Page 11 of Love Over Time

She turned to me, blushing. “But you already know that.”

I chuckled. A warm current spread through me. She hated her name, but more importantly, she remembered me. In my head, the words from when we’d first met rang loud and clear. “I promise I won’t laugh at your name. Cross my heart and hope to die,” I’d said before I drew a cross on my chest with two fingers.

She tucked her feet under her and leaned on the armrest. “Hipolita Morrow.”

I braced my elbows on my thighs, covering my smile. “Was that so hard?”

“You have no idea.” Her blue eyes pierced through my heart.

“Why are you here? Why the new name?”

“I made a promise to my sister.” She glanced at her hands, her thumb tracing the lines on her palm. That playful way of hers all gone. “Fifteen years ago she was imprisoned for a crime she didn’t commit.”

I sat back. “Are you sure it wasn’t her?”

“I’m sure.” She stood, eyes blazing. She was telling the truth or at least what she believed to be the truth.

“Are you here to, what? Help her escape?” I stood. The pain, the longing, they were written all over her face. Maybe Hipolita hadn’t changed after all. She was just better at hiding it than I was.

“No. To clear her name. She doesn’t want her freedom. She wants everyone to know she didn’t do it.”

After all these years, Lisa Morrow was innocent? The details of that night were a blur. I’d just turned eleven. Lisa had been eighteen when they found her over Dad’s body, claiming someone had killed him. But all the evidence proved she’d done it—her fingerprints on the body, the weapon, her DNA under his fingernails…all the blood. Could that be possible? Could it be possible that the woman they’d put in jail for Dad’s murder all those years ago was innocent?

Hipolita’s sister was innocent?

Chapter Five

The Prince of Paradise

Nikki

Hipolita Morrow.Now there was a name I hadn’t heard since college. It sounded so alien. This was usually the point in a conversation with a stranger where I had to explain I was half Brazilian, that I was named after my maternal grandmother. But not with Henry. This gorgeous man was really Henry Cavalier,my Henry. But dammit, whether he recognized me or not didn’t matter. Our story was over. I’d come back for Lisa. Her life was on the line.

“Hipolita.” His voice was strained.

A knock on the front lobby door made me jump. Dom Moretti walked across the threshold, and my world stopped spinning.Thank you.I blinked to clear my vision, and I ran into his arms. He didn’t question it, just held me. When I glanced up at him, his eyes were dark pools shooting daggers at Henry.

I placed my hand on his chest. “Darling, you came. It’s so good to see you.”

“I’m so glad I did.” His gaze fell to my hand gripping his sleeve. “Who’s your friend?”

I didn’t bother to look at Henry, just waved my hand in dismissal. “Oh, him? He’s not a friend. Just a construction worker.”

“I’m not a construction worker.” Henry stood.

“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll be more comfortable there.” I winked at Dom and led him to the grand staircase. Behind us, the sofa lumbered across the floor with a screeching sound. Two seconds later Henry slammed the front door.

“What was that all about?” Dom asked. “That asshole try something?”

“No.” I made my way to my bedroom window to push it open. Hot air blew against my face, brushing softly against my cheeks.

Below the balcony, Henry stomped around the big hole on the ground, barking orders to Russ, who raised both eyebrows at him, mouth slightly open, but didn’t question Henry’s instructions.

“That guy’s pissed.” Dom joined me on the small balcony. There was barely enough standing room for the two of us. “Who is he really, doll?”

Henry picked up debris off the roof of my Mercedes and threw them onto the backhoe loader. His workers slanted glances at him but didn’t say anything. The scowl on his face told them to let him be. This wasn’t the happy, carefree Henry I’d known. The one who’d owned everything around us, who’d thought anything was possible. I rubbed a hand across my chest to ease the ache in my heart. The old wound was bleeding again, the way it did every time I thought of Henry.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He’s the Prince of Paradise.”

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