Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(70)
Author: Jessica Clare

Jonathan’s hand squeezed hers in sympathy. “For all his faults, DeWitt had deeper waters than I think he ever liked to let on. He wanted everyone to think he was supremely in control of everything, but sometimes I wonder.” He turned to Violet. “How are you feeling?”

She considered her father’s headstone. It felt odd to think of him buried here. She hadn’t even come to his funeral because she’d been so full of brimming resentment for him. Now, that seemed selfish. “I honestly don’t know. Part of me still thinks he was a rotten man, and part of me . . .”

“Still loves him because he was your father?”

“I guess.” Her voice was thick.

Jonathan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “We can leave, you know. Whatever he’s holding over our heads isn’t worth it. We can turn around and get back in the car.”

She buried her head against his chest, enjoying the warmth and strength that he offered. “But your stele? And the journals? I know you wanted both.”

Violet felt him shrug. “There will be other steles, other journals.”

They both knew that was a lie, but it was sweet of him to offer. She reluctantly pulled away from Jonathan’s comforting embrace and shook her head. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? Might as well go the full distance.”

He rubbed her back. “All right. Do you want to do the honors?”

“No. You can.” She wasn’t sure that she could. For some reason, she was feeling all emotional.

Jonathan gave her another squeeze, and then he walked to the back of her father’s obelisk gravestone. He glanced around and gave her a rueful look. “Mind keeping a lookout? I’d hate to have someone come after me and wonder what I’m doing.”

A hysterical giggle arose in Violet’s throat at the thought of Jonathan being caught red-handed doing something to her father’s grave. She obediently turned her back to him and scanned the area. There was no one nearby. A groundskeeper was fussing with an edger in the distance, and the elderly couple she’d seen earlier was heading to the parking lot.

She heard Jonathan’s clothing rustle and then he hummed under his breath. “There’s a little ledge under the base here and I can feel a tiny lever.”

A thrill raced through her. Not surprising, but still exciting. She glanced around, but there was no one close by, so she turned back to Jonathan and knelt next to him. His hands were running along the base of the obelisk. “Can you open it?”

“Yep. It’s just got a lot of dirt crusted on it. Give me a moment . . . There.” A loud click sounded and a tiny compartment shot out a half inch, then got stuck in the thick green grass. He groaned in dismay. “I guess he didn’t think this whole secret compartment thing through all that well. I need to dig it out a little.”

“Hurry,” Violet whispered, glancing around. The cemetery was still empty, but her heart was fluttering wildly in her chest, as if they were in danger of being caught and chastised like naughty children.

“Almost have it,” Jonathan murmured. He ripped up the grass at the base of the obelisk and dug his fingers into the soil until he could wiggle the small shelf forward a little more. The interior was a bright red, like a jewelry box, and she could see two creamy envelopes tucked inside a plastic bag.

Violet sucked in a breath. “There they are.”

Jonathan wiped his hands on the grass and then reached for the plastic bag, taking it gently out of the secret compartment. He handed them to Violet, and slid his fingers into the compartment again. “Nothing else.”

“No stele?” She felt a pang of disappointment. Poor Jonathan. He’d wanted that very badly, if for nothing else than to restore her father’s name to the men he’d worked with for so long and ultimately betrayed.

“No stele,” Jonathan said. “It doesn’t matter.”

She nodded absently and pulled the two envelopes from the protective bag into her lap. Both were sealed with her father’s familiar wax symbol, and their names were on the front. Just like usual, except this time, Violet’s envelope was thicker, as if it held multiple pieces of paper. She held Jonathan’s out to him, fingers trembling. This was it. Unless her father was sending them on another wild-goose chase, this was the last communication she’d ever have from him.

The thought made her feel curiously hollow.

“Open yours first, love.” Jonathan took his envelope and set it in his lap, waiting.

She nodded, breathless, and broke the seal. Inside were several sheets of handwritten lined paper. Unlike the notes from before that were sent on a thick, creamy vellum, this was pages of her father’s loose, messy writing, torn from a notebook and folded over and over again until the paper was soft, as if he’d handled it repeatedly before lovingly placing it in the envelope for her to find after his death.

Violet unfolded it and began to read.

Darling Violet Isolde DeWitt,

I could start this out with a cliché and say that by the time you read this, I am dead. But I was never a man fond of the obvious, as you might have guessed now that you are reading this. I prefer to leave my mark with style. I’m thankful that you (and hopefully Jonathan) have followed my trail to my final resting place.

I know you’ve held resentment for me in your heart. There’s been a lot of bad blood between us. And since it’s impossible for us to talk without emotion and our past getting in the way of our words, I wanted to tell you everything from my perspective and hope that you could perhaps understand your dear old dad a little more.

Your mother and I should have never married. I was her teacher and she was my student, and we should have never been involved, but I couldn’t resist her. I’ve never been able to resist her, really. I know that this is perhaps obvious as an adult, but I know it was hard on you as a child to have your parents be so at odds with each other. I have always been wrapped up in my work, and your mother was always looking for someone to save her from herself. I didn’t realize that until it was too late, and then she was pregnant with you. We both wanted you—if nothing else to save our already failing relationship, and so we married. But I found that your mother wanted me to give up my work for her, and that there was no pleasing her. For the first few years, I truly did try. I stayed home from important digs, I made other arrangements, and I was at her side for every hour of the day that I was not working at the university. It still wasn’t enough for her, and I began to realize that the black hole in your mother’s soul that was sucking all happiness out of her was going to extend to me if I let it. I had to make a choice, and I chose my work since it was either that or for both of us to be eternally miserable.