A horrible thought occurs to me. A horrible, terrible, painful thought. One that makes my limbs turn cold. “Oh my God, did he do it on purpose? Was that his plan all along?”
“What are you talking about?”
“He knew I would stage the protest and then the land would be worth more, which would give him way more profit and a lot faster than actually developing it.” Christopher made more money this way than his stupid mall—and he made it a lot faster, too.
She looks dubious. “That would be really… diabolical.”
“Exactly. He’s so diabolical. If we look up the word ‘diabolical’ in one of the old dictionaries here, there will be Christopher’s face with his dark eyes and cheekbones.”
“His cheekbones.” She snorts. “I don’t know if he did it on purpose, but if he did… well, it’s interesting that he knows you that well. Well enough to predict what you’d do.”
Interesting? No, it’s terrible. Because I don’t know that man at all. I never thought he’d use me. I believed him when he said he wanted to build that shiny new mall. Believed him when he said he planned to tear down the library.
And I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.
“Do you really think he did it on purpose?” Avery asks softly, her soft gaze on the old ink. “It would have been easier to just siphon money out of your trust fund.”
I wrap my arms around myself. Is it possible? Avery’s gaze is warm and concerned. The certainty settles deep inside me, a knot in my stomach. Yes, it’s very possible. Likely, even.
He used me. He predicted what I would do.
“Christopher isn’t the kind of man who wants things easy. He would have considered that cheating. But manipulating people? He considers that fair game. He knows I’ve protested before. Only this time I had connections and a social media platform. And voila!”
“He isn’t your father,” Avery says softly.
“Isn’t he?” Another man who values money over kindness, who places his ambition ahead of the women in his life. “He could have sold me the library for what they paid for it. He could have doubled the sale price and still made a nice profit.”
The realization puts a stop to whatever fantasy I’d been spinning in my head about Christopher Bardot suddenly realizing he were in love with me. I kind of wish we were at Koi again, just so I could throw another oyster shell in his face.
After I’ve swallowed what’s inside of course. It was too delicious to waste.
Her nose scrunches. “It is kind of mean.”
A shiver runs through me, because that’s what I called him last night. Mean. Has he crossed the same Rubicon that my father did? Or was Christopher always this way, with me too wide-eyed infatuated to know it? “How are you and Gabriel?” I ask because I need to hear something positive. There’s a rich and ambitious man who doesn’t think loving someone makes him weak. Those two are crazy in love, despite their wicked beginning—or maybe because of it.
“We’re good.” She closes the book of fairy tales and walks back into the main hall.
Surprise freezes me where I stand. It takes me a full minute to follow her and demand an explanation. “Good. Good? What happened to I love Gabriel, he’s the best, and he gives me so many orgasms?”
A blush darkens her cheeks. “Well, there are still orgasms.”
“Does he snore?” I ask sympathetically.
“What? No.”
“Don’t tell me he forgot your anniversary.”
“It’s not that.” A notch forms between her eyebrows. “At least I don’t think so. I’m pretty bad with dates actually. It’s just that he’s been working so much lately. And traveling a lot.”
Unease moves through my stomach. “I thought he came with you to Tanglewood.”
She’s a graduate student at Smith College, working toward her doctorate, only here at the tail end of summer break. He’s a businessman with international investments. There are natural struggles to them being together, but they always seemed ridiculously happy. Always kissing and snuggling—and Gabriel is not the natural snuggling type.
He can’t seem to help himself with Avery. Or at least he couldn’t before.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she says in a too-bright voice. “Besides, if he were here, he never would have let me come to the library. This place looks like it’s about to fall down on our heads.”
A bird flies in through the atrium above us, disturbing a few shards of the stained-glass window that used to protect us. They fall down with a long dive to the ground, landing in a pile of other rubble. Dust follows it down in a light flurry of exclamation. No, the building hasn’t gone unscathed from the wrecking ball. There are cracks in the very heart of it.
In fifth grade my friend had a birthday party at her family’s country house, where the stables were climate-controlled and the horses had elaborate braids in their manes. That place bears no resemblance to the massive stable behind the house, its doors wide open to welcome the sun, the packed ground somehow more comfortable than a glossy synthetic flooring. Horses stand in clean bays, watching me with lazy curiosity from their sideways eyes.
Another set of wide-open doors leads me back outside.
Paddocks link across the land as far as the eye can see, connected by high rustic wood gates and bristling with a kind of raw potential. This is a place where nature still holds her power, where man tests himself against her and sometimes loses.
A glint of light off metal. My gaze snaps to a large paddock at the base of a hill. I’m drawn toward it as if pulled by an invisible string, the thread made of reluctant excitement and a base female instinct to seek strength.
There’s a horse in the middle of the paddock, its body held taut, the stomp of its foreleg nervous. A pale blonde and white dappled coat makes her look otherworldly. I don’t have experience with horses beyond birthday parties and Renaissance fair pony rides, but there’s no doubt in my mind that this is still a wild animal—which means the man who wants to tame her is in danger. A free spirit doesn’t want to be broken.
Sutton strolls in a wide arc, his posture deceptively relaxed, his blue eyes alert on the animal penned in with him. His heather-gray T-shirt clings to his muscles, the back darker with sweat. Worn jeans sketch the powerful lines of his thighs better than a bespoke suit ever could.
“Whoa there,” he’s saying, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going to hurt you, beautiful. You’re safe here. We’ll take as long as you need to believe it.”
God, no wonder this man can tame horses. I’m halfway pliant from hearing him murmur promises of safety and patience. There’s something unique about Sutton, a core of absolute sincerity, a sensation deep in my bones that I can trust him.
“Do the horses ever talk back?” I say, my voice soft. I’m careful not to make any sudden movements as I loop my arm over the thick plank of wood.
Sutton doesn’t seem the least surprised to hear me, which confirms my suspicion that he knew I was here. Even though he doesn’t take his eyes from the horse, his attention encompasses the whole of the paddock. The whole of the land. It encompasses me.