Stepbrother Thief(38)

“I don't want to have this conversation here,” he says, his voice little more than a rough whisper. I study his clenched fists, the rise and fall of his chest as he takes several deep breaths. If he's finally figured out that Solène's his daughter, he sure is having a strange reaction to the news. Gilleon's on edge, obviously, but there's something else there, that weird anger I keep picking up on. “And anyway, I'd love to take you to breakfast.”

Love to.

What do I make of that?

I reach up and touch the diamond pendant for reassurance. I wish I were half the mother that my mom was. Even if Anika might disagree with me, I know Elena always did what she thought was best. Letting my sister move in with her grandma, that almost killed her. But she did it because she didn't want Anika to hurt anymore, didn't want the sting of losing our father to snap back and blind her a second time. My sister didn't want a stepfather; I don't know how I'd live without him.

“I'm not sure what you mean by that,” I begin, trying to gauge Gill's facial expression. He holds my gaze, but gives me nothing to go off of. I lift my hands up in surrender and let them fall to my sides. “But I'm up, I'm hungry, and I'm willing to hear what you have to say.”

I can be an adult about this, can handle it like the thirty-one year old capable adult that I am.

“Thank you, Regina,” Gill says, his voice rough, sliding across my skin and diving deep until I can almost feel the words reverberating in my bones. He tries on a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes, giving me a sad, sad glimpse of the teenage boy that he used to be. “I'll try not to be an asshole today, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a false smile of my own. Deep down though, a tiny thread of hope stirs inside of me. If he has made the connection about Solène, maybe he'll handle it like an adult, too. Maybe, just maybe, we can conquer this once and for all.

It'd be a good start for my new life—a great start.



The car ride to the restaurant is a bust, a void of sound and conversation that makes my ears ring. Talk to me, damn it, I think, wishing Gill would just bring up the subject and get it out there for us to discuss. I want to know what he's thinking, if this is all really about what I think it is. There's no way I'm bringing it up first.

I glance over at Gilleon, at the tightness in his jaw, at his hands wrapped so firmly around the steering wheel. There's that anger again, showing in his face as it bubbles up inside of him again. It seems like the more he thinks about this, the worse he starts to feel. That's what happens when you internalize feelings like that.

I am going to handle this situation with grace and poise. I'm calm and I'm ready for this.

I touch the diamond pendant again.

“That was your mom's, right?” Gill says finally, snapping the bubble of silence wide open. Sounds rush in around me—the whir of cars outside the window, the splatter of rain on the roof, the gentle buzz of the radio in the background.

“It was,” I say, leaning back against the seat and closing my eyes against Gill's scent. Even after all this time, he still smells like bergamot oil, like a really good cup of earl gray tea. Strong, masculine, but with this undertone of sweetness that makes my mouth water. Shit. “Why do you ask?”

“I remember her wearing it is all.”

And then he stops talking again, bringing up our past like it's nothing, and dropping it just as quick.

It's a relief when we finally get to the restaurant, and I scramble out of the car before Gill can come over and try to open my door. He did it when we got in and it just made things that much more awkward. I don't want to see any shallow examples of chivalry from him.

“Two please,” he tells the waitress when we step inside the café. She nods and takes us to a table in the back, right up against a bank of windows overlooking the street. Plants hang from the steel beams overhead and crowd the boxes in the corners, filling the room with a sweet, floral scent. The floors are cement, the tabletops made of reclaimed wood. Yep. We're definitely in the corner of eco-friendly and industrial chic. Welcome to Seattle.

I order an espresso and then lean back in my chair, letting my eyes trail over the restaurant. Gill is definitely getting some looks, but so am I. I wonder if we make an interesting couple? I always thought we complemented each other well.

“The omelets are damn good,” Gill says as he copies my pose, leaning back and acting like it's no big deal that he's got a gun tucked under his black jacket. He knows exactly how to sit so that the front of the coat gapes open, but the weapon stays invisible. He even pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, making it seem like the jacket's a fashion statement instead of a necessity.