“Fuck off.” Lucius didn’t waver.
I took his hand and stepped down, glad to be out of the tight cabin. The weather was chilly for Louisiana; winter was in full swing despite the high, bright sun.
The driver greeted me with a smile and opened the back door. I slid in as he went to help gather the bags and other items from the plane’s storage hatch. The car was running, and Christmas music was playing low on the radio. I almost laughed. Merry Christmas to me. Gallows humor had taken on a particular relevance for me in the past few months.
Even though I was here for the Acquisition trial, I was still glad to be back in the States. I allowed my thoughts to flit to my father for a split second before forcing them down. The last I’d heard he was in ICU. I hadn’t inquired any further. I couldn’t. Not after seeing his name on Vinemont’s contract. Had the hospital stay truly been a ruse as Vinemont suggested, or was my father ill? I shouldn’t have cared, but I did.
My eyes stung, the wound still fresh. He’d committed an unforgivable sin against me. Even so, I couldn’t wish for his destruction, no matter how much I wanted to. Too much of me was caught up in him, too many memories, too many years of relying on each other and surviving despite the weight of Mom’s death slowly crushing us. I blinked the unshed tears away and tilted my head up until they receded. I may not have wanted my father dead, but I’d be damned if I cried for him.
The car shook as the driver loaded up some belongings in the trunk. Vinemont slid in next to me and locked both of the back doors. Lucius stood outside and glared at his brother before climbing into the front passenger seat.
“Back to the house?” the driver asked.
“Yes, Luke.” Lucius kept me in his peripheral vision.
I edged away from Vinemont. He was still banged up, fresh bandages down his arms and angry red wounds along his neck. He was healing, but it would take time. He studied me, his eyes fixing on mine as he tapped his fingers on his knee. What could he be thinking after what he’d tried to do earlier that morning?
The memory of his hard body on top of mine sent a rush of heat spiraling through me. I’d been afraid at first, but then I’d become something more. Livid. I dared him to do it. I wanted him to take that last step, to seal his doom even further.
My body may have been fooled by him, desperate for his touch. My mind was anything but. I knew he couldn’t follow through. I knew he wanted me as more than just his Acquisition. His twisted heart had a glimmer of love left and I’d touched it, felt it. Now I would use it to break him.
Luke sped down the interstate, farther into the Louisiana countryside toward the Vinemont estate. Lucius kept glancing back like a chaperone insistent there would be no funny business on his watch. Vinemont said nothing, just continued studying me, as if he were dissecting me piece by piece to discover what particular magic made me tick.
The Christmas music persisted for the entire drive, telling us all to be joyful as we pulled up to the vine-covered gates and I entered enemy territory once again. It felt like a homecoming of sorts—the winding road, the secret bayous, and the familiar oaks. My eyes strayed above the tops of the trees to the dormer windows on the third floor. A light glowed into the night from one of them. Was Vinemont’s mother watching our approach?
We arrived at the house, the stately white façade and wide porch greeting us like always. The front door opened, and Farns and Renee appeared, both smiling as I got out and clambered up the steps.
Renee folded me in her arms and squeezed hard. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I buried my face in her familiar jet black hair.
“Ms. Rousseau, so nice to see you again.” Farns gave a slight bow.
I smiled up into his weathered face. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Why, thank you. The house wasn’t the same without you.” His smile faltered, as if remembering I wasn’t exactly a willing guest. He covered by telling Luke he’d help with the bags, though he eased down the stairs with ginger steps.
Renee pulled her shawl tighter around her narrow shoulders. “Come in, come in. Too cold out here to be standing around.”
A biting wind blew past, as if to illustrate her point, and I followed her into the foyer. Everything was the same—honey oak floors, glittering chandeliers, and impeccable southern architecture. Still, a shift had occurred in my bones, maybe even at my most basic level. The last time I’d arrive here and entered those doors, I hadn’t known what to expect. This time I did. This time I could face my future and, hopefully, have a chance of weathering the storm.