I frowned. “Technically, it’s possible. But if your mother is charged and they find out that you knew—her daughter and heir—there’s a very good chance the prosecution will come after you. For me, it’s a maybe. For you, it’s almost certain.”
Twin tears slid down her temples and into her hair. “She did this. She’s responsible for this, but she’s not going to make me choose everyone’s fate. She’s going to do that herself.”
I frowned, not liking the idea of any plan that hinged on her mother doing the right thing.
“I’ll go to her. Tell her I know what she did. Gather some proof so she can’t deny it. And then I’ll tell her if she doesn’t go to the authorities, I will.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“Because once she knows you know, she’ll act. She could leave the country. Cover it up. Or worse—pin it on you. She’s not to be trusted, especially not when her neck is on the block.”
“I just don’t understand.” Her voice sharpened. “This is a real solution. She can’t do anything but leave the country in that amount of time, and I don’t think she’d ever run away—she’d rather it all go down in flames with her in the middle, holding a matchbook. I don’t know if I can do this, not without giving her the chance to make it right.”
“Even if she stabs you in the back the second you turn around?” I argued. “This isn’t a petty crime or a minor violation—she embezzled. This is a federal offense, and it’s not something to be taken lightly.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” She scooted out from under me and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, putting her back to me. Her head dropped to her hands. “I know what I’m supposed to do, but I … I don’t know if I can do it, Marcus. I don’t know if I can.” She broke into a string of silent sobs.
The sight broke my heart.
I moved to her side, and the moment my arm was around her shoulders, she curled into me. Her tears broke through in earnest, and there was nothing I could do but hold her close and curse Evelyn for doing this to Maisie. To herself. To her company.
“I know it’s hard,” I started. “But I promised myself I’d protect you, and I’d be betraying that promise if I didn’t insist that you take matters into your own hands. But I’ve got your back. I’ll always have your back, whatever you decide and come what may. Take a minute. And if you can’t go to the authorities without giving her a chance, then that’s what we’ll do.”
She lifted her head, looked up at me with dark eyes, her lashes grouped together by tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, and I wished I could make her mother pay for every single one.
“I love you, Maisie. No matter what.”
When I kissed her, it was with hope that my fears would never come true, that it would all work out like it needed to—for our safety, our future. Or God help us all.
24
Reap and Sow
MAISIE
The sun had been up for a little while, the city already awake and humming its good morning. But Marcus and I hadn’t left the safety of his bed, preferring to stay tangled up in the nest of blankets as long as we could before facing what the day had in store.
Three days had passed since I’d come to stay, three days of joy and worry and the comfort of him. I smiled to myself, my head resting in the curve where his shoulder joined his chest and my body tucked into his side. Strange that I hadn’t even considered whether staying together would be anything but easy. When I’d come here, I’d been in such a state that I hadn’t really thought about much of anything. Only that I needed him.
Funny that I hadn’t stressed about being together this much. To stand next to each other and brush our teeth. To chat idly while we changed for bed. To make breakfast and drink coffee in a sort of autonomous synchronicity, connected while remaining wholly independent.
But waking up with him was the best part.
After so much sneaking around and all the stolen moments and meetings, it was luxurious to spend nearly every moment together. An embarrassment of riches after rationing what meager time we had. Marcus still had work to do, but when he went to the greenhouse, I went with him. I’d met everyone, even Kash’s girlfriend, the wedding planner. One afternoon, I’d helped Tess while she worked, comparing notes on not only flowers, but our Bennet men.
Last night, after a rowdy and lovely dinner with the whole brood, Marcus had brought me to their greenhouse just to wander around in the moonlight.
God, it was beautiful. Quaint and charming, warm and welcoming. The greenhouse was the Bennets—alive and a little messy, bursting with color and teeming with a feeling of home. And for the first time, I understood that feeling, that elemental sense of belonging, even though they weren’t my home, even though the Bennets weren’t mine.
More than anything—anything in the entire world—I wanted them to be. Currently, I was only an observer, someone invited to peer into their family and take a spare seat at the table. But I longed to have a permanent place, to etch my name on the family tree, to be a part of their lives.
To have a family. A mother. A sister and brothers. A place to belong, full of people who loved me. Where there was no cruelty and no betrayal. Only the deep and undeniable support and affection of those who cared most.
After Dad and I being so alone, with our guard always up and our discomfort ever present, the comfort of trust seemed a reprieve neither of us thought we’d ever get. But the Bennets hadn’t only welcomed me—they’d welcomed Dad too. After Mrs. Bennet’s reaction to her children’s ambush regarding her having dated my father, I didn’t know how it would go. I’d wondered if it’d be strange or tense, an awkward meeting after years on opposite sides. But within a few days, the Bennet children had turned the whole ordeal into a good-natured ribbing, and Mrs. Bennet let it go, though not without a little snark.
Dad and the elder Bennets dove in like only old friends do, with laughter and reminiscing and an unstoppable stream of conversation as they caught up on nearly thirty years of life. Dinner was rife with embarrassing stories about their children, the subject of my mother avoided at all costs. But afterward, we’d left the three of them in the living room and gathered in the kitchen to share stories of our own—five Bennet children and the three women they loved.
When I sighed, Marcus pulled me closer, shifting to press a kiss to my crown.
“Was that a happy sigh or a worried one?”
“Happy,” I answered.
“Good.”
The unspoken reason he’d asked materialized over us like a squall, dark and thundering and posed to soak our happiness with its haul. Because today, I would face the music.
I’d spent another large part of those three days digging around with Jess’s help, looking for proof to lay upon my mother—my best chance at forcing her hand. Three days hoping I could find a way out of this without being the one to doom her, though Marcus impatiently supported the decision. He had spent those three days impressing—arguing—his points, and we’d discussed it endlessly. Though I knew what I needed to do, we seemed to have the same conversation over and over, agreeing but disagreeing. I’d come to hate the very mention of it, and if there was one thing I was glad to do today, it was to move forward, if for nothing more than to put the argument between Marcus and me to rest.