“I don’t like this … you and Trey,” he says. “It’s a little close for comfort.”
“He doesn’t know. About you and me.”
“It doesn’t matter. I still don’t like it.”
“Fortunately it’s not your choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He leans closer, elbows resting on his knees so hard they leave indentations. “First of all, you inheriting my company is not something I’m crazy about.”
“I don’t see how that matters?” I say. “Maybe you should’ve added a clause to your NDA.”
He chuffs. “You’re not going to marry him, Soph.”
I cringe at the use of my nickname, but I opt not to tell him to quit using it. He’d still do it, if only to get under my skin.
“Actually, I am,” I say, shrugging and peering off toward the crashing waves in the distance.
“Trey wants this company,” Nolan says. “But he’s not going to get it if you stay with him.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m doing what I have to do to protect my family.”
“I’m not going to tell him,” I remind him. “Your secret’s safe. I’ll take it to the grave. And Trey’s not stupid, if I tell him you won’t sell because of me, he’ll figure out there’s a past between us and it won’t be long until he connects the dots. He’s already seen my scar …”
“That’s why you’re not going to tell him you’re standing in the way of the deal. You’re going to break it off with him as soon as you get back to Chicago.”
A sharp pang flashes through my chest. My mouth turns dry.
“I’ll still sell him the company,” he says. “Out of sympathy for his broken heart. But if the two of you so much as think of getting back together once the deal goes through, I’ll repossess your mother’s home and ensure the doctors treating your sister cease their care immediately.”
With the payout arrangement and the millions of dollars coming my way, I could easily find another place for my mother to live and connect Emmeline with another group of world renown neurosurgeons. But if there’s no deal, there’ll be no reason for Trey and I to get married, which means there’ll be no payout.
“You’re a monster.” My word are low, a growl almost. My palms press into the tiled ledge of the pool until they ache.
“It’s the best decision for everyone involved.”
“Anabelle doesn’t know, does she? She doesn’t know Sasha is yours.”
He’s quiet, fingers pressed into a point.
“You never signed the birth certificate,” I add. “That’s why you’re so protective of your secret. If she knew, she’d leave you. You were never broken up with her, were you?”
His lips press flat. There’s nothing attractive about him anymore. And I’ve heard that stress and secrets can age a person faster than time. He’s got a lot on his shoulders. Clearly, guarding this information for the past eight years while running a large corporation has done a number on him.
“You’re doing this.” Nolan avoids my questions. “Or I walk from the deal.”
The front door to the cottage swings open. Trey walks out, dressed for the day, hair shower-damp. His eyes light from across the way when he sees me, and he makes his way to the pool.
“Everything rides on you,” Nolan says. “You’ll ruin a lot of lives if you don’t do this.”
And he’s right.
My mother …
My sister …
Trey …
He comes closer, and with every step, like faded daydreams, all the visions of marriage and children with him evaporate.
Forty-Eight
Trey
Present
“How badly do you want this deal?” Sophie asks when we retreat to the cottage Saturday night. Her skin is warm and sunbaked beneath her dress, and she smells of coconut sunscreen, ocean, and sunshine.
We spent the day boating on Nolan’s yacht, which he named The Always Anabelle, and when we got to the alcove with the private beach, we disembarked for a couple hours relaxing in the sand. I’ve never been a beach person, but I took pleasure in watching Sophie with the children from behind dark sunglasses as Nolan yakked my ear off about business merger rumors and the history of his steel and oil company—as if I hadn’t already done my research.
I’m convinced the man simply loves to hear his own voice.
“More than anything,” I tell her as I strip out of my shirt. “Why do you ask?”
“You don’t talk about it much,” she says, unbuttoning the front of her dress. The straps of her bikini have created fresh tan lines, and I kiss the bronzed skin of her shoulders before working my way up her neck.
“I don’t want to bore you.” I press my lips into the spot behind her ear, fingers laced in her wind-blown hair.
“And what if you don’t get it?” she asks. “What if he doesn’t believe … us?”
I sniff. She should know me better than this by now. “I’ll get it. And he will. He already does.”