.
May you like
“What did you think Natalie was doing in the wash tray?”
Brooke looked back toward the gate.
