Page 44 of Whiteout

“I’ll take you up.”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to.” She stood, smoothing the pink dress down her thighs. “I know my way.”

“I’ll come see you before I go.”

If Breanna responded to that, Ian couldn’t hear it. She wished them all a good evening, and with a brief parting glance, went upstairs.

Ian slammed his glass down on the table, his finger pointing at Derek’s face. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” With a shrug of his shoulders, he smirked.

“Don’t give me what,” Ian seethed. “I saw you—we all did. Keep your grubby paws off of her.”

“Why should I?”

“Well, from what I could see, dear, she doesn’t want them on her.” Smirking, Pam swallowed a healthy dose of brandy.

Ignoring her, Derek sniggered. “Plan B—if we can’t get Breanna to sign, I’ll convince her to marry me instead.”

We?

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

He had to be, not that Ian would ever allow it. And besides, Derek was practically married already. He and Miranda had been a thing since he got out of law school, so he couldn’t be serious, could he?

“No. Rightfully, all of this should be ours, and if I have to walk her down the aisle to get it, then I will. I have to marry and make a few little St. Johns soon, anyway, don’t I? Having Breanna for a wife wouldn’t be that much of a hardship.”

“What about Miranda?” Ian shouted. Head cocked, he stared at Derek in disbelief, daring him to cast aside the girl who, it seemed, had wasted the last seven years of her life with him.

The man didn’t even blink. “What about her?”

“I think she might have something to say about that.”

“So Miranda won’t get to change her last name.” He shrugged as if it was of no consequence to him. “We can still be together when I’m in Sacramento.”

Francie gasped. “Derek…”

“You’re a pig,” Pamela spat.

A laugh, dark and deep, rumbled from his throat. “Come on now, Auntie, I’m willing to take one for the team.”

“And you’re delusional.” Her disgust clear, his mother slammed the empty brandy glass on the table. “Just like your father was.”

“No, he wasn’t, and neither am I.” Leaning forward, he smirked, then said with all seriousness, “The Daltons owe this family.”

“All the money in the world can’t change the past, Derek,” Pamela beseeched him. “And that poor girl had nothing to do with it.”

“She’s hardly that. Would’ve been better for all of us if she’d never made it out of that storm.”

Without another word, Derek stood, and turning from the room, left the four of them reeling, silent in his wake.

“Our boy’s been nipping too much Hennessy, I reckon.” Ted broke the silence, taking the last glass of brandy from the tray. “He’s blowing smoke out his ass. He didn’t mean it.”

“Francesca.” His mother turned toward her sister. “Did you know Derek was up to this?”

“No, of course not.” Glancing at Ian, Francie shook her head and grabbed onto her husband’s hand. “I thought he was genuinely concerned about the girl—that’s all.”

Nodding, Pamela worried her lip. “Well, it’s a long drive back to the city. Ian, walk me out to my car, will you?”

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