Perry sat beside me, speaking in low tones with Winny next to him. My mother hadn’t stopped staring at me.
“What?” I squared my shoulders. “You’re freaking me out.”
“You don’t look like my daughter.”
The room fell quiet, and I glanced around at all the faces that so closely resembled mine. Pale blue eyes, blond hair, fair skin—the genes ran strong in my family.
“Just say it.” I fisted my hands on my lap. “Say whatever you’re thinking if it’ll make you stop staring at me like—”
“You’re sad.” My mother stated the fact as if remarking on the weather.
Jesus Christ. I’d been fucking miserable for six months. “You’re just now noticing?”
“I notice everything, Tinsley.” She drummed her manicured nails on the table, holding the room in suspense. Then she stilled. “The Kensingtons need this merger as much as we do. Perhaps more. The Morellis have been trying to buy them out for years, undercutting them at every turn and offering deals that would leave the family in ruins.”
I didn’t know that detail. I’d never thought to ask. I only knew that if we didn’t merge, the Constantine dynasty would lose the strategic Kensington holdings to the Morellis, thereby giving the Morellis a stronger position in Bishop’s Landing. In our cutthroat world, if we didn’t remain on top, we would be crushed.
“I want you to know,” my mother said stiffly, “every person in this room appreciates the sacrifice you’re making to save this family.”
“We love you, Tins.” Keaton smiled softly.
More smiles appeared around the table. Perry gripped my hand and squeezed it on my lap.
My heart thudded with an exhaustive ache. Even though I’d been forced into this position, it didn’t change the fact that I loved these ruthless people. They were my blood. My tribe.
“Where are they?” Winston glanced at his watch. “The anticipation is fucking wearing.”
Anticipation?
The door opened, and a stream of suits rolled into the room. Lawyers, corporate officials, followed by Hugh and Anna Kensington. My future in-laws. I hadn’t had much interaction with them. I’d been avoiding them for months.
Greetings erupted around the room, and I started to fade, detaching, retreating inside myself. I didn’t want to be here. It was too real. Too final.
“Thank you for coming here at such short notice.” Mr. Kensington ran a hand over his balding head, addressing the table. “The past day has been quite a whirlwind, as you can imagine. We’re just waiting on—”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, drawing my attention to the door. Every head in the room turned as another man stepped inside.
Crisp black suit, white shirt, black tie—he was dressed like everyone else in the boardroom. But I knew the body beneath those threads, every hair, blemish, indention, and ripple of muscle. I knew how he held me skin-to-skin, the pleasure of those hands on my prickling flesh, the texture of that thick brown hair falling across my abdomen as those lips—those perfect, chiseled lips—moved between my legs.
I floated out of my body, lost in stupefied shock and not trusting my own eyes. I saw his gorgeous face, heard his familiar gait, but he might as well have been an illusion. My brain couldn’t process the image of Magnus Falke in a suit, in a boardroom, standing among my family.
Where was his clerical collar? Why was he here? Why did no one in the room look surprised to see him? My mother barely glanced at him.
His gaze flicked to me, lingering long enough to shred my insides before skipping away to greet everyone else.
My heart raced as I turned, desperately searching Perry’s relaxed expression.
What’s happening? I wordlessly begged him. Help me understand.
He leaned in and whispered, “You’re looking at the new owner of Kensington Hotels.”
If I’d been standing, I would’ve collapsed. Even in the chair, my legs weakened beneath me. The room spun. My head pounded, and I gripped the edge of the table to catch my balance.
He’d bought the company? How? What did that mean? Was he still a priest? What about the merger?
Lawyers pulled papers from briefcases and launched into legal jargon about amendments and revisions. I couldn’t follow what they were saying. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t stop staring at the man who held my heart in his fist.
That confident, agile stride of his carried him through the room. He shook hands with Hugh Kensington, and they exchanged a few words. Then he stood at the head of the table, looking fine as heaven in the aristocratic lines of an expensive tailor. But it wasn’t the suit that made him a figure of power. He commanded the room with his intimidating presence and strong eye contact.
Everyone quieted, giving him their full attention.
Holding a pen in his hand, he depressed the end—click, click, click—as he examined each face, making them wait.
I sat in a fugue of disbelief, wonderment, and something I hadn’t felt before. Hope. It made my breath hitch. My sinuses swelled, and a tear escaped. I was too deep in shock to lift a hand and wipe it away. But I felt its slow descent, tracking its course down my cheek. When it reached my lips, more followed.