Page 79 of Owned By a Billionaire

“Something like that.” She chuckled. “I can’t really imagine this being in LA.” She gestured at the sumptuous burgundy room adorned with crystal chandeliers and antiques.

Declan joined us. “Nor can I.” He took his wife’s hand.

“So is Cary coming?” Theadora asked.

“He’s busy.” I tried to remain blank-faced.

Declan’s eyes shone with a hint of concern. With his typical razor-sharp perception, he must have noticed me shifting my weight from one leg to another.

As we watched Theadora take the children to the playroom, he asked, “Are you at least talking?”

“We’re back together. It’s just become a little complicated.”

He sniffed. “Isn’t it always?”

“We always manage, don’t we?” I smiled tightly.

“Maybe, but what are we to do about Crisp’s latest demands?”

Ethan arrived just as Declan finished that sentence. “I heard about that. Him vying for Elysium and the adjacent land.” His face soured. “What the hell, Mother?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m working on it.”

“How?” Ethan spread his hands. “Savanah’s gutted.”

My daughter joined us. “Yes, I am,” she said.

This family of mine had a good knack of arriving at key points in conversations, fitting together like a Scrabble game—perfectly timed and pressing for detail that would make even the most seasoned politician stutter.

I regarded my daughter coolly. “Suffice it to say, I’m working on it.”

I kept to myself that I was trying to find the courage to hand myself in to the police.

Or find a way to get rid of Reynard.

The latter wasn’t something I found easy to contemplate, because the thought of organizing anyone’s demise had turned my already light sleeping patterns into insomnia.

No, surrendering myself to the law was the only way. And in so doing, I would take Crisp down with me—the only sweet spot in an otherwise grim, once inconceivable, option.

Had I not been a mother, maybe I could have lived with this Faustian curse hanging over me.

“Where’s Carson?” I asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“He’s over there, talking about gaining a security contract for the new hotel in LA.” Savanah turned to Ethan. “So, you have finally realized your dream of a Lovechildes in LA. I can’t wait.”

Ethan glowed with pride.

Yes, he’d done well. All my children had. Despite their teenage excesses, they’d found their places in the world and had made me proud.

Afewdaysafterordering the investigation of Mark’s Australian wife, I received a report on Elise Whitely.

The dossier contained images of a young, beautiful girl with dark eyes and long brown hair. She looked a bit like I had at her age, unsurprising, given that people were often attracted to a certain type.

Harry was nothing like Mark, of course. But I married Harry for reasons other than passion, a motivation that aligned me with most women. Survival often made us choose practicality over passion. That was the beauty of wealth. One could be free to love whom they wished. Only it wasn’t so easy when the type of men who made my heart pound with desire tended to come with a bevy of complexities.

As I read about Elise, I discovered Mark had been telling the truth about her battle with mental illness. I flicked through the file, pausing at a photo of Mark in his twenties, articles relating to his disappearance, and police investigations.

At fifty, Elise looked nothing of her former self. She’d let herself go and wore a blank, almost remote expression. A pang of sympathy touched me as I studied her image.

---