Prologue
James
Christmas Day
James Ryder-White carefully folded the classy gold paper and placed it on his knee, mentally rolling his eyes at the square, red velvet box it revealed. Another Christmas, another pair of designer cuff links from Penelope...
His wife was not the most original present giver in the world. Then again, he’d gifted her with a black cashmere sweater and another solid gold charm to add to her already heavy bracelet. James knew she was as enthusiastic about his gift as he was about hers.
They’d been married too long, knew each other too well, and neither of them made an effort anymore. If they ever had.
James looked out the window of his childhood home—he and Pen occupied the right wing of his father’s enormous mansion—and sighed at the wet sleet slapping the floor-to-ceiling windows. He loved Portland, Maine, with its arty vibe and excellent food scene, its centuries-old lighthouses, historic homes and edgy, independent shops and boutiques.
But this particular piece of craggy coastline was home. Low clouds obscured the jaw-dropping views of Dead Man’s Cove. Ryder’s Rest, his father’s estate fourteen miles north of Portland, on Cousin’s Island, consisted of a seven-bedroom mansion—every room in the house had a view of the bay—with heated pools, multiple decks and patios, and a garage big enough for ten automobiles.
It also boasted a drive-on stone pier and dock, three deepwater moorings, and over eight hundred feet of beach frontage.
James loved this house and property. The owner? Not so much.
He leaned back in his chair and briefly closed his eyes, wondering what his life would’ve been like had he not married Pen thirty-some years ago.
What if he’d had the guts to defy his father, to take a chance, to forge his own path? James ran a hand over his face, pushing his what-if thoughts away. He’d witnessed his father’s ruthlessness—toward business rivals and members of his own family—so defying Callum had never been an option.
James also liked the money and the status of being a Ryder-White, so he remained a good little soldier. His obedience resulted in plump pockets and fat bank accounts. Putting up with Callum’s crap allowed James to buy property and flashy cars and establish trust funds for his children.
His daughters now controlled the money he’d gifted them, and Kinga’s and Tinsley’s fortunes were still, as far as he knew, intact.
Kinga, brown-eyed and blonde, sat down on the arm of his chair, interrupting his musings. James placed a hand on her back, grateful for the connection. Whenever regrets slapped him hot and hard, he reminded himself that if not for Pen, he wouldn’t have two smart, lovely daughters. His marriage was far from a love match, but his two girls made any sacrifices worthwhile.
“Daddy, you’re looking a little melancholy this lovely Christmas morning.”
“I’m fine, Mouse.”
And James supposed that he was. His marriage functioned, his children were healthy and successful. He wished he could add happy to that list, but Kinga was plagued by a life-changing event that had happened a decade ago and Tinsley was taking a long time to come to terms with her divorce.
Happiness: such a vague concept, and as hard to capture as the morning mist.
James felt Kinga straighten and he raised his head, softly sighing when he noticed his father—sharp blue eyes in a craggy face—standing by the fireplace, impatiently waiting for his family to pay attention. Callum was close to eighty, but he was fit and healthy, mentally and physically.
Callum caught James’s eye and angled his head. James cleared his throat, and Tinsley and Penelope immediately stopped talking, their eyes wary. James understood the emotion—Callum had a habit of dropping new ideas—or orders—on the family whenever they gathered socially.
It wouldn’t matter to Callum that it was Christmas; the Ryder-White reputation and businesses were always his highest priorities. Actually, James was surprised Callum had waited this long to raise Ryder International business.
“You will have noticed that I failed to give you all a gift this year,” he said, his deep voice and cold blue eyes commanding attention.
Callum linked his hands behind his back, his nose in the air. Oh, God, here came the lecture. How many times had he heard it? A hundred times? Two hundred? More?
Probably.
“As you know, the first Ryder was William Ryder who arrived in Maine during the third settlement of this area. He was one of the original owners of property. He married the wealthy Lottie White, and we are directly descended from them. I’ve been reading up on genealogy and I want a deeper understanding of our family roots.”
This.Again.The family tree stretched back three hundred years and their unbroken bloodline was a badge Callum wore with pride. But really, how much more was there to discover?
“Apparently, it is now possible to pinpoint where, geographically, our ancestors resided, and I want to know,” Callum continued. “None of you have expressed an interest in our lineage and I am greatly disappointed in you all. To encourage that interest, my Christmas gift to you is a DNA test, so you can have a better understanding of your heritage.”
James watched his father pull test tubes from a brown envelope and took the tube Callum handed him.
“Just swipe the swab on the inside of your mouth and put it back into the tube. Write your name on the label.” Callum barked instructions, handing tubes to Pen and Kinga and Tinsley.