“A place for you to go. A suitable family to take the baby. Help getting on your feet when you’re done with all of it. What did you think I meant?”
I shake my head, unable to say the word out loud.
Owen drops his eyes to the floor, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not a barbarian, despite what you might think. But I will not have your condition become public knowledge and create a scandal for myself and my daughter. No one knows about your connection with my son, and I intend to keep it that way. And if you’re as clever as I think you are, you’ll keep it that way. If this were the movies, I would just write you a check or set you up in a little business, and that would be the end of it. But this isn’t the movies. In the real world, that kind of assistance could be mistaken for an admission rather than what it really is—a simple act of Christian kindness.”
“This is your kindness? To treat me like some little schemer? When I’ve asked you for nothing?”
He moves to the door as if I haven’t spoken. “This conversation is over. Except to say that if you decide to be troublesome, if you attempt to contact me or my daughter or ever breathe my son’s name to a living soul, I will make it my mission to ruin you. In other words, Miss Roussel, I can help you or hurt you. The choice is yours.”
I stand there with his ultimatum, studying the man I thought would one day be my father-in-law. How cool he is as he makes his plans to dismiss me, so steely and businesslike. A deal to be brokered. A mess to clean up. Anson once called him formidable, and he was right. His father has thought of everything.
But Owen is right too. I haven’t many options. None, in fact. I’ll need a place to live, somewhere clean and safe, until I can find work and make my own way. I will accept what he’s offering, because I have no choice. But my baby will not need a family. I will be its family.
THIRTY
RORY
July 12, 1985—Boston
Soline sat with downcast eyes, clearly shaken by the story she’d spent an hour pouring out. Rory studied her, trying to imagine what it must have been like. A terrifying escape. A heartbreaking telegram. A baby she hadn’t planned on. And a monster who had turned her out to fend for herself. How on earth had she survived it all?
How might she have fared in similar circumstances?
The question made her feel vaguely ashamed. She forgot sometimes just how comfortable her life had been. She’d been born with a trust fund and a name guaranteed to open doors and had never known anything close to hardship. In fact, before Hux’s disappearance, her biggest challenge had been navigating her thorny relationship with her mother.
“You make me ashamed,” she said quietly. “Most people would have given up after the things you went through, but you just kept fighting. And then there’s me, showing up at your door with my bag of takeout, whining about how tough I have it. Why can’t I be strong like you?”
Soline closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “Being strong for too long makes one brittle, chérie. And brittle things break easily.” She looked away, dabbing at her eyes, then forced a smile. “There, you see? Not so very strong. Perhaps there’s hope for me yet.”
“I’m sorry to make you remember all that. Are you okay?”
Soline nodded, but her smile slipped as she pushed to her feet. “I’m fine. Just a little warm. Why don’t we go in? I’ll wash up the dishes, and then we’ll have some dessert. I’ll show you how to make real coffee, with a press. I promise you’ll never go back to your drippy machine.”
Rory did the dishes while Soline gave a tutorial on the virtues of a french press, declaring it the only civilized way to make coffee. She filled two cups and arranged madeleines on a plate, then carried the tray to the living room.
They settled on opposite ends of the sofa with their cups. It was a large room but comfortable, furnished with items chosen to please rather than impress. It was Soline to a T. Tasteful but without all the fuss of Camilla’s perfectly styled home. She’d been right about the coffee too. In fact, everything here felt right.
She reached for a madeleine, nibbling thoughtfully as she watched Soline sip her coffee. She couldn’t explain the connection between them. She only knew that it was real, that fate had somehow seen fit to weave their stories together. But why?
“Do you ever think about why we became friends?” Rory asked quietly. “The way I found the row house and then the box. It felt sort of . . .” She paused, searching for the right word. “Inevitable, maybe. Do you believe in that kind of thing? That certain things are supposed to happen?”