"I'm sure it is. Poor Lena."
Of course. Poor Lena. "My mother is shocked by the news, but she's doing fine, thank you."
"Well, of course, your mother is fine. She's locked in a maximum security prison."
I stood. "I'll wait in James's study."
She stepped into my path. "Haven't you put my son through enough?"
"Put James through enough? As far as I can tell, he doesn't even know."
"His reputation, I mean." She studied me, then eased back. "I know he told you his plans, Olivia. About running for senator." Her voice softened. I knew that tone. It was like a cat purring right before it takes a chunk out of your arm. "This is his dream, and if you love him, you'll step away gracefully. Let him mourn you and move on." She paused for effect. "You know it's the right thing to do."
Before I could answer, footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked through the doorway to see James coming down.
Chapter Eight
"I thought I heard voices." James kissed my cheek. Then he looked at his mother. "Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't realize you were home," Maura said.
"Well, I am. Go up to bed. I have this."
Maura hesitated, but James repeated it, firmly, and she left. When she was gone he pulled me into a hug, and I let myself collapse into his arms and stay there, just stay there, fighting not to break down in tears.
"Something--" I said against his shoulder.
"I know. I've been trying to call you for the past half hour. I was just coming down to drive over to your place."
I pulled back so I could see his face. "So you ... got my message?"
"Yes. And several others. I know everything, Liv."
Everything.
His expression didn't change. No hint of disgust or distaste. I wanted to take that. Just take it. Don't question. Don't probe. Accept.
Only I couldn't.
"About my ... biological parents," I said carefully, my gaze fixed on his. "You heard--"
"The Larsens. Yes. That's what they're saying."
"It's not just a rumor. There's DNA."
He nodded. "All right."
I looked at him. He looked at me. Patient. Concerned. Just what I needed. What I'd expected. And yet, seeing it, I realized I had doubted, deep down. I still doubted.
"You know who they are, right? My parents?"
A faint smile. "Yes, I've met them many times, Liv."
"You know what I--"
"Arthur Jones and Lena Taylor are your parents. They're the ones who raised you. If you mean the Larsens, yes, I know who they are. Convicted murderers. As for what they are to you? Genetic donors. They're responsible for the color of your hair, the shape of your mouth, the length of your fingers. Nothing more."
I kissed him. A quiet thank-you. Only he didn't let it stay quiet. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap in one of his usual oxygen-stealing kisses that left me gasping. Then he put his hands on either side of my face and held it up to his.