Chapter 4
The moment Emmett said it, Lucille’s mask cracked.
Not enough for the others to notice.
But I saw it.
I had spent my life studying that face.
Approval.
Disappointment.
Punishment.
Power.
Now I saw panic.
“You have no right to speak of your mother,” Lucille said.
I turned fully toward her.
“Why?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Why does it frighten you when he mentions Amara?”
Celina laughed too quickly.
“Because your wife was embarrassing.”
I looked at Victor.
He looked sick.
My chest tightened.
“What did Amara know?”
Lucille stepped closer.
“This is not about your dead wife.”
“No,” I said. “It is about my son. Which means it is about everything.”
Emmett pulled something from his pocket.
A folded napkin.
He held it up.
“Mom wrote the recipe.”
My throat closed.
I took it carefully.
It was Amara’s handwriting.
Sugar cookies.
Too much vanilla.
Extra lemon if Rafael is sad.
My eyes burned.
On the back, there was another line.
If they ever make him feel unwanted, check the red album.
My hand froze.
Lucille reached for the napkin.
I pulled it back.
“What red album?”
Her face went white.
Celina said, “Children make things up.”
But Emmett shook his head.
“It’s in Mom’s room.”
My wife’s room had been locked since her funeral.
Lucille had told me keeping it untouched was unhealthy.
She had offered to clear it herself.
I had refused.
Now I knew why she had pushed.
I looked at Victor.
“You are staying here.”
Then I turned to my mother.
“So are you.”
Lucille lifted her chin.
“You cannot imprison your family.”
“No,” I said. “But I can call security.”
May you like
This time, my bodyguards answered me.
Not hers.
