The Winters(25)

“And you guys are gonna get married and have kids?”

“I think—I mean, we haven’t really talked about—”

“So then you’ve worked out all the details of the prenup and you know exactly how much money he’s worth and everything.”

At this point she wasn’t even trying to hide her disdain. I steadied myself by hooking my thumbs under the edge of the marble. Were the island not as heavy as a car, I might have had the ability to upend it with the force of my indignity.

“Dani, I know this is all very sudden. And I know it’s going to take some time to get used to. I’m going to need time, too. But I don’t feel very comfortable talking about these things with you.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh my God. There is no prenup. He’s such an idiot. I mean, I know what you’re getting out of all this, but I gotta say, I do not see what my father gets—”

“Dani, not another word, please.” Max had entered the room, his shoulders powdered with snow.

“Daddy, I’m trying to get to know her. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“This isn’t how you get to know someone, my love. This is how you alienate them.”

“I’m sorry, but this is just not what I expected you to bring home.”

This, like a bored child who had unwrapped a gift and tossed it aside, deeming it unworthy.

“Whatever it is you expected, Dani, she is my fiancée and the rest is none of your business.”

“I think it is my business. Mum hasn’t even been dead for two years—”

“Dani, I’m telling you—”

“Max, it’s okay. Dani’s just asking me questions. I understand that.” I slid off the stool. “I’m going to go upstairs now and leave you two to catch up. Good night, Dani. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yay, can’t wait,” she drawled, her chin on her fist.

Max shot me a stricken look as I passed.

“Also?” Dani said.

I turned to face her.

“Next time you break something at Asherley, don’t hide it. We have the money to fix things.”

Mute with shame, I avoided Max’s eyes and left the kitchen.



* * *



? ? ?

A half hour passed before Max came back to the bedroom. By then I’d stopped crying, though a certain hopelessness had crept in. He peeled off his clothes and collapsed beside me like a doctor who’d just performed complicated surgery.

“I’m sorry about that,” he whispered, pulling me back into the wall of his body and nuzzling my hair. “She’s going to feel a little usurped.”

“That’s okay. I understand.”

“Give it some time.”

“I will.”

“She just has to get used to you.”

“I know,” I said. “Maybe when she goes back to school and we establish a day-to-day rhythm, things will get easier.”

He laughed. “Dani hasn’t gone to a proper school since Rebekah died. I can’t seem to make her go back.”

I turned to face him, both of us now propped up on an elbow. “Is that legal? Don’t you have to go to school at her age?”

“She has a tutor who comes three days a week. She does other requirements online. That Paris trip was supposed to involve a compressed French-language course she skipped last year, but Louisa said she barely attended. She’s no dummy, but ever since her mother died, she’s become very defiant. And more of a homebody.”

He lazily coiled a finger around one of my stray curls. He looked so tired all of a sudden. “I’m sorry she made you cry,” he said. Was my face puffy? Were my eyes still red? “I should have given you more warning, but I was worried you’d reject me if I told you you’d be living with me and an unruly, spoiled teenage brat. I’m a terrible father, I know.”

“No, I think she’s still grieving, and you bringing me home must be very unsettling for her. I’ll try my best to . . . I don’t know . . . do anything to make it easier on her.”

“You’re a good person. I love you for that.”

He kissed me.

I looked around. “Whose room was this before?”

“This room? Why?”

“Dani called the turret her mother’s room. Was that also your bedroom up there? With Rebekah?”

“Yes. I moved down here after she died. This was a spare room but I prefer it. The turret was always too bright for me.”

“So is that Dani’s room now?”

“No. Her bedroom’s on the third floor, but she does spend a lot of time up in the turret. I’ve begged her not to, begged her to go through Rebekah’s stuff, give some of it to charity. But she freaks out if anyone goes up there, as you’ve discovered. Incidentally, what did you break?”

I squeezed my eyes shut against that memory. “A picture of Rebekah. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hidden it. I should have said something.”

“I told her to take all the photos down before she went to Paris.”

“Well, they’re still up. They’re everywhere. On the walls, on the tables. Dozens of them.”

Max fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. “Fuck.”