Thief .(76)

“My God, Olivia. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve never told anyone,” she shrugs, “but, that moment — that one, ever-changing moment — has made a profound impact on me. My entire life would have been different had I not walked toward you. The next time you would have seen me would have been on the news.” She nods, staring at the floor, her little mouth pulled off to the side. When she continues, her voice is lower than before. “The sum of all the things we shouldn’t have done in our lives is enough to kill us with the weight, Caleb Drake. Neither you, nor I, nor anyone else in this life could possibly know the chain reaction our decisions cause. If you’re to blame, then so am I.”

“How?”

“If I’d done what my heart said and said yes to you, you wouldn’t have left for London. Luca and Steve would be alive and your daughter wouldn’t be in the hospital in a medical-induced coma.”

We are quiet for a few minutes as I think over her words. Everything she has said is frightening.

“So why did you take his case?”

She breathes deeply. I hear the air leave her in a great sigh.

“Brace yourself, this is going to sound really sick.”

I mock grab the arms of my chair, and she snickers.

“I felt a connection to him. We were both dealing with our obsessions that day, Dobson and I.” She makes her eyes wide when she says the last part. “We were both looking for someone. We were both so goddamn alone that we took a risk not to be. Are you disgusted with me?”

I smile and run my pinkie along Estella’s. “No, Duchess. Your ability to see outside the box and mentally align yourself with the scum of the world is why I love you.”

The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I glance at her face to catch her reaction, but there is none. Maybe she’s used to me professing my love by now. Maybe, she didn’t hear me. Maybe-

“I love you too.”

I catch her eyes and hold them, my heart pounding.



“Well, isn’t that beautiful. All the fucking inappropriate love.”

Our heads spin toward the door as Leah strides into the room. She doesn’t look at either of us as she walks past our chairs. She goes right to Estella. At least her priorities are right; I’ll give her that. I hear her intake of breath when she sees Estella.

“Shit,” she says. Both of her palms are pressed against her forehead, her fingers splayed out above them. If the situation weren’t so dire, I would have laughed. She lowers herself to her haunches, says “shit” again, and then stands back up too quickly. She wobbles on her heels then steadies herself on the bed.

She spins toward me. “Has she woken up? Has she asked for me?”

“Yes, and yes,” I say. On the other side of the room, Olivia stands up like she’s going to leave.

I mouth wait and turn back to Leah who has started to cry. I put a hand on my ex-wife’s shoulder. “She’s out of the forest. She’s going to be okay.”

Leah looks at my hand, which is still on her shoulder, and then at my face.

“You mean the woods,” she says.

“What?”

“The woods,” she repeats. “You said forest. Except you’re not in England anymore, you’re in America, and in America, we say WOODS!” Her voice rises and I know what’s coming next. “And if you’d stayed in America, this never would have happened. But, you had to run away because of her!” She points a finger at Olivia. If her finger were an arrow it would have wedged in Olivia’s heart.



“Leah,” Olivia says quietly, “if you point at me again I’m going to break that manicured finger right off your hand. Now, turn around and smile, your daughter is waking up.”

Leah and I both spin toward Estella, whose eyes are fluttering open.

I give a quick thank you glance at Olivia before she slips out the door.



The funeral is three days later. Sam comes to sit with Estella while we are gone. I have a sneaking suspicion that something is going on between him and Leah, but then I remember he told Claribel that Leah was in Thailand with a man. I wonder again bitterly if that man was my shithead brother and then I kill the thought. I am a hypocrite. I slept with Olivia while she was still legally married. To each his own. I toast my bottle of water to the ceiling of my car and press down on the gas. I asked Olivia to come to the funeral a few days ago.

“Your mother hated me,” she said, on the phone. “It would be disrespectful.”

“She didn’t hate you. I promise. Besides, your father would have hated me, and I still would have gone to his funeral.”