Page 132 of Westin

Quietly, I pick my jaw off the floor.

“You were his third wife?”

She nods. “The first died, the second ran off. He was a distant, hard person. Maybe he was difficult to love.”

I’m not sure how I feel about all this new information.

“So how did you end up marrying him?” I press.

Her cheeks flush, and she tucks a wisp of graying hair behind her ear. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

She waves a hand. “There was a situation.”

My brows rise, and I lean back, stretching my legs under the table.

“You were pregnant,” I say. “With me.”

She shrugs, waving her hand, like everything that’s coming out can be shooed away like a fly. “Things were different then. I couldn’t have had a baby without a husband.”

My mouth is dry. “Did you want to marry him?”

She shrugs. “I mean, he loved me. He was kind to me, kind to you. That’s all that mattered. But love…that’s a strong word for what I felt.”

“Did…he know you didn’t love him?” I ask.

She shrugs again, so flustered that her words shake, even though she’s trying to be casual.

“He didn’t care. That wasn’t his way,” she says. “He just…willed the world to obey him, and it did.”

She stands up, clearly unable to handle the discomfort, and starts clearing the coffee mugs, even though mine is still full. Her back is tome, and maybe that’s good, because it gives me the courage to ask what I need to know.

“Am I like him?”

She turns, leaning on the counter. Her eyes are haunted, like she’s been dreading this question for years.

The silence speaks volumes. Then, she shakes her head once.

“Yes, but no,” she whispers. “You and Sovereign always seemed like the two sides of him.”

“So together…we were a lot like him,” I say flatly. “That’s why we got the farmland.”

She nods. “He knew you’d do well going into business together. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of and that you’d take care of me.”

Silence falls. The past feels heavy in the kitchen I bought her with the money from the land my father gave me, from one hardheaded man to another, willing into existence by blood, sweat, and calculated violence.

“And ruthless,” she says suddenly.

“What?”

Her lids flutter. “Your father was in awe of that part of you. He used to tell me the world wasn’t ready for you to take it on, that you were…ruthless.”

My heart sinks.

Her lips purse. “It was a compliment, coming from him.”

I can’t speak.

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