Acacia closed the patio doors behind them, sequestering herself and Grayson in the kitchen. She had blonde hair the same light shade as Savannah’s. She was taller than his own mother and wispy thin.
Thinking of Skye had a way of opening old wounds, so Grayson didn’t. “How long have you known?” Grayson hadn’t planned to seize control of this conversation with his father’s wife, but some habits were hard to break. “About you?” Acacia walked to take a seat at a round glass table. “Not nearly long enough. I would like to think that if I had known earlier, I could have influenced Sheff to do the right thing.” She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and Grayson found himself inexplicably thinking of children’s paintings and tiny handprints in cement. Both had, in all likelihood, been her doing. “I would like to believe,” Acacia continued softly, “that I’m the kind of person who would never hold a child responsible for the actions of
his parents.”
Betrayal. An affair. Those were the actions she spoke of. Pushing down all other thoughts, Grayson took a seat across from Acacia. “I wouldn’t judge you if you despised me.”
“I don’t.” Acacia looked down. “Twenty-two months. That’s the straight answer to your question. I found out about you the day of my mother’s funeral, twenty-two months ago.”
Grayson did the math for himself. Twenty-two months ago, Sheffield Grayson had still been alive—and so had the old man. Who would tell a grieving daughter something like that on the day she buries her mother?
“I am not here to disrupt your family,” Grayson said. It felt important to
make sure she understood that.
“If you want to get to know the girls, Grayson, I won’t stop you.”
That’s not what I’m here for. That isn’t what this is about. “Gigi doesn’t know who I am.”
Acacia let out a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t be grateful about that, but children look at you differently after they know.” She let her gaze go back to the patio, where Savannah no longer stood. “And once they know that you know.”
Clearly, Acacia’s awareness had been news to Savannah, but the fact that Savannah knew about Grayson’s existence hadn’t surprised her mother. “How long has Savannah known about me?” he asked.
“Since the summer she was fourteen.” Acacia’s voice was steady. “I didn’t know what had changed at the time, but it’s obvious now.”
Grayson’s jaw hardened. “He made her keep his secret?” Grayson didn’t say his father’s name. He wouldn’t inflict the phrase your husband on the woman across from him. But what his words lacked in specificity his tone made up for.
“I doubt Sheff had to make Savannah do anything.” Acacia’s voice was almost too calm. “From what I understand, my parents knew for much longer. Since before…” Her hand trembled slightly on the table. “Since before you were born. I don’t know the details, but I suspect my mother had a word with Sheff. I can just hear her telling him that affairs were one thing, but for goodness’ sake, be discreet, the way my father was.”
Getting your affair partner pregnant was not discreet, especially when her last name was Hawthorne.
“The money was theirs, you know.” Acacia went quiet. The silence was heavy. “All of this, the seed funding for all of Sheff’s ventures…” She swallowed. “If my mother confronted Sheff, it’s likely she issued some very pointed threats.”
Grayson processed that. “He gave me the impression that he was a self-made man.”
“I was unaware that the two of you had met.” Acacia looked down again.
Grayson felt a stab of sympathy but knew he had to preempt any questions she might ask about that meeting. “My grandfather had just passed away.…”
“Yes. Of course.” Acacia blinked rapidly. “I’m very sorry.”
She’s trying not to cry. “Not as sorry as I am,” Grayson told her. His father’s wife wasn’t what he’d expected. She hadn’t lashed out at him once. There was something so… maternal about her.
“You’re welcome here, Grayson.” Acacia’s voice was hoarse, but she raised her head, setting her jaw. “For as long as you want.”
Grayson couldn’t afford to let that mean much. “I suspect Savannah would disagree.”
“Savannah lived to make Sheff proud,” Acacia said softly. “She was a colicky baby, quiet and serious as a toddler. And Gigi was… not.” Grayson suspected that was an understatement. “I used to worry that Savannah would get lost. Her sister looked—looks—quite a bit like my husband’s late nephew.”
Colin, Grayson thought. The reason your husband was out for vengeance.
“Between the resemblance and Gigi being such a cheerful little thing, she had Sheff wrapped around her finger from day one. Savannah always seemed keenly aware of that, even as a baby. But she found her way. She shot her first basket when she was five and never looked back.”
Grayson remembered something, then. “Colin played basketball.” After his death, Sheffield Grayson had founded a nonprofit sports charity in his nephew’s honor.
“So did Sheff, in college. He drove Colin so hard, had such hopes for him.…”
And then Colin died. Because of the Hawthorne family. “Savannah let him recapture some of that,” Grayson inferred. It was the logical conclusion, and he was nothing if not logical.
“As much as any daughter could.” Acacia drew in another breath. “Savannah is going to judge me for staying with her father once I knew. To her, that will seem weak.” She brought her gaze back to Grayson’s. “But I assure you, I am not.”
No. You are not. “Gigi told me that you were recently visited by gentlemen in suits.”
To Acacia, that would seem like it had come out of nowhere, but that was the point. Less time for her to cover, less opportunity to manage her reaction.
“Gigi is mistaken.”
“If you need anything…,” Grayson said.
Gigi skidded into the kitchen. “I texted Duncan from Savannah’s phone. Party’s on for tomorrow night! In the meantime, who’s ready for step negative one?”
“Step negative one?” Grayson repeated.
“Two steps before step one,” Acacia clarified, and she met Grayson’s eyes with a clear, silent message: Their heart-to-heart was over.
“Gigi got herself arrested.” Savannah didn’t come all the way into the kitchen as she let that bomb drop. Keeping her distance from her mother— and me.
“Et tu, Brute?” Gigi said to her twin, then she turned to Grayson, her eyes narrowing as she realized where Savannah must have gotten her information. “And et tu, Brute?” she repeated, then cocked her head to the side. “What’s the plural of Brute?”
“It’s a name,” Grayson told her. “Not typically pluralized.”
“Fascinating!” Gigi declared. “Much more interesting than anything that may or may not have resulted in my calling the family lawyer—who, by the way, left me in jail overnight and most of the next day!”
Acacia held up a hand. “Back up. Jail?” “It’s taken care of,” Grayson cut in.
Acacia gave him a look: part admonition, part warning, motherly. But she let the interruption slide. “Well, then. I’ll let the three of you get to step negative one. Savannah?” Acacia met her daughter’s eyes. “Be nice.”
