Page 122 of Reckless King

Ipull up outside the house I grew up in, taking in the huge expanse of brick. Roman probably assumed I was planning to confront Dad. But Dad is a cold, petty man who resented having to raise a son who wasn’t his, nothing more. If I want answers to my questions about who I am, then there’s only one person I can ask.

The door swings open before I have a chance to knock, and I’m confronted by the familiar face of the estate’s steward. “Good morning, sir,” he says, his tone as disapproving as always. I don’t take it personally. He sounds that way regardless of who he’s talking to.

“Morning, Peters. Is my mother in?”

He nods and steps back. “She’s in the solarium.”

I pass by him, not bothering with small talk. Peters would find it distasteful.

The sound of my footsteps on the marble floor echoes as I make my way through the huge, empty house to the solarium. For the first time, I wonder why Mom still lives here. Now that Dad’s in prison, she’s all alone except for the staff.

I shouldn’t care. And maybe I wouldn’t have in the past, but loving Violet, being loved by her, has changed things. There’s atinge of sadness that wasn’t there before. What must it be like to rattle around in this mansion knowing she has no one who cares enough to be with her?

I shrug off the thought. I’m here for answers, not to empathize with a woman who doesn’t want it.

Mom is sitting at the table in the solarium, her ash blond hair swept up off her face. She’s sipping tea from a delicate bone china cup and staring out through the glass to the flat green grounds of the estate.

The sound of my shoes on the three steps leading down draws Mom’s attention.

Her brows arch. “Tate? I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

“Apologies for not calling ahead,” I say, taking a seat at the table.

She puts her cup down and regards me with a small, wary frown. Is she anticipating the questions I’m about to ask her? Has she spent years waiting for this day to come?

“How have you been the last few weeks?” she asks, shocking me.

“Fine.” I say a little stiffly. “Why do you ask?”

She tilts her head and assesses me with those icy blue eyes. “Your normal… spirit… has been missing.”

“My spirit?”

“Yes. That,” she waves her hand in the air, “flair for living you’ve always flaunted.”

Flaunted? “You mean the ‘not acting like a cold fish at all times’ type of flaunting?”

The corner of her mouth twitches infinitesimally. “Yes. Something like that. I thought it might be related to the end of your… arrangement.”

The lancing pain that hits me in the chest at inopportune times returns. “It stopped being an arrangement a long time ago.”

“Apparently so.” She eyes me.

With a deep breath, I push away the pain. I’ve let myself get distracted. “I’m not here to talk about Violet. I’m here to finally find out the truth.”

One pale brow arches. “The truth?”

“My father.”

She keeps her composure but looks away. “If you have questions for your father, you could visit him in prison and ask him yourself.”

I don’t bother to reply, just wait her out.

Finally, she sighs. “There’s nothing to say, Tate.”

Anger burns through my veins. “You might have nothing to say. But I have plenty. Do you know what it was like growing up in this house? How fucking cold and empty it was? You and Dad didn’t care about the three of us. We only had each other. And then I found out the truth, and suddenly I didn’t have that anymore. At least it didn’t feel like I did.”

She’s frowning at me. “Why should the situation with your father have any effect on your relationship with your brothers?”

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