True.
But that didn’t earn her a pass for lying to him.
“So the collaboration was just a ruse?”
“I prefer to think of it as bait.” Miranda smiled sweetly. “What I said about wanting to create a signature clothing line...that’s absolutely true. I’d like to revisit the topic once all of this is sorted out.”
He acknowledged her statement with a slight nod. But his head still swirled with the news of his paternity.
So much for those fantasies of a reunion with my long-lost father.
“Darius...” Miranda placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “I can only imagine what you must be feeling.”
“Then I’ll tell you.” He glared at her. “I feel like I’m being manipulated. By you. By that lawyer. And by a gutless old man who never gave a damn about me when he was alive but wants to play God with my life now that he’s dead.”
Miranda seemed willing to absorb his anger, her gaze still warm and sincere. “If I was in your shoes, I’d probably feel the same. But there’s something you need to see.”
Miranda retrieved a thick envelope from the desk and sat beside him again.
“Buck and I hadn’t spoken much since our divorce. So I was as shocked as anyone that he charged me with handling some very sensitive matters after his death. I’ve received more instructions via letters over the past few months. Yes, the man could be an asshole.” She laughed bitterly. “But one of his deepest regrets was never getting to know you. He implored me to bring you here, so you’d have the opportunity to get to know your brothers and sister. And he wanted you to know that, regardless of what you might believe, you were never far from his thoughts.”
“He had a damn funny way of showing it.”
“Buck struggled to show affection with everyone. It destroyed both of his marriages. And it’s the reason his relationships with his children were strained. The reason he died alone.” She frowned. “But it doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you.”
Miranda handed him the envelope. “Buck wanted you to have this...to know that even though you were apart, he always held you in his heart.”
She stood. “I’ll leave you alone with it. You can review it here for now. Once the DNA results have been confirmed, it’s yours to keep. When you’re ready, my driver will take you anywhere you’d like to go. I’ve reserved a furnished rental home in town for you. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”
Miranda handed him two business cards. “If you need me or Kace, just give us a call. I’ll be in touch.”
Once Miranda was gone, he opened the envelope. It held a scrapbook overflowing with photos and newspaper articles. On the first page, there was a photo of a newborn he recognized as himself. A duplicate was in his mother’s prized photo album.
Darius made his way through the scrapbook one aged photo, yellowed newspaper clipping and dog-eared magazine article at a time.
The man had been following his childhood, his academic career and his business triumphs. Yet, he hadn’t reached out to him once in thirty years.
What am I supposed to feel for a man like that?
Darius dropped the scrapbook onto the desk, slipped his Prada shades back on and met Miranda’s driver, Leslie, at the car.
“Where shall I take you, sir?” She opened the door. “Back to the airport or to your rental home?”
Darius slid into the back seat. “Neither. Take me someplace I can get a decent hamburger, fries and shake, please.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d do next. He only knew that he thought better on a full stomach, and he longed for the comfort of carbs while he plotted his next move.
Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN: 9781488056635
Forbidden Promises
Copyright © 2020 by Synithia R. Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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