Page 120 of Sinful Bride

“Stay right where you are. How do you?—”

Daphne strides around to stand in front of Paris and folds her arms over her chest. “How do you know my parents?”

“I don’t! I don’t even know you!”

“Funny, since you’re the one who helped Brittany nearly kill me.”

“Pasha?” Paris whines and reaches for me. “Baby, please, help me!”

I study the way her eyes dart around the room before settling on me again. The way she’s clearly not taking care of herself, yet throwing her body at my feet—metaphorically, anyway.

I’ve seen this before. Many, many years ago. Those were some of the darkest moments in my life.

And my mother’s.

“Paris, listen to me.” I gentle my voice, crouching down, though not close enough for her to touch me. “I need you to answer the question.”

Daphne looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I try to signal to her that I’ve got this; she needs to trust me.

“I need you to help me find the Hamishes,” I continue in a soft croon. “You remember Stewart Hamish, right? And his wife, Ophelia?”

Her face screws up and sours. She starts to shake her head. Tiny motions at first, then more and more, until I start to wonder if her neck can handle the side-to-side thrashing. “No! No, no, no! They promised! They promised and they lied!”

“What did they promise, Paris?”

She points at Daphne with a nail that’s been bitten down to the quick and hisses. “They said they’d take her away. So we could be together, baby. Just you and me.” She bares her teeth at Daphne. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“What about my baby?” It takes all my self-control to keep my voice calm and even. “What were you going to do with my daughter?”

“Just… just give her to them. They want their kid and her kid and everyone’s kid and I know, I know I said I’d never have any, but if that’s what you want…? If that’s what you want, Pasha, I can give that to you! I can take out my IUD and?—”

“Don’t worry about it, Paris. We’ll figure something out.”

Daphne starts to say, “Pasha?—”

But when I hold up my hand, she falls silent. “Listen, Paris.” I inch closer just so I can soften my voice even more. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“Really?” Paris beams at me, tears springing into her eyes. It’s almost heartbreaking.

“Really. Now, I need you to help me a little bit more, okay? And then I’m going to take very good care of you.”

She purrs and blushes, running her fingers through her matted, tangled hair. “Okay.”

“I know you’ve only met the Hamishes briefly. I never let them come to my office directly. Do you remember that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So tell me, how did they get a hold of you? How did they find you and talk to you?”

She giggles like I’m being ridiculous. “Brennan, silly! Remember? You were all up his ass about that contract for a hot minute. He’s always had my number just in case he finally decided to meet with you.”

I force myself to unclench my fists. Fucking Brennan. “He called you?”

“Uh-huh.” She bites a fingertip. “Well, he called to meet me here. And we talked, and he helped me get a hold of Stewart so we could get everything ironed out. And then we—Wait.”

I frown. “What’s wrong, Paris?”

“Nothing. I just… I’m not sure I should tell you. You’ll get mad.”

---