Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(53)

“I’ll carry him,” I told Knox when he reached for the car seat’s handle. I needed the weight to keep my hands from trembling.

We walked inside and headed straight toward the front desk, where Mateo was drinking a to-go cup of coffee from Lyla’s shop.

“Hey.” Knox jerked up his chin.

“Hey.” Mateo hopped off his stool and rounded the corner of the counter, coming to stand beside his brother.

With a dusting of stubble on his jaw, Mateo looked more like Knox than ever. He had the same broad frame, but he hadn’t built up as much muscle yet.

Mateo and Knox shared a look, then he nudged my elbow with his. “How’s it going, Memphis?”

“It’s all right.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “They’re in room 307.”

“Okay.” I set the car seat on the floor and bent to touch my son’s nose. “Be good, baby.”

The smile he gave me was all the incentive I needed to stand up to my parents. They weren’t going to take this life from us.

Knox pulled me into his side when I stood. “We’ll be here.”

“Thanks.”

He brushed a kiss to my mouth, then gave me a sure nod as I headed for the elevators. My footsteps were steady, a contrast to my racing heart, as I walked down the hallway on the third floor. I took one fortifying breath outside the room, then raised my hand to knock.

My father answered the door wearing another Italian suit.

If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t let it show as he waved me inside. “Memphis.”

“Dad.”

This was one of the larger rooms, a corner room with enough space for a small table by the window. Mom was seated, her back as stiff and straight as my own. Except it wasn’t determination fueling her forward. She’d sat stiffly her entire life, on constant edge because of my father.

Her eyes dragged over my hoodie and jeans. Her lip curled, barely, but I caught it. Mom had never liked jeans. She lived her life in tailored slacks and silk blouses. Today’s were both a matching ecru. Diamonds decorated her ears.

“Sit,” Dad ordered, taking a chair of his own.

It grated on me to obey, but there’d be plenty of time to fight. I chose the seat across from his so I could hold his gaze for this conversation.

He looked exactly the same as he had months ago. Blond hair with white streaks at the temples. Hazel eyes that would have been colorful if not for their constant cold glare. Thank God we didn’t look alike. My sister and brother both resembled Dad, but I’d taken my features from Mom.

Houston and Raleigh hadn’t bothered calling, so I didn’t waste time asking about their well-being. They certainly hadn’t given a shit about mine.

“Why have you been calling me?” I asked Mom.

Her eyes flicked to Dad, guilt creeping into her expression.

Maybe he didn’t know that she’d been dialing my number nonstop.

“If you really wanted to know, maybe you should have answered the phone,” Dad clipped. Okay, so maybe he did know about the calls.

“Why the private investigator?”

“You packed up your car and left.” Mom looked at me like I’d offended her. Like I’d spit in her champagne.

“There was no reason for me to stay in New York.” I leveled a glare at Dad. “I had no job. No home.”

He leaned back in his seat, giving me that impassive stare he was so feared for at Ward headquarters. “That was your choice.”

“Was it?” I arched an eyebrow.

“We wanted to make sure you were safe,” Mom said, her voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper.

She had wanted to know I was safe. Having me followed must have been her idea. From the look on Dad’s face, he couldn’t have cared less.

“If you were really worried about my safety, you would have come to the hospital when I was in labor.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Mom looked to Dad with blame etched on her pretty face. “That man from yesterday. Who is he?”

“Knox Eden. His family owns this hotel.”

“Oh, is—”

Dad frowned. One single glare and Mom ceased speaking as he waved her away. A flick of the wrist that her questions were nothing.

She shrank into her chair. While Dad hadn’t changed in months, Mom seemed . . . tired.

The lines around her eyes were more prominent, not that there were many. She had a team of estheticians who pampered her weekly along with a world-class dermatologist and the highest-paid plastic surgeon in New York City to ensure she didn’t look a day over forty.

Unlike Dad, Mom hadn’t come from money. She’d married into wealth, and because of her prenup, there was little she’d do to risk the six-carat diamond on her ring finger. She’d fight time and age tooth and nail until the end of her days.

At one point, I’d pitied Mom. She loved her lifestyle and it had trapped her to my father’s every whim. But that was before she’d left me alone. Before she’d cowered to his will and, as such, forsaken her child. There was no pity left.

She could call every day from now until the end of her life.

It was too damn late.

She’d made her choice.

And I’d made mine.

“Why are you really here?” That question I aimed at my father. “I’ll take the truth this time. Because there is no way you’d travel here to rescue your daughter.”