‘It’s offensive,’ she says, reaching the end of the food and pushing a fork into the bowl. ‘It presupposes that I want to meet them—which I don’t. I’m not some object to be evaluated and appraised, reported on at the next Billionaires’ Bingo night or whatever you all do to pass the time.’
Despite the tenor of our conversation, I smile.
‘We all felt it would be better this way.’ She bristles and I hear it as she must—it sounds like I’m a part of their lives, that we’re a team. It closes her out of that. I try again. ‘It’s not just about them knowing a bit more about you. I thought having time to get used to this, to ask whatever you want about them, and about Ryan, would give you a chance to adapt to all this before you’re put in the same room together.’
‘You continue to act as though it’s a foregone conclusion that it’s going to happen. I’m not interested.’
‘They’re family,’ I say gently, moving around to her side of the bench, gesturing towards the table. She’s not angry now, nor is she combative. She’s...lost. Hurt. I see a glimpse of her vulnerabilities and I want to tear this house down and use every last bit of material to build a shield right here, just around Avery, just as she needs it.
‘No.’ The word is a swift rebuke, but it’s underscored by her pain. ‘They’re not. You keep saying that, as though there’s some invisible bond that should mean something to me, but why? Because our dad happened to make all those women pregnant? Because he slept with my mom? That doesn’t make him my father and it doesn’t make them my brothers. It’s just biology.’
I’m stunned by her reading of the situation. ‘They’re nice guys,’ I say as she sits down. I take the seat beside her rather than opposite, not sure why, just knowing I want to be close to her for this conversation. ‘And, like it or not, they are your family now. You’re a Hart.’
‘Don’t.’ She shakes her head, reaches for her wine. ‘I don’t want that. I don’t want anything to do with any of them, least of all their name.’
I put a hand on her thigh, drawing her gaze to me. When our eyes meet she softens a little, the tightness in her features relaxing as though she remembers who I am, what we’ve shared, and maybe even that she can trust me.
‘Why not?’
Her lips compress. ‘I just don’t.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It’s too late, that’s why not,’ she says, staring at me for a full three seconds before scooping some dinner onto her fork and eating it. I watch, waiting for her to continue. She finishes her mouthful then takes a drink of her wine.
She has another mouthful. She’s not going to expand.
‘It doesn’t have to be.’
‘I’m twenty-nine years old, Barrett. I’ve been alone a long time. I’m not interested in getting to know a merry band of long-lost brothers.’
‘They only just found out about you too,’ I say gently. ‘It’s not like they chose not to have you in their lives. In fact, knowing them the way I do, knowing what the bonds of family mean to them, I can say that they’re not going to let this go. One way or another they’re going to want to meet you, to get to know you for themselves.’
‘And I have no say in that?’
‘Of course you do,’ I contradict, leaning a little closer. ‘But I think you’ll come around to wanting to know them too.’
‘You don’t get it.’ She takes another gulp of her wine. ‘My mom worked her fingers to the bone and my dad was one of the richest guys on the planet? I don’t buy it that no one knew about me. There’s no way she would have worked like a dog without asking him for some kind of financial support first. Which means that he knew about me and he refused to help her. Which means he lived his life not caring that my mom...my mom was...’ She shakes her head, emotions heavy in her voice. She takes a breath, composing herself. I wish she wouldn’t do that. I want her to be honest with me, even when that honesty involves tears and shouting.
‘Ryan had a lot of faults but neglecting his parental responsibilities, with regard to financial support at least, wasn’t one of them. I can tell you this without a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t know about you.’
‘You can’t know that.’
I expel a soft sigh. ‘Not for absolute certain, perhaps, but honestly, Avery, I think I can say it with confidence. I knew the man, and I know what lengths he went to in order to get custody of his sons.’ I lift a hand, stroking her cheek. ‘Let me suggest an alternative theory for you.’
She looks at me with eyes that are so huge, so awash with confusion that I want to kiss her back to happiness and pleasure, to force all of this from her mind and heart. But we’ve done that—a few times. It’s important to cross these bridges now. I just want her to know that I’ll cross them with her.
‘Maybe your mother knew that about Ryan. Maybe she knew that if she told him she was pregnant, that she’d conceived his child, he’d fight her for custody. He was rich, he was mean, and he was all about his ‘dynasty’. Maybe she knew that and decided she wanted, more than anything, to have you in her life. To raise you herself. Maybe she didn’t want to lose you, and she knew that if she told him she would.’
Avery makes an involuntary noise, a half sob, half muffled gasp, and stares down at her lap.
‘That just makes me even angrier,’ she says with a shake of her head. ‘As if getting a woman pregnant should lead to a guy strong-arming her into giving up that baby to fill out his paternalistic bullshit about lineage or whatever.’ Then, with a small glare at me, ‘Then again, you’re probably used to all that, given you’re aristocracy.’
She’s pushing me away again, this time by going on the attack. I don’t buy into it.
‘Did she ever tell you about him?’
The question surprises her. Avery bites down on her lower lip and reaches for her fork, toying with it in the bowl. ‘Not really.’