The Address(90)

“You don’t see in yourself what I see. You have more power than you think.”

He was wrong. “I’m barely hanging on, here. What if it all comes crashing down? You may make fun of Melinda, but she’s stood by me and given me a chance when no one else would. I can’t forget that. If I push to get tested and it turns out I’m not a true Camden, I’ll not only lose one of my only friends, I’ll be totally banished from the New York design community.”

“So you would back down in order to placate Melinda? Do you think she would do the same if the roles were reversed?” He touched her shoulder gently, and she bristled in response. “Sometimes I worry that you’re using this wild-goose chase to avoid dealing with who you really are. In the end, who cares if you’re a real Camden or not? You’re a healthy, smart woman with a bright future ahead of you. Which means it doesn’t matter if Melinda causes trouble. You’ll get a job doing something else; you’ll figure it out. What’s most important is that you move beyond the tragedy of the past, start fresh.”

She wondered which tragedy he was referring to, Theo Camden’s or her mother’s. The shock of her mother’s death, as if it had happened twelve hours ago, not twelve years, hit Bailey in the gut, and she struggled to catch a breath. This usually happened in the middle of the night, when she woke up, heart pounding, certain that the world was disintegrating beneath her. Not in the middle of a crowded party.

Renzo continued on, taking her silence for encouragement. “I understand what it’s like to be barely sober, barely hanging on. But I want to see you stand up for yourself and be counted, not get pushed around by a prick like Tony or a princess like Melinda.”

“I’m confused here. Are you telling me to demand to get tested, or to give it up?”

“Not my decision. Whatever you do, don’t go into it blindly, for the wrong reasons. Or expect it to solve all your problems. That’s all I’m saying.”

Before she could reply, Kenneth came over, pulling two of his friends.

“How many more of those sketches do you have, my dear?” He pointed to the one that was now hanging above his fireplace in a handsome frame.

“Far too many.” She’d gone crazy the last couple of days, trying to capture the building from every angle, as if it might disappear when she no longer lived there. She knew it was silly, but her obsession blunted the pain of having to move on.

“Rory, John, and Edward all want one. I spoke with my neighbors and have already sold six here in the building. I won’t charge you a commission. Yet.”

She did the math. That would do it. She’d have enough to pay for the DNA testing. “You’re amazing, Kenneth. You have no idea.” She gave him a huge hug before he was swooped up by another guest.

Renzo stood and began to congratulate her, but she stopped him. “I know what you’re trying to say, and I appreciate it. I realize I have to figure this out on my own.”

The confusion in his face crushed her. He fixed her with a serious look, all shadow and gravity. “In meetings they say to stay on your own side of the street. For some reason, this has me all stirred up. I guess because all this—the building, the tenants, the history inside these walls—it means something to me. I know it affects you the same way.” He lifted both hands, then let them fall to his sides. “As a matter of fact, you mean something to me.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she looked away, overcome.

The pianist’s last note quivered in the air before dissipating. Renzo took a couple of steps back. “I’m sorry I veered into your lane there. I’m normally a much better driver.”

“Thanks.” If she had had the courage, she’d have let him know how much his concern meant to her, but he’d caught her off guard. And she had to get to Jack; there was no time to smooth things over. “I appreciate it, I really do. But I gotta go.”



“You’re kidding, right?”

Bailey’s father sounded tired when she finally reached him at eight o’clock that night. Apparently, the fishing had been fruitless, or rather, fishless. Which, from past experience, meant his mood would be impatient and surly.

So she’d botched the explanation of her meeting with Fred Osborn and the DNA testing, all logic lost in a nervous dribble of words. Jack had been confused at first, and then wary, before she’d finally gotten around to the urgency of his taking a blood test to prove that they were, indeed, real Camdens.

“I’m not kidding, Dad. I hope you’ll consider doing this for me. For us.”

She’d learned to use consider from Tristan, which was employed when they wanted to push a client beyond their budgetary comfort zone. It softened the request, and almost everyone took the bait, believing they’d made a conscious choice, when in fact the decision had already been made for them.

“How much did you say this testing costs?”

“I didn’t. Because I am paying for it myself.”

“How much, though?” he insisted.

She told him.

“You’re going to blow a grand on the hopes that you land a bigger fish? Why on earth would you want to do that?”

She didn’t bother making a joke about the fish metaphor. “I have the money, and I don’t mind spending it on this. I know I’m right. I’m absolutely sure of it. There’s research and documentation to back it up.”