Thorne Princess(44)

“You mean you don’t talk to them.” And I thought I had a flair for dramatics. Everyone had a family, came from somewhere.

“I mean they are not in existence.” A flicker of irritation passed on his face, but his tone remained flat and calm.

“So how did you come to be?” I arched a skeptic eyebrow. “Test tube baby?”

“Obviously, biologically, I was created by Jane and John Doe. But I have no clue who they are. One of them left me in a shoebox at the door of some church in rural Illinois. I was two hours old and still had an umbilical cord dangling from the cardboard. People who passed by thought I was a lost kitten, because I could barely cry anymore, my voice was so hoarse. At least it had been tied off, so I hadn’t bled out.”

“You’re kidding me.” I sucked in a breath.

“My humor’s not much, but it’s better than that.”

I’d never met anyone with such a tragic life story. I felt physically ill with sorrow for him. I also wondered what the heck had come over him, to make him open up to me like that. Then I remembered I probably looked white as a sheet and nervous from my impending showdown with the people who’d created me.

And perhaps also this teeny, tiny mishap about me catching him acting out a semi-public, semi-violent sexual fantasy.

Ransom needed to win some humanity points with me right now, and, the robot that he was, this was how he chose to do it.

“Wow.” I let out a breath. “I must really look like I need a distraction, if you decided to share this with me.”

“Not a pile.” He flicked the indicator. “Maybe a small mound.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Ransom. What an awful beginning to your life.”

“I survived.”

“Were you adopted?” I swallowed.

“Yes,” he hesitated, as if contemplating whether to tell me more. “The family’s name was Moruzzi. They were well-off. Lived by Lincoln Park. Jack Moruzzi adopted three of us. All boys. But…well, let’s just say it wasn’t a childhood full of Scouts and summer camps.”

“Did he ever…?” I sucked in a breath. Were his fantasies prompted by being abused before? He’d said he’d experienced trauma. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wanted to try what Ransom was offering by opening up.

But by the way he bristled, flooring the accelerator, I gathered the conversation was over.

“Point is, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Brat. We all have a story, and it’s rarely a fairy tale.”

The way he cut me off, so abruptly, made me want to strike back.

“Does Max have a story?”

Ransom’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing over the road. “Do I look like his biographer? Ask him yourself. He’s supposed to arrive on a later flight tonight and will be covering for me whenever I’ll be away.”

“Why would you be away?” Did he know anyone in Texas? He seemed to know his way around these roads.

“My business.”

“More playdates?” I was pushing it, and I knew it.

“This conversation is over.”

“I really do feel like we’ve had a breakthrough today, though.” I crossed my legs, realizing for the first time that I was still wearing my tacky sweatpants and hoodie from the flight, and that my parents would probably vomit on impact when they saw me. “Now that we’ve opened up about our insecurities, it will be easier to address them and try to be nice to one another. Who knows? Maybe it’s the beginning of a friendship. The way you opened up to me—”

“Brat,” he cut me off.

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”





An hour later, the Ford Explorer pulled in front of an all-white Mediterranean-style mansion. The manicured lawn was precisely cut, as if the landscaper had used a ruler. There were grand fountains, dramatic columns, and all the status symbols required of a wealthy Dallas family.

Before Ransom turned off the ignition, an unfamiliar man in uniform greeted us from my side of the car. I rolled the window down.

He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a sweaty face and hard-earned wrinkles. “Sorry, folks, this is a private property.”

“I know. I’m the daughter of the people who own it.” I arched my eyebrows meaningfully, the international signal for back-the-hell-off.

His demeanor did not change. In fact, he looked even more suspicious.

“You’re not Hera.” The accusation cut through his tone like a blade.

“No,” I agreed. “I’m their youngest, Hallie.”

He seemed momentarily confused. Finally, he turned around and pressed a walkie-talkie to his mouth. Static noise followed, along with an answer to his question. He began pacing in front of the car. A cold shiver rolled along my skin. I hadn’t visited for so long. I felt like an intruder. For a moment, I even doubted my own legitimacy. Was I truly Anthony and Julianne’s daughter, or had they disinherited me?

“Relax,” Ransom rasped. “We’re getting inside if I have to run this asshole over.”

A warm rush passed through me. It was odd, and almost felt like I had a stomachache. No one had ever stood up for me before.

Finally, the man approached the car again. I took a quick breath, bracing myself for the worst. I hadn’t spoken to my parents since the nip slip.