The second Jack had helped us down from the helicopter, he’d disappeared with nothing more than a nod in my direction, leaving me and my sister alone. Lydia began giving me the full tour immediately and stopped talking only to change for dinner. She’d offered me a change of clothes, too, but I wasn’t sure we were at the clothes-sharing point yet, and when we left Paris this morning, I’d dressed nicely on purpose, in a plain black dress. While I waited for her in a sitting room, my phone chimed with a text. I hoped it was Jack telling me where he was, and that everything was okay.
It wasn’t. It was Scarface. 13 days, the text said.
I tossed the phone back in my bag like it was on fire. Another reminder that not only was my mom’s life on the line, but that I’d be going behind the Saxons’ backs. Up until now, I hadn’t felt bad about that, but after meeting Lydia, I was starting to.
Lydia reemerged in a black dress with a lacy bodice and a flowing A-line skirt, and we made our way toward the dining room. The inside of the house matched what I’d seen of the outside—old and elegant, but understated in a way that made the Dauphins’ décor in the Louvre seem showy.
Around every corner on the home tour, I expected to find my father waiting for us, but by the time we got to the formal dining room, we were still alone except for two girls in black uniforms who stood along the back wall. The dining room was wallpapered in a subtle damask and trimmed in dark wood, with heavy velvet drapes covering the windows. The light in the room came from a tinkling crystal chandelier above a long table, which was set with four places at one end, candles flickering down the center. Lydia sat on one side and pointed me to the seat across from her. “And you grew up in . . . Minnesota, was it?”
I nodded. “Minnesota, and before that Oregon, New York, Texas, Florida . . .”
Lydia set down her glass of sparkling water and wrinkled her nose. “That sounds ghastly.”
“It wasn’t ideal.” I gestured around the room. “Not like living somewhere like this.”
“You could have grown up here.” Lydia leaned her elbows on the table and cocked her head to one side. “It’s so odd your mother never told you about us. She kept so much from you . . . You could have had so much more in your life.”
I leaned back against the padded back of the chair, surprised. “I—” Of course I’d wondered what it would have been like to grow up as part of the Circle. I’d been so angry when I’d found out how long my mom had been lying. But still . . . “She had her reasons.”
“I’m sure. Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” Lydia smiled, and it looked genuine, but I could see questions that I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer churning behind her eyes. I changed the subject. “Is your mom coming to dinner?”
Lydia ran a finger along the gold fork next to her plate. “My mother is still getting used to the idea of you. She won’t be joining us.”
Right. Even if this wasn’t the Circle, finding out that your husband had an illegitimate child would be awkward.
I gestured to the fourth place setting. “And your brother—”
The hardwood floor creaked, and I spun to see my father in the doorway.
My father.
What a strange thing to be able to say. I’d only met him that once, at the ball, but he was just how I remembered him. The awe I felt was reflected right back at me from eyes so much like mine, it was as if I were looking into a mirror.
He took a step inside, and I snapped out of it. Was I supposed to stand? I pushed halfway out of my chair, but fell back to sitting when I saw Lydia leaning back casually. My father came around the table, and I stood again, awkwardly. He was handsome, with dark hair and heavy brows like mine and Lydia’s, and he wasn’t tall, for a guy—probably only six inches taller than me. I had my mom’s complexion, and her little nose, but it was obvious that I’d gotten a lot from the Saxons.
My father kissed me on the cheek. “Avery,” he said, and I flashed back to the memory box under my bed back in Minnesota, where I’d stashed all the research I’d done on my father over the years. As much as I’d wished and hoped and daydreamed, I don’t think I’d ever really believed he’d be part of my life one day.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he went on, and squeezed both my hands in his. “I wish it could have been sooner, but it’s good to have you now.”
He made his way to the head of the table, and for the first time, I noticed Jack. He must have come in with my father. He stood with his hands behind his back, blending into the wall like all the other servants. He didn’t look hurt or upset, so maybe he’d been forgiven.
My father looked to Lydia as a butler pulled out his chair. “Where’s Cole?”
Lydia shrugged, and just then, Cole Saxon strode into the room in a red and white jumpsuit, gripping a helmet, his hair sweaty.
My father pressed his lips together and waited for Cole to make his way around the table.
My half brother was just taller than my father, and the jumpsuit made his slight frame look a little bigger, but I could tell the whole family was small. Cole threw himself into the chair next to his sister and plucked a roll from the untouched breadbasket. There was a rip at the shoulder of the jumpsuit, and Lydia poked at it, raising her brows.
“Crashed the Ferrari,” Cole mumbled around a bite of bread.
Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “Cole! The ’64?”
Cole nodded. He had the same olive skin and dark hair as his sister, but there was none of Lydia’s warmth in his violet eyes.
“That was the one car I actually liked.” Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you just leave it sitting there?”
“It’s off the track. Somebody’ll deal with it.” He glanced up at Jack, standing in the corner. “The Keeper’s back. Send him.”