The Lover’s Secret (No Exceptions #1)(12)
Author: J.C. Reed

“We’ll be there for you, honey,” people had promised at my sister’s funeral, and again when my father died. Then, in the weeks and months that followed, not one of them showed up to check on my mother and me to see if we were coping. In some ways, that was worse than not saying anything at all. I would’ve preferred a quick hand squeeze or a soft smile as long as the moment lasted, because at least that would have left us with the impression—even a prospect or a false belief—that the pain in people’s eyes was heartfelt, that we weren’t just an inconvenience, never to be thought of again.

Better forgotten.

I balled my hands to fists. As much as I loved hearing Jett’s words, I wanted him to show me the sincerity of his words later, maybe in a few years’ time, when life had settled and there were no more mysteries left, when novelty became monotony and routine, and maybe even tragedy. Years later, when he would be able to say with full confidence, “She was always the risk I’d take. I knew it right from the beginning.”

Right now, however, relying on his words just wasn’t an option for me, even if I wanted it to be. I had to be prepared to be loved and left. To be hurt again.

Because that was reality.

Life was beautiful, but it was also painful. People fail, a few get up, but there’s never a guarantee that their second attempt will work out. Claiming I was the risk he’d always take when he didn’t know what the future would hold in store for us was just wrong.

Too wrong.

“The future is an endless pit of uncertainty and promises, some of which might not come true,” I said, keeping the rest to myself. “There’s no point in talking about risks or decisions, Jett.”

Talking challenges fate. It attracts disaster and causes chaos to unfold.

“I know what’s true for me, and what I’d be willing to do for you,” he said stubbornly. An angry undertone was palpable in his voice. He propped up on one elbow and turned to glare at me. I ignored the two lines that had formed between his brows and took a long, deep breath, ready to stand my ground.

“I understand, but there are so many bad things that could happen.”

“Nothing bad will happen. I won’t allow it.” His gaze met mine with such ferocity that I had to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. He was dead serious, and his intensity scared me.

A guy like him could love fiercely and drop it all in the blink of an eye, just as fiercely. A guy like him could also walk blindly into the fire, ignoring the smoke that was about to kill him. Didn’t he realize that just because we loved each other and would soon have a child, life never comes with an assurance policy? We might not last—no matter how deeply we loved each other right now.

“Maybe,” I whispered.

His glance hardened just a little more. “Brooke,” he said, in a tone that left no room for discussion, “I’m serious. I would do anything for you, no questions asked.”

My jaw clamped shut, unwilling to continue so as not to annoy him even more, but I wasn’t going to budge on the subject either, and he knew it. Besides, Jett would probably come up with countless reasons when I didn’t want to listen to any of them because, deep in my heart, I knew Fate always had a few surprises up her sleeve. It was a lesson I’d learned early on in life. But how could I possibly explain to him that even if his ego would never admit it, Fate always called the final shot?

“What, Brooke?” Jett asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I said.

“Try me.”

I shook my head, realizing that dropping the subject was the best way to go. Even if I explained myself a thousand times over, we’d never see eye to eye. We were too different and yet alike, and that was the perfect recipe for disagreements and fights.

“I don’t want to,” I said. “In fact, I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“All right. I guess the conversation’s over.” Without waiting for an answer, Jett headed out the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’m taking a shower.”

No invitation to join him.

I set my jaw and slumped into the cushions, not bothering with a reply, the aftertaste of the chocolate mousse leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

Chapter 8

I should have just waited for Jett to finish his shower and join me, but something prompted me to get up and open his laptop. Just to check my emails, not to go through his stuff. He did it all the time, so I didn’t understand why I had a sudden feeling of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.

I opened a private browser and navigated to my email account, then typed in my details. There were at least fifty unread messages, most from work, some from friends and acquaintances—nothing important enough to demand an immediate reply. I skimmed through all of them and decided to log off, but before I did, I clicked on the recycle bin, curious as to what was residing in that little trash can icon.

The message was there, marked as read and deleted. It had been sent from a prominent legal firm in New York City, the kind of firm that tended to be in the news on a weekly basis. With a fleeting glance at the door to make sure Jett was still in the shower, I opened the message. I blinked several times in succession, for a long moment unable to process what I was reading:

Dear Miss Stewart,

We’re contacting you on behalf of a client who is interested in acquiring the Lucazzone estate, which we have reason to believe is in your possession now. Our client has had the estate appraised by an independent third party and would like to discuss with you an offer that would benefit both you and your future plans. You may contact us during office hours at the number below. I can also be reached on my private line at your convenience…

My heart began to slam against my chest in big quakes that rendered breathing impossible. I read the first part again, then moved on to the less important stuff, which included their company letterhead and some legal wording marking the email as private and confidential. Hundreds of questions raced through my mind, all demanding attention at once. Who was the mysterious client? And how did the legal firm get a hold of my personal email address? How had they known I was the heiress to some old estate that harbored dark secrets?

I shook my head and took a deep, shaky breath as I forced myself to focus on one question at a time. But my brain couldn’t move on from two basic facts. First, someone was interested in purchasing a multimillion-dollar estate that belonged to me. Less than six months ago, as an estate agent, I would have been thrilled to arrange such a deal. It would have been an amazing opportunity—the big chance, for both my career and my financial status. Then again, less than six months ago, I had no idea I’d inherit the property the moment Alessandro Lucazzone died. Which led me to point number two: someone had logged into my email account and deleted the email on purpose. And why hadn’t the firm contacted me at work to talk with me directly? Unless my calls were being screened.