My mother swept into my apartment in a floor-length evening coat, still dressed for an engagement party that hadn’t happened.
She saw Maren at the kitchen island and stopped dead.
“You,” she said.
Maren stood up slowly. “Hello, Mrs. Thorne.”
“Everett, do you have any idea who this woman is? What she did to this family?”
“She told me you tried to pay her off.”
“I did,” my mother said, without a flicker of shame. “And she refused. And two weeks later, she stole eighty thousand dollars of diamonds off my wrist. She was convicted, Everett. She pleaded guilty.”
“To get out of jail before she gave birth to four premature babies.”
My mother’s eyes flicked toward the bedroom door, which was open a crack. Inside, four small heads poked up out of the blankets. Hattie’s green eyes were wide.
My mother’s face changed. Just slightly.
“How did you know about the children?” I asked her. “You texted me before I’d even gotten them in the car.”
She hesitated.
“Silas told me,” she said. “He called me at five-fifteen. He said you’d met a woman at some restaurant with four children, and that she was Maren Brennan, and that she’d almost certainly come back to get her hands on our money. He said she’d been in prison. That she’s dangerous. That she’d probably use those children to extort you.” She lifted her chin. “Your brother has always looked out for you.”
“How did Silas know?”
My mother opened her mouth. Then she closed it. For the first time I could ever remember, Cordelia Thorne didn’t have an answer.
“Please leave, Mom,” I said.
“Everett —”
“Leave.”
She left.
The next week was a disaster.
The next morning, I woke up on my own couch to the sound of four little girls arguing about cereal.
I’d slept there so Maren and the girls could have the bedroom. I walked into the kitchen in yesterday’s dress shirt and found Hattie standing on a chair, pouring milk with tremendous concentration, while Lou and Daisy supervised and Pip ate dry cereal straight out of the box.
They all froze when they saw me.
“Mommy says you’re Everett,” Hattie announced.
“That’s right.”
“Are you rich?”
“Hattie!” Maren called from the bedroom.
“Kind of,” I admitted.
Hattie considered this. “Do you have pancakes?”
I did not have pancakes. I had a chef’s kitchen I’d never used and a refrigerator containing one bottle of champagne and some old takeout. So at seven-thirty in the morning, the heir to Thorne Holdings walked four little girls in pajamas to the diner on the corner, and they ordered chocolate-chip pancakes and told me everything about everything. Their favorite colors. Their teacher. The time Daisy threw up on a bus.
Maren came in halfway through, hair still wet, and stood by the booth watching us with an expression I couldn’t read.
“They like you,” she said quietly.
“I like them.”
“Don’t,” she said, and her voice was very soft. “Not unless you’re staying. They’ve had enough people leave.”
By Monday, the gossip pages had it. THORNE HEIR CANCELS ENGAGEMENT; SEEN WITH MYSTERY WAITRESS AND FOUR CHILDREN. Celine’s father called my grandfather personally and pulled the Montrose shipping contract. The board scheduled an emergency meeting. My company credit cards were mysteriously frozen “pending review.”
Celine called me that evening.
I braced for fury. Instead, she sounded almost amused.
“So,” she said. “Four children.”
“Celine, I’m sorry. I should have called you myself. You deserved better than finding out from my assistant.”
“Everett, can I tell you something?” She laughed softly. “When your assistant called, I was in the bathtub with a glass of wine and my phone, practicing my surprised face for the proposal. And when she said it was canceled, the first thing I felt was relief.” A pause. “We’d have been miserable. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Your brother was the one who kept pushing it, you know. He called my father every week. Kept saying what a perfect alliance it would be.” She was quiet for a moment. “I always wondered why he cared so much.”
I didn’t have an answer then. I would soon.
“Good luck, Everett,” she said. “I hope she’s worth it.”
“She is.”
“Then don’t let your family ruin it again,” Celine said, and hung up.
Silas came to my office on Tuesday, all concern.
“Ev. I’m on your side here. I just want to make sure you’re protected.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Before you do anything, get a DNA test. Let me handle it. I know a lab. Fast, discreet. We’ll know by Friday, and then we’ll figure out what she really wants.”
“I’ll handle it myself,” I said.
Something tightened in his face. Then he smiled. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
I took the girls and Maren to an independent clinic myself that afternoon. Four little cheek swabs. Hattie wanted a lollipop for being brave. Pip cried and then demanded a second one.
The results came back Thursday.
All four girls were mine.
I read the email standing in my kitchen, and then I went into the living room where four little girls were building a fort out of my couch cushions, and I sat down on the floor and cried. Lou patted my head like I was a dog and asked if I needed a cookie.
Maren stood in the doorway watching us with her hand over her mouth.
On Friday morning, there was a knock on the door.
A woman in a gray coat held up an ID badge.
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