Page 119 of Worth Every Penny

I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally. I thought my anger might dissipate, but it hasn’t. Nor has the empty ache of fresh loss for the father I thought I knew. I grieved when he died, but it turns out I’d grieved for a man I didn’t know. A man who didn’t exist.

I feel raw, like someone has rubbed away my defenses with a scrubbing brush. Part of me knows I shouldn’t be here. Nothing good is going to come from confronting Nico right now. I ought to go home. Call it off. Take time out to get my head together. But I have to know if what Martin said is true.

I want it to be lies with every fibre of my being. I want to move back to a time when I was blissfully unaware.

I want to live in a world where I know my father, trust my brother and—my heart stalls and pitches at the next thought—fall in love with Nico Hawkston. But none of them are who I thought they were. I’ve never felt so alone.

When Nico opens the door, he’s still wearing his suit trousers and white shirt, with a tie knotted at his neck. He can’t have been home long.

Standing in the doorway, I absorb his energy, feel his presence, and long to be cocooned in his arms. But there’s something between us now that wasn’t there before; an invisible partition, a separation that can only befelt.

He senses it instantly, the warmth in his face fading. “What’s wrong?”

I step into the apartment, and even through the haze of anger, I can see this place is amazing. Insane. Beyond the imagining of mere mortals like me. The furniture is sleek, contemporary and expensive-looking. Steel columns rise between the sofas. The ceilings are ten feet high, the external walls sheet glass.

We’re dizzyingly far from the ground, and just like the night we fucked in the office, the sunset blazes outside. Only this time I don’t see it as beautiful.

This time it looks like hell.

I clutch my handbag tight to my side. Nico’s eyes flick to it, and his frown deepens.

“Did someone hurt you? Because I swear, if they did—”

“You did,” I grit out.

His gaze sweeps over my face, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t understand.”

“I spoke to Martin Brooks.”

His reaction is subtle. A flicker, a bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Kate—”

“What’s that?” I cut him off, looking over his shoulder to where a framed picture is leaning against the sofa.

It’s the charcoal drawing I did of my father, except it has been expensively mounted and reframed, a red ribbon tied around it.

“I had it fixed. To remember your father.”

“My father?” Anger thins my voice, and the words quiver. “Who the hell was my father? Because I sure as shit don’t know.”

Nico’s shoulders compress, and he looks at me like I’m about to break and he doesn’t know whether to take cover or try to catch the pieces.

“You knew, didn’t you? You knew what kind of man he was?” Fire flushes my veins, heating my body, raging through my limbs. It infuses my brain and blurs my vision.

I drop my handbag to the floor, stalk past Nico, and pick up the picture, turning it so he can see it. “Is this a joke? Is this a fucking joke?”

“No. God, no. It’s a gift.”

“A gift? Keep your gifts, you lying bastard!” I raise the picture over my head. Nico’s features contort with alarm as he reads my intention. He steps towards me, arms outstretched.

There’s a split second of clarity, where I know I could pull back,shouldpull back, but then it’s gone. I’ve passed the limit of rational thought, and anger consumes me. With a scream that comes from somewhere dark and wounded, I slam the picture to the floor. The glass shatters; the frame breaks.

Nico stills. “What the fuck is going on?”

“My father embezzled millions from the company. He destroyed it. That’s why you didn’t buy it. Is it true?”

Nico’s eyes are full of pain. “I couldn’t make it work.” There’s a reluctance to his words that fuels my anger.He still doesn’t want to tell me the truth.

My hand flies to my mouth and emotion swells in my throat. “It’s true? You knew? All this time, you knew?”

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