by Meghan March
She stays put, her mouth twisting in a way that’s wildly unattractive. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know that you’re here trying to steal my boyfriend, and I’m not about to let that happen.”
“I think you’ve been misinformed, Ms. Higgins. I’m here because this town is my family’s home. In fact, since you know exactly who I am, you know Gable is named after us.”
“I don’t care who it’s named after. The Riscoffs own this town, and Lincoln Riscoff belongs to me. You need to back the hell off before I make you.”
I should have known politeness wouldn’t get me far with Maren, but at least I tried it. I really did. Now I’m done letting her sling threats at me without protecting myself. Women like Maren understand one language: bitch. And luckily, after ten years in LA married to a rock star, I’m fluent in the dialect of super-sweet bitch.
“Oh, you’re the fling.” I impress myself with how authentic my surprised tone comes out. “I did hear about you, actually. No one has ever called you a girlfriend, though. I was under the impression you had an on-again, off-again thing that has firmly been in the off position for a while.”
Her back goes poker straight. “I don’t know what he told you, but Lincoln and I are in a relationship.”
“To be totally honest with you, Maren, Lincoln never mentioned you. I heard the gossip around town. You know how this place is.”
She jabs her finger into my robe. “Listen up, bitch. He’s mine.”
This time I do step back, because I don’t want her touching me.
“First off, don’t ever touch me again. My lawyers would eat you alive in court. Second, you should probably clarify things with Lincoln if you’re so sure he’s your property.”
Rage burns in her gaze, and I can see how badly she wants to shred me to pieces with her tongue and her claws, but she reels it in and steps back. Retreating to fight another day, no doubt.
Her expression turns into a creepy mask of calm to blanket the anger, and I realize I made an enemy in Maren Higgins long before this moment.
“It was nice to meet you, Whitney. Next time, I’ll be sure to bring my card so if you ever want to move out of your aunt’s shed, I can find you a place. Maybe the trailer park?”
I smile as sweetly as I’m capable. “Thank you so much for the offer, Maren, but I’m staying here at The Gables, and it’s just too comfortable to consider wanting to leave anytime soon.”
Her mouth pinches before she opens it to retaliate.
“Ms. Higgins?” A spa attendant stands in the doorway to the lounge. “I’m looking for a Ms. Higgins.”
“I hope you enjoy your service, Maren. It was lovely to finally put a face to the gossip. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t run into you again.”
Maren’s brows deepen into a V as she stalks around me, and I can’t stop the victorious smile that spreads across my face.
That’s right, Maren. I might have been beaten down, but I’m still better at this game than you’ll ever be.
I move to the door to the locker room, but it’s already open. McKinley Riscoff stands in the doorway with a grin on her face and starts a slow clap.
25
Lincoln
The cemetery isn’t my favorite place to go, but when Commodore hung up before I could reply and didn’t answer when I called back, the choice was taken out of my hands.
He beat me here, which isn’t surprising. I park behind his Escalade and climb out of my Range Rover. Commodore’s power chair is parked on the paved path in front of the Riscoff mausoleum.
When I stop beside him, he starts speaking.
“I always expected I’d be in there long before now. Long before my son.”
“I’m sorry, sir. None of us expected things to go the way they have.”
He looks up at me. “Roosevelt passing before me actually made things easier, though, if you want to know the truth.”
“What?”
Commodore lifts a hand to his face and brushes his knuckles over his lips before he replies. “I didn’t want to leave the company to him. I couldn’t.”
“What?” I hate to repeat myself, but the shock of his words has stolen any others from me.
“He couldn’t and wouldn’t protect and preserve the legacy. I knew that a long time ago.” My grandfather glances up at me. “Why do you think I called you home that summer?”
My skin prickles, feeling two sizes too small for my body. “You knew then . . .”
“That your father was more worried about sneaking around on your mother than dedicating himself to the company I gave everything to build? Yes.”
I lower myself onto a marble bench, trying to process the bomb he just dropped on me.
“I wanted time to groom you before I died, and I didn’t know how long I would have,” he continues. “The legacy has to be protected, no matter what it takes. My great-great-grandfather didn’t trust his sons not to tear it apart to each take their own piece. So he adopted the English entailment mindset. The oldest son would get everything, and he would take care of everyone. But your father was only interested in taking care of himself. I couldn’t take the risk that he would drain the bank accounts, sell off the assets, and run away with one of his women.”
“Did he know that?”
Commodore looks off into the distance. “Yes. He knew. The day of the accident . . . we fought. I lost my temper. I told him he would get nothing from me.”
My elbows drop to my knees and I clasp my hands together. I lower my head to rest on my fist. “Jesus Christ. So that night . . .”
“He was leaving for good, and I knew it. I wasn’t going to stop him. But instead . . . I killed him.”
My stomach plummets as I look up at my grandfather. “You were there? The night of the accident?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I might as well have been. It was my decision that put his car on that bridge.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. Why are you telling me this now?”
Commodore is quiet for several moments. “Because the sins of the past always come back to haunt us, and what you don’t know can hurt you. I shouldn’t have kept the paternity claim from you. That was a mistake, and now we have to do something about it.”
“What do you want to do?”
My grandfather leans back in his chair and threads the fingers of both his hands together. He taps his thumbs, and I suspect that whatever he says next is going to change everything.
“This morning, my private investigator found a marriage license between my son and Renee Rango dated two years before he married your mother.”
I stare at him in shock, barely able to grasp the implications of what he’s saying. “When was the divorce?”
He presses his lips together, and my gut sinks lower. No . . . he’s not going to say what I think he’s going to say . . .
“As far as we can tell . . . there wasn’t one.”
26
Lincoln
The past
As impatient as I was to try to see Whitney again, I knew I needed to have all my facts together before I did.
For the last two days, I’d been on the phone with an investigator in LA who was compiling a report on Ricky Rango. Turned out, the motherfucker didn’t just cheat on her once, he’d cheated on her multiple times. As the investigator reported back with each instance, it made me sick to my stomach.
I looked down at the notes I’d taken on my yellow pad, at the list of names and dates and places, and the truth hit me.
I can’t tell Whitney this. Not a single fucking bit of it.
I shoved it away and sat back in my chair. I was in my office, because according to Commodore, life and business must both go on, no matter that we had a funeral tomorrow and my father was being buried.
The Gables were burying both of their parents on Saturday. It gutted me to think of Whitney at the grave site with Rango’s cheating ass standing beside her.
At least she had her brother,
no matter how much I didn’t like the motherfucker. But if some guy was trying to come at McKinley under circumstances like this, I would do anything I could to keep him away. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my little sister safe, especially from a guy I thought had fucked her over.
And I had fucked Whitney over in my own way. I threw her out in the middle of the night. Barefoot. Because I’m a stupid son of a bitch who couldn’t trust her.
Not even I could blame her if she didn’t forgive me. I deserved to lose her, but I wasn’t going to let it happen without a fight. Especially not to a piece of shit like Ricky Rango who deserved her even less. I glanced down at the lined yellow paper and all the instances of his cheating that had been documented.
I won’t let him keep me away from her. I won’t let him win.
I grabbed a new notepad and started writing Whitney a letter. Now I just had to figure out how to get it to her.
27
Whitney
Present day
“I knew I liked you,” McKinley says. “At first I thought you were the stoic, quiet type, but that was impressive.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment that someone witnessed our encounter. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Put that bully of a woman in her place? Don’t apologize on my account. That was long overdue, in my opinion. I’ve been terrified that Lincoln would somehow fall into her trap and not realize what she is before she conned a ring out of him. Besides, I’m the one who should apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with her here. That’s unacceptable.”
“It’s okay. I survived. She might think she’s scary, but there’s nothing that woman could say to me that hasn’t already been said.”
“Still, we promised you a safe haven, and I didn’t live up to that promise. I’ll have her banned from the premises until further notice. She’ll probably go crying to Lincoln about it . . .”
“That’s really not necessary. She’s a pest. She can’t actually hurt me. I can easily avoid her in the future, now that I know to call down and check to see if she’s on the books.”
“How about I just tell the spa coordinators that when it comes to Maren Higgins, we have no appointments until otherwise instructed. They’re already well aware of her freeloader ways. A couple months ago, she started coming in and trading on Lincoln’s name to get free services, but I shut that down as quickly as possible.”
Her comment about freeloading unleashes a rush of the guilt I’ve been storing up. “I don’t want to be a freeloader either. This wasn’t my idea, and we can move rooms or leave anytime. This isn’t something I expected, and I truly don’t intend for us to stay long, despite what I said to Maren.”
McKinley waves me off. “Don’t spend a single second worrying about it. Besides, I just told you I like you. I don’t like many people, especially not the women who date my brother. And people I do like, I’m willing to do anything for. That’s just the way it is.”
“We’re not dating,” I say, trying to clarify something I don’t totally understand myself.
Her brows rise, skepticism stamped on her features. “Either way, I like you, and you’re welcome to stay. It’s a rough time for both our families, so it’s the least I can do.”
“I’m sorry about your father,” I say quietly. “I know yesterday was a hard day.”
“For all of us. I’m sorry about your parents too.” She pauses. “But whatever they did, it’s not on us, and I wouldn’t hold someone’s actions against their child.”
“Thank you.” It’s nice to feel like I have at least one supporter in the Riscoff family outside of Lincoln.
“Besides,” McKinley adds. “You probably don’t remember, but you stood up for me once when I was in middle school. Older boys were giving me a hard time, and you told them to leave me alone or your brother would beat them up. I never forgot that. Consider the rooms here my overdue thank-you, and truly, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
I thank Lincoln’s sister again before locating my locker, and change out of my robe back into my street clothes.
Although this afternoon has been a little rocky, I feel pretty damn good overall. I refuse to let my run-in with Maren get me down. As far as I’m concerned, going forward, she doesn’t exist in my world. How’s that for some positivity?
When I make my way to the elevator bank, Karma and her girls are just entering one.
“Get in if you’re going up. Otherwise, catch your own.”
I still haven’t solved the mystery of why my cousin is such a bitch, but I’m going to assume she just can’t help it. Maybe she only sees the clouds. Either way, her attitude makes me want to redouble my efforts to follow Magnus’s advice and change how I view the world.
“Can I see your nails?” I ask Maddy as I squat beside her, and she holds out her fingers. “Cute! Is pink your favorite color?”
“No,” Karma says. “Her favorite color is blue, but this place is too classy to have that. Of course.”
I cringe at the thought of Karma passing on her crappy attitude to these two precious little girls, but instead of saying something that will no doubt make the situation worse, I ignore her. This isn’t the time or the place.
“Was it fun?” I ask the girls instead.
“Yes! They put bubbles in my water.”
“My feet smell like peaches!” Addy lifts her foot into the air and almost tips over.
I steady her with a hug. “You both looked like princesses sitting there being pampered.”
“They should,” Karma says. “They are my little princesses.”
“And Mommy says someday a prince is going to come take us away to live in a castle!”
“Princesses can build castles of their own too.”
I have no idea where that came from, but as soon as I say it, I realize I mean it. I don’t want these little girls thinking they need a man to give them what they want in life. They can get it for themselves.
“Whatever. Maybe in your fairy tale, but in this town, that’s not how it works.” Karma side-eyes me. “You didn’t save yourself. We’re only here because you’re—” She cuts off what she was going to say, and I’m guessing it’s because it’s not appropriate for children.
“We’re here!” Addy cheers as the door opens.
The girls race out of the elevator when they see Jackie sitting in the lounge, and while they’re distracted, I block Karma.
“I’ve never known what your problem was with me, and at this point, I don’t care. But have you ever thought of checking your attitude around your girls? They don’t need to hear or see that.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “First, don’t tell me how to raise my kids. You don’t have any, and you don’t know jack shit. Second, go fuck yourself.” She knocks into my arm with her sharp elbow, and I step back.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but her attitude seems to get worse by the day, and it’s not just her mom and sister who have to deal with it anymore. Her kids are learning from her, and I would hate to see such sweet little girls end up as bitter as Karma.
I follow her toward Jackie, who has them both hugged tightly against her.
“You look so pretty! Did you have fun?” she asks as she releases them.
“We did!”
“They’re tired. It’s nap time.” Karma grabs both girls by the hand and drags them back to the suite while Jackie and I stare after her.
When they disappear into the room, Jackie shakes her head. “I just don’t know where I went wrong with her.”
Since I have absolutely nothing helpful to say in response, I change the subject. “How did your first day with the new job go?”
The regret on Jackie’s face fades away.
“Really good. Ms. Riscoff and I had a meeting this morning, and I spent the rest of the day training with my new boss.” She lifts a champagne flute from the bar. “I’m out of the basement and working in the light.”
“Congratulations. You
look . . . happy.” And she does. Jackie’s face seems to have lost five years, and the smile she’s wearing is the biggest I’ve seen since I’ve been home.
“It feels good to be wanted. To have someone tell you that you’re worth something and you’re a valued part of the team.” She pauses. “Thank you, Whit. I know this is all because of you, and I’m grateful.”
I shake my head. “No. This is all because of you. You’re the one who impressed the boss so much that she was willing to do anything to get you back. How do you feel about having a little celebratory dinner tonight?”
“Up here? Room service? Like we’re fancy?”
The bartender sets a glass of champagne in front of me without me even having to ask.
I shoot a wink at my aunt. “There’s no like about us being fancy. Clearly, we are.”
She lifts her glass and clinks the rim against mine. “Then by all means, we better celebrate. Who knows when we’ll get another chance.”
28
Lincoln
My concentration has been totally shot since Commodore’s nuclear bomb of a disclosure this afternoon. When I return to the office, I work late into the night to take care of everything that needs my attention, but I’m doing a half-assed job at best.
Commodore’s PI is still working on finding a divorce decree or an annulment, but until he does, I have to face the possibility that my father was a bigamist, and all three of us are technically illegitimate.
How the hell am I supposed to tell my mother? Or my brother and sister?
I can’t.
They can’t know anything until we have more information. No one can know anything.
There’s still something I can’t figure out for the life of me. Why the hell would Renee Rango wait until now to push the paternity suit, and why hasn’t she gone public with the fact that she was married to my father?
