Someone who saw inside her and didn’t care about her name or her face or her bank account.
Someone to love Lacey and let her be herself. To make her feel like she belonged and wasn’t hiding behind a mask.
“I want love, Mother. Real love.”
“It’s Marlowe, isn’t it?” Her father’s face was thunderous. “He was never any good. Now he’s trying to ruin your life again.”
“Again?” her mother echoed. “What does that mean?”
Lacey and her father exchanged glances. Her mother hadn’t questioned her sudden acquiescence to Margaret’s desire for Lacey to attend finishing school in Europe all those years ago. Lacey had often suspected that her father hadn’t divulged what he’d found that night. Her mother would have taken it badly.
She remained silent. It would be his story to tell.
“Nothing, Margaret. I simply didn’t like young Marlowe paying too much attention to Lacey when she was so young.”
“I told you not to put him to work around here. He was not supposed to go near her. His father was a criminal, after all.” Her mother turned to her. “Darling, you can’t possibly be involved with that hoodlum.”
“He’s not a hoodlum, Mother. He’s a successful businessman.” She swallowed hard. “And we’re not involved.”
Her mother’s laser-sharp eyes studied her, clearly not believing what she said.
Her father spoke first. “You know what he did before.” The air went still and dark with memory. Dev had taken money to walk away. Her father’s eyes bored into hers. “He cannot be trusted.”
Maybe not. Probably not. But a small voice inside her said differently.
Regardless, it was none of their business. “This is not about Dev. This is about me, about my life.”
“Lacey, I refuse to let you fall victim to him again,” her father commanded. “Wasn’t Luc lesson enough? Do I have to bail you out every time you show poor judgment?”
Every word drove a stake into her heart. Both their faces were set and angry. Her stomach twisted.
But within Lacey, a tiny seed sprouted. The seed that remembered riding down the highway with the top down in an old Caddy. Climbing down a trellis. Making donuts.
She liked that Lacey. She didn’t want to bury that Lacey so deeply that she could never find her.
She pushed back from the table and rose. Voice shaking, she spoke. “I’m sorry you have so little faith in me. I’ve tried very hard to be what you want, but I never seem to manage it.” She looked up at her mother’s frown, her father’s dark stare. “I love you both, but I cannot live my life for you forever.”
“Lacey…” her mother warned.
Her father’s visage darkened more. “I’m warning you, Princess. Marlowe is no good. You stay away from him, or I’ll—”
She forced herself to meet his gaze, her knees trembling, her throat dry as dust. “Or what, Daddy? You’ll send me away again?”
She pressed her hands together to stop the shaking. “You don’t seem to understand that it doesn’t have to be a choice. I can live my own life and still love you both.” Then the good little girl emerged once again. “Can’t you believe that? Please, can’t you let me be who I am and still love me, even if I’m not perfect?”
But all that met her was her mother’s silence, and her father’s stony stare.
“I’ll let myself out,” she said quietly.
And walked away. Before she could crumble.
Dev knew he was a fool to do it, but as the night deepened, he left Connor’s apartment and drove toward Lacey’s townhouse.
At the four-way stop nearest her place, a sporty red convertible zipped through the intersection first.
He knew the driver.
She took the next corner too fast, and he frowned as he followed her. When he arrived at her townhouse, Lacey emerged from her car, slamming the door and sinking against it, burying her face in her hands.
Dev parked quickly and raced across the grass.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She raised tear-swollen eyes to his, her face a study in misery. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. But on her face, he saw need.
It didn’t matter anymore what had happened in the past. Right now, Lacey needed him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, murmuring nonsense words as he had once comforted his siblings. Without thinking, he set up a rocking motion, widening his stance so that she nestled between his legs, her face against his neck.
Stroking her back with long, slow strokes, Dev let her cry. She felt good against him, better than she should. Something deep inside Dev felt a click that should have scared him off.