Daisy's brow furrowed. "Lydia, maybe he doesn't know what to say. Maybe this is his way of reaching out to you in the hopes you'll reach back."
I turned that over in my mind, confusion and hurt warring with a small flicker of hope. In that moment, holding Brogan's fifteen-million-dollar gesture-whatever the gesture meant-I was suddenly certain of one thing. I didn't want the business back. I didn't even really want the house anymore. I wanted my brother back. I wanted . . . Brogan back. Neither one was possible. And none of it meant anything with my heart shattered in a million pieces. With the acknowledgment came more grief because it could never be. Everything was ruined and there was no way to fix it.
"He shot my brother, Daisy." My voice sounded small.
She was quiet for a moment. "I know, Lydia, but you read the police report. You know Stuart all but forced Brogan to shoot him," she said, her expression nervous as if she was afraid to broach this subject with me. "Do you really think he planned that?"
I didn't know. I had seen Stuart earlier that day. I'd known he was paranoid and half crazy. And the toxicology report that had come back from the medical examiner confirmed my suspicions that he'd been using heroin as well.
I'd gone over it and over it in my mind, wondering if my reaction that day had been born of grief and confusion, the pile-up of all that had hit me at once: Stuart's suspicions, finding out Brogan was hiding things from me, at least one being the purchase of my old family estate, Courtney's visit, her vile words, and then Stuart's death. I had only looked at it from the vantage point of shock and mistrust. God, I was so tired of trying to figure this out, of going over and over it in my mind and thinking I might come to some conclusion, some answer.
"Maybe-" Daisy started.
"No," I said, rejecting it all. "I can't think about this tonight. I can't wonder. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have made that happen. If he wanted to provide me some answers, he would. But he hasn't because either this was his intended ending or he knows that even if it wasn't, this is not something we could ever move past. There is no way for us to recover from this." Was there? I picked up my glass of champagne and downed it, closing my eyes for a moment, attempting to regain my composure.
Daisy chewed at her lip for another moment, as if she wanted to say more, but then raised her glass, apparently rejecting the idea. "Well okay, then. Let's get out of this house, have some fun, and we'll revisit this when you're ready." She downed the last of her champagne. "Let's do this." And with that we headed for the front door, stopping to grab our wraps and small evening bags.
Daisy's driver was waiting for us out front. We had another glass of champagne in the car on the drive to the city, and when we got to the art gallery where the exclusive charity event was being held, I was feeling better. We got out of the car, laughing and clutching our wraps against the cool October air.
Inside, people drifted from one display to another. I did my best to turn off my mind. I wouldn't think about what Brogan's unexpected gesture had meant. He hadn't had the decency to tell me, had made the choice to leave me guessing, and so I wouldn't spend a moment of my time obsessing. It was too painful.
And yet . . . despite my own assertions, my mind kept returning there. Had it been a peace offering? A way to reach out? Or was it really what I'd called it at Daisy's house, a way to completely cut all ties with me? But if that were the case, was it really necessary? He didn't need to give me ownership of my family company or my home in order to cut ties. He'd already done that. Perhaps then, it was his way of saying, "I win, but now I have no need for these spoils of war. Take them, they're nothing to me now." No, that made no sense. And . . . my heart rejected it. It felt wrong.
But then there was Courtney. He'd said he'd been clear with her about her place in his life-out. But where had he been those nights?
I thought back to the way he'd made love to me-tenderly, reverently. The way he'd looked at me, the way he'd touched me, I just couldn't accept that he was doing it vengefully or dishonestly.
I thought we made a peace treaty last night.
Is that what that was?
I massaged my temples. I was going to give myself a headache-again.
I left Daisy flirting with one of the event hosts by a large, bronze and silver sculpture of what looked like a pile of crumpled candy wrappers. I stopped and gazed at some of the paintings for a few minutes here and there, but mostly meandered. It felt good to be out, good to get dressed up, to remember I was still young, still attractive when I exerted some effort. Several men smiled at me as I passed, their eyes lingering a moment too long and that boosted my spirits, too. I was far from ready to date, but maybe someday . . .
"This is boring as hell," Daisy said, coming up next to me and taking my arm. "I made my contribution by buying a print near the front of the gallery. We can get out of here now."
I laughed. "We've only been here for half an hour."
"Yup. Twenty minutes too long. All the men here are rich businessmen. We've both sampled that variety. Let's go somewhere where the pickings are better." She pulled me and I followed.
"I don't want to sample any variety of men," I said. "But I'll follow you somewhere where there's a variety of alcohol."
We retrieved our wraps from the coat check and walked outside. "There's a restaurant across the street, a new hibachi place. Very young and trendy. Let's check out the bar." Daisy linked her arm with mine and we crossed at the crosswalk, moving as quickly as possible so as not to get chilled in the unseasonably cold weather.
The hibachi restaurant was dim and warm and smelled wonderfully of savory, grilled meat.
"We're just going to have a drink," Daisy said to the hostess when she greeted us.
"Of course." She smiled, waving her arm toward the bar to our left.
We turned toward it as a small group who had obviously just eaten moved toward the restaurant door. My heart stuttered violently when my eyes met Brogan's. For the breath of a moment, something inside that was wholly uncaring of the rules and reasons of my head lurched toward him in joyous delight. Shock registered in his light-blue eyes, but then they immediately shuttered, moving away from me as if I was of no consequence at all. I stopped in my tracks, frozen, my gaze moving to the people he was with: Fionn, two older men I didn't know, and . . . Courtney. She saw me, her cat-like eyes registering surprise as well right before she hooked her arm through Brogan's and smiled at me, showing the bare hint of teeth. The message was clear in her expression: I win.
And I had lost. Oh yes, and it had been a slaughter.
"Lydia," Fionn said, stopping in front of me as the rest of them moved on. I blinked at him. Next to me, Daisy put her hand gently on my arm. Fionn didn't seem to notice her.
"I . . . I-" Oh God. I was going to faint right here in the lobby of this restaurant.
"How are ya?" he asked gently.
"I . . ." Fionn's eyes moved over my face, his expression worried.
"Lydia," Daisy said. Fionn's eyes jumped briefly to her and back to me.
"Listen, Lydia-"
"Fionn," Brogan said from behind me. Fionn glanced to where Brogan must have been standing and then off to the left.
"For feck's sake," he murmured. His gaze met mine again. "Lydia-"
"I have to go," I choked, turning, stumbling slightly, not knowing where to go. Brogan was at the exit.
"We have to use the restroom," Daisy said, her grip on my arm tightening. Fionn hung his head, his hand moving to the back of his neck, but he didn't stop us. Daisy pulled me and I followed, stumbling again. My legs didn't seem to want to work.
I held myself together until we got to the ladies' room and then I collapsed onto the small, velvet couch in the bathroom lobby, sobs moving up my throat so forcefully I couldn't choke them down.
I knew now.
I had wondered, and now I had my answer-Brogan had given me the business and my family home to assuage any guilt he might hold. That had been his way of saying anything we'd had between us was over. Finished. Just like me. And if the gesture itself didn't say so, Courtney's presence certainly did.
I realized then that, despite my grief over Stuart's death, despite my horror and confusion and deep despair, I'd held a kernel of hope in my heart that Brogan would come to me-come for me-and attempt to make things right. I'd hoped that I hadn't imagined he'd cared for me, that he might even love me as I'd loved him. I'd begun to admit to it earlier tonight when I'd opened that envelope, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt when I'd come face to face with him.