Page 95 of No More Secrets

“I didn’t think so.” Olivia returns her attention to the painting, and Charlotte maps out her profile, memorizes the slope of her nose and curve of her chin. Why is she here? She gave her children the house and more than enough money to satisfy their urge to seek her out. Enough that should have clued them in she was done being their mother. Took her several decades to admit, but Charlotte was never cut out to be a parent.

Olivia’s tongue darts across her lips. She is beautiful, her daughter. Her oldest and her favorite. Brunette hair cascades to her midback. High boots hug her calves as does her dress with the three-quarter sleeves. Why Olivia didn’t take up modeling, she doesn’t understand. She’s more gorgeous than Priscilla and her flimsy roommates. Instead, Olivia took up smoking, sketching cartoons, and falling in love witha man who doesn’t know how to brush his own hair. Theodore Blaze Whitman was never good enough for her daughter. His father was a letdown in bed.

Another mistake.

She has so many of them.

Charlotte crosses her arms and studies Alexander’s painting alongside Olivia. “What do you make of it?”

“She’s beautiful. Alluring. Who is she?”

“The artist’s girlfriend.”

“And the man, the artist?”

“That is the question.”

Olivia wraps her arms around herself. “I’ve got another one for you.” She turns to her with raised brows. “Why?”

That’s a loaded question.

Why did she leave Seaside Cove? Why did she manipulate and lie to her children? Why did she kill Lily’s father? If she felt any remorse, or had any doubt they could prove her guilt, she wouldn’t be here living out in the open. Olivia never would have found her. Simply, Charlotte doesn’t give a fuck what her children think. Don’t they get that?

“You’d never understand.” Olivia didn’t grow up having to prove herself to her father over and over again just to get an inkling of his attention. A sliver of acknowledgment. No, Dwight coddled her. Made her soft and ridiculously naive.

“Try me.”

“I don’t have answers. Not the ones you want.” They wouldn’t change anything. They won’t bring Benton St.John back or the years she lost with Lily. They won’t stop her from lying. Her father taught her well. She has no plans to change if it gets her what she wants, and that’s this. The gallery and a lifestyle running in the circles of the wealthy and privileged. The life she was destined to live.

Olivia holds her gaze, and Charlotte feels her own gaze wavering. Her daughter’s arms fall along her sides. Her hands tense, and a finger tapsher thigh. Charlotte wonders if she still craves a smoke, that need to hold something in your hand. Ah, the rush of nicotine. A disgusting habit.

Olivia inhales sharply and makes an announcement. “We’re selling the house.”

She didn’t expect that. Her house is beautiful, with its elegant architecture and desirable location. She hated leaving it more than her children. But Dwight lived there. The carpet and linens reeked of him. “It was a gift.”

“We don’t want it.”

“The taxes?” They’ll be obscene.

“The price of no one wanting to live there. Too many bad memories under that roof.”

Olivia’s eyes glow like hard emeralds, and Charlotte rubs her hands together. “Bywedo you mean...”

“Lily. Yes.”

A mix of nerves and longing flows through her. “You’ve seen her? How is she?” she asks before she stops herself. She left Seaside Cove to avoid Lily’s return. The daughter she insisted on keeping to spite Dwight and his infidelities is more than the child she paid to run away. She’s a reminder of the night Dwight forced her hand, and she took Benton’s life. Looking at Lily is like staring down the mouth of her ill deeds. But the mother in her can’t deny it means something to know she’s alive. That she’s healthy and thriving.

No, she never forgot her daughter. Not a single day went by that she didn’t wonder how Lily was coping on her own. Surely that counts for something. She isn’t a total monster.

Soft footsteps approach. “She’s good. Fantastic, no thanks to you and Dwight.”

That voice.Charlotte turns to take in the woman behind her. “Lily.” Lips trembling, she reaches to cradle her daughter’s face only to hesitate at the fury burning in her eyes. “Lily, darling,” she whispers, hands shaking. “My little angel.” Though she isn’t so little anymore. Lily is agrown woman, and by the look of her, Charlotte’s daughter despises her. “I always knew you were a survivor.”

Lily’s mouth curves into a tight smile. “Better than believing I’m a murderer like you and Dwight convinced me I was.”

“Show a little respect.” Charlotte crosses herself. “He’s your father.”

“No, he isn’t.”

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