“Don’t sit there, pretending to look innocent,” Lucas growled. “You had to have known what your mom was up to; convincing my dad to change his will like this.”
“It was actually my doing,” Mr. Wilkinson interjected. “Jonathan stopped into my office a couple days before his marriage. He said he wanted to talk to me about the prenuptial agreement he’d asked me to draw up while Di was out dress shopping. He let me know it was no longer necessary, a decision I advised him against, considering the vastness of his estate. He was adamant and I had no choice but to abide by his decision.”
“That doesn’t explain the change in my dad’s will.”
“I asked him if he wanted to make any changes to it with the upcoming nuptials. I didn’t want to run the risk of having assets frozen if Di ever had reason to contest it in probate court, not with the company as part of his estate.”
“And at no point during this visit did it cross your mind to ask him if he’d lost his mind?” Lucas’s question was thick with sarcasm.
Mr. Wilkinson leveled him with a glare. “You and I both know your father was of sound mind and body. If making decisions based on love was grounds to overturn a will, then our legal system would be in serious trouble.”
“He wasn’t thinking with his heart,” Lucas argued. “It was his little head making the decisions for him.”
“You don’t know that,” I snapped, knowing darn well it was entirely possible he was right but not caring in the least. Someone had to defend my mom, as she was no longer able to do it herself.
“Enough,” Mr. Wilkinson grunted. “Let me get through the rest of this and then the two of you can squabble like children without my having to listen to it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, only to drop them when I noticed Lucas doing the same as we both listened intently.
“Jonathan also made arrangements for any children Lucas might have, with specified amounts for trust funds to be set aside and such.”
“Not like that’s going to happen any time soon.”
My hand drifted to my stomach, the very place where his baby might already rest. I hoped like hell he was right and I was suffering from some strange, lingering illness instead of pregnancy. I’d take just about any kind of sickness as an explanation right about now.
“The final stipulation is that in order to inherit, you’re both expected to reside in the family home for the next year.”
The room was suddenly filled with absolute silence. You literally could have heard a pin drop. I must have heard him wrong.
“My father set his will up so she,” his nose wrinkled in distaste, “and I have no choice but to live together for a year?”
“Yes,” the lawyer confirmed. “He said if anything happened to him and Di, he wanted to be sure you both had family near.”
“She’s not my family,” Lucas growled.
“But she is,” Mr. Wilkinson insisted. “She’s your step-sister.”
“Get out,” Lucas rasped.
I levered up and out of my chair, wanting nothing more than to get away and think.
“Not you,” he hissed, wrapping a hand around my upper arm and holding me in place.
“Are you kicking me out of my own office?” Mr. Wilkinson asked.
“My step-sister,” he barely gritted the word out, “and I need a moment alone to discuss our living arrangements.”
I waited for the door to shut behind the lawyer before turning to glare up at Lucas. “There’s an easy enough solution to all of this.”
“Oh, yeah?” he drawled. “What’s your bright idea, sweetheart?”
I felt a stab of pain in my heart at his scornful use of that particular term of endearment. The last time he’d called me sweetheart, he’d groaned it in my ear while telling me how good it felt to be inside me. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to earn his disdain, but it only reinforced my decision. “I’m going to walk away from the inheritance.”
“Sure you are,” he scoffed. “Because after luring me into your bed in order to get me to give you an art show, you’re the kind of woman who will walk away from several hundred million dollars.”
Several hundred million dollars? Whoa!
“I can practically see the dollar signs in your eyes.”
“First of all, I didn’t lure you into my bed,” I retorted, jabbing my finger into his sculpted chest. “You’re the one who propositioned me.”
“Like you weren’t in my gallery with the express purpose of sleeping your way into a show,” he muttered.