Page 75 of The Villains We Make

I notice his use of the past tense.

He watches me in silence as two waiters come with plates of French toast layered with fresh berries and what looks like a blizzard of powdered sugar.

“Ah,” he says, his nurse helping to secure his napkin around his neck as he picks up his knife and fork and digs in. He smothers the first bite of toast in syrup before bringing it to his mouth and closing his eyes as he smiles with pleasure. “Sugar. One of my many vices. Although, at my nurse’s suggestion, I did cut it out of my coffee.” He gives her a look and she just folds her arms and shakes her head.

Ophelia takes a bite and Horatio does the same.

I keep watching Gordon as he sets his fork down and wipes his mouth. “Chandler won’t trouble Ophelia again. You can rest assured. Now, on to more important matters. I have a proposition for you, young lady.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like you to come home with me.”

“Home?”

“Texas. I’ll be leaving in the morning. I plan to die in my bed.”

“You’re not?—”

“Hush now. My death is imminent. Let’s not pretend otherwise. I’d like to spend what time I have left getting to know Claire’s daughter. My granddaughter. And you’d better start calling me Grandfather.”

“We discussed this,” Horatio says before Ophelia can do more than smile.

“And I changed my mind,” Gordon tells him.

“You discussed whether or not I’d go to Texas? Without me being present?” Ophelia asks.

I sit back and grin, take a bite of my French toast and watch, happy not to be the one who has earned Ophelia’s annoyance for a change. I mean, she does have a point.

“Well, yes,” Gordon says, both he and Horatio looking at her like they don’t understand the problem.

“First, before I decide anything, I want you to explain how you two are sitting here at the table together eating breakfast. Because as far as I know, you hate each other.”

The two men look at one another. “We misunderstood each other,” Horatio says. “I told you the last time I saw you, Phee, that everything I did, wait, let me amend, everything I did after Claire died, I did for you. I would do it all over again for you. I see now that Gordon and I, well, our goals are aligned. We both want the best for you. We just don’t quite agree what that best is, do we?”

Ophelia opens her mouth to answer but before she can, a cell phone rings. I recognize the ring tone. It’s the phone I gave to Ophelia once I got mine back.

“Sorry, I’ll silence it,” she says, opening her purse to dig out the phone which stops ringing by the time she gets to it. She sets the phone on silent as it buzzes to alert her of a text. When she reads it, her eyebrows furrow, and she glances at me across the table.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Sullivan Fox’s funeral. It’ll be later this week.”

My teeth clench. “Was that Ethan calling you?” I ask, feeling that familiar burn of anger and, if I admit it, jealousy, at the thought of Ethan ever having been with her. “You’re not going,” I say, but she ignores me and turns back to Gordon.

“After that, I’ll come,” she says.

“You’re not going to his funeral,” I repeat, leaning in to make sure she hears me.

“Fair enough,” the old man says to her, as if I haven’t spoken at all.

26

OPHELIA

“Why do all the men in my life feel like they can make all the decisions for me?” I ask as Silas unlocks the front door of the brownstone and lets me in.

“I don’t want you near that family. I’d think that would make perfect sense to you. Besides, why would you want to go to Sullivan Fox’s funeral? He was a puppet master pulling your strings for years.”

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