“Maybe if he knew he was going to be a father, he’d exercise more caution. He thinks he’s invincible, even now. This would ground him in a way nothing before has.”

  She shook her head. “It’s beyond that now, Oz. Whatever he’s set in motion can’t be put back. I know that much.” She swallowed.

  “But you will tell him?”

  “I’ll tell him when I think it will do him more good than harm.” Lauren returned to the couch. She lowered herself down and looked at Oz. “I could just say the child is the result of a fling.”

  Oz watched her closely. “You could.”

  “Or Ashley’s.”

  “Yeah. You could do that.”

  “You don’t sound very thrilled at either idea.”

  “Lying will only hurt the case, not help it,” Oz said slowly. “When the truth comes out, it will throw your character into question. You asked what I would do if it were me. Nothing.” He sighed. “Nothing, because any involvement you have in this will only hurt you, and it may do nothing at all for Willow and Ainsley. But that’s not the advice you’re after, is it?”

  Lauren dropped her eyes. “No.”

  “You want to know what you can do that would help. That would take this matter out of the hands of the defense altogether.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t advise this, as your friend. But if you were not only to name the father... if that father were to come forward himself, following a paternity test, that would go a long way toward putting the matter to bed.”

  Lauren nodded, closing her eyes as she exhaled. “I figured that’s what you’d say.”

  “But I hope, in the end, you’ll do what’s best for you. Not for others.” Both their heads turned when the doorbell sounded. “That’ll be Nic.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened in panic. “Nic? Nicolas Deschanel?”

  Oz laughed. “Is there another?”

  “You didn’t...”

  He shook his head, moving toward the foyer. “This is something else. I’ll be right back.”

  Lauren strained to hear the two men. She heard their polite but distanced small talk as Oz led him into the house, pointing toward the stairs. Nicolas nodded and jogged up.

  Oz stood in the door, waiting for Nicolas to do whatever he was doing.

  “What’s going on?”

  “He’s just here to get Naomi and Christian.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t tell you? He comes every other weekend. He used to take them to the park for a few hours, but lately it’s been The Gardens.”

  “No. He didn’t tell me.” Lauren mused over this. A thunder of feet rushed down the steps. She looked through the doorway in time to see Nicolas chasing his niece and nephew out of the house.

  Oz closed the door behind them and returned to her. “Been doing it about a year, I guess. He stopped for a while, recently, but he’s picked back up. It’s what Adrienne would want.” He tilted his head. “You seem surprised.”

  “I shouldn’t be, though, should I? That’s all Nicolas has ever been to me.” Lauren sighed. “One surprise after another.”

  * * *

  Lauren sat in her car to catch her breath. She pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging.

  She’d left her phone on the passenger seat, and it lit up beside her. She glanced down to see a screen full of missed calls and texts from Cassidy. But at the top, Ashley.

  Are you all right? I came home and you were gone.

  I should have left a note. I went to see Oz. I’ll be home soon, she punched in.

  I’m so relieved. I almost called Mom.

  Lauren started to respond but stopped. She remembered Colleen’s words about Ashley living in a state of denial, triggered by his trauma. Would it be better to allay his fears or to starve them?

  To add to Nicolas’ worries or to let him focus on what he needed to?

  Lauren rolled her hands over the steering wheel, frozen in her indecision.

  Charlotte

  “What do you suppose that’s about?” Hestia asked Charlotte with a light nudge. She nodded toward Haywood’s office, where Harper had just gone in and slammed the door, drawing the blinds.

  “Not sure I want to know,” Charlotte mumbled in response, thinking of Harper’s harried body language; the wild-eyed look she’d flashed their way before disappearing. None of it felt right.

  “Now, that’s a lie,” Hestia teased, adding a wink. A month into their acquaintance and Charlotte still didn’t know how to read Hestia’s familiar way of speaking with her. The unexpected sense that they were best girlfriends, lodged in the corners of the world as they regarded it together.

  What she did know was that she liked her.

  “Well. Maybe,” Charlotte admitted with a sly grin. They sat in Hestia’s office doing nothing, which was what she’d done almost every day since joining the firm. She sat in a lot of meetings, but that wasn’t work. Haywood gave a light-hearted chuckle when he saw her notebook full of notes she’d never need or use.

  “I thought she was in Baton Rouge today. Guess not,” Hestia added in the same tone she used when sharing gossip. “How are things at the compound?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “The same.”

  “She really does want you to sit and wonder, doesn’t she?” Hestia sipped her coffee. She gestured toward Haywood’s office, but it wasn’t necessary. All eyes in the office were drawn that way, due to the shouting from both Haywood and Harper.

  “Should we go in there?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh, hell no!”

  “You aren’t worried?”

  “No. Not especially.” She turned toward Charlotte. “They don’t fight like this in the compound, do they?”

  “Harlowe prefers the calm.”

  “Hmm.” Hestia again looked toward the office. “Your boyfriend was spotted again. This time, lingering outside one of Adrien’s clubs.”

  Charlotte’s face was immediately on fire. “I already told you—”

  “And I told you, I’m not a snitch,” Hestia interrupted. “I just thought you should know, because he may as well be waving a flag at Harlowe, begging her to do something.”

  “Do you think...” Charlotte trailed off. She’d almost asked her cousin for advice. A sign she was getting comfortable with the lighthearted and almost too kind Hestia.

  “Is that what he’s doing?” Hestia guessed. “If so, he’s a fool.” She studied Charlotte, her expression turning to a frown. “If you’re thinking about trying to contact him, don’t. For his sake. And yours.”

  “I wasn’t,” Charlotte insisted. But she was. This time apart from Lawrence had killed off the last of her doubts about her feelings for him, but that only left her more fearful. She couldn’t protect him, or anyone, from inside the compound, or this farce of a consulting firm. But to leave would be to place them in greater danger.

  And why, why had Harlowe not moved on Nicolas yet? Would she ever?

  The questions ate away at the corners of her resolve. She hardly recognized herself anymore. Meek. Acquiescent. Where was her fire? Her spark? Any sign of who she’d been?

  “Maybe there’s a way,” Hestia said. “To warn him.”

  Before Charlotte could say anything, Harper slammed the door wide. It bounced off the doorstop. She didn’t say a word to anyone before storming out. Haywood stood at his office door, flustered and confused.

  “This family is so weird,” Hestia said under her breath. She looked at a file in front of her. This same file had been on her desk, untouched for a week. She pushed it to the side.

  Haywood came their way. He stopped at Hestia’s office door, closing it after entering.

  He turned to Charlotte. “Did you know that lawyer friend of yours, Lauren, is pregnant?”

  Charlotte was stunned. “No, I didn’t know. But I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in over six months, either.”

  “Who’s the father?” Hestia asked.

  Haywood laughed. He ran both his hands through his hair. “That answer is far more interesting than we have time for.”

  “It’s not no one, clearly,” Hestia quipped.

  His eyes shot to the clock. “I’m leaving for the day. Charlotte, you need a ride?”

  “Anessa’s coming to get me today.”

  Harlowe and Hestia exchanged a look.

  Haywood leaned in and said, “God be with you.”

  * * *

  “How was work?”

  Charlotte was as startled by the question as she was by the docile way Anessa asked it.

  “Fine. Thanks.”

  Anessa rolled her hands over the steering wheel. Her throat ebbed. “Learning anything?”

  “Only that for a consulting firm, we do very little consulting.”

  Anessa’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Uncle Haywood is a good man.”

  “Yeah. I like him.”

  “He...” Anessa sniffled, and it was then Charlotte caught her bloodshot eyes. “He does a lot for the family. They might not stay busy, but they have jobs.”

  “Are you all right, Anessa?”

  Anessa cackled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t seem like yourself,” Charlotte said. She shouldn’t care. She did anyway.

  “What do people even mean when they say that?” Anessa retorted. Her breath hitched. She wrapped her fingers tighter. “Not myself. You don’t even know me.”

  “I’ve tried to,” Charlotte pressed. “I’d like to.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Charlotte. Being terrible at lying is akin to a death wish in this family. That is, unless you have nothing to lie about.”

  Charlotte tensed. “I do want to know you. Maybe that makes me a fool, after what you’ve done to me and Lawrence. But the sister I was raised with is gone now. You’re the only other one I have.”

  “A consolation prize?”

  “You’re what I have,” Charlotte said again. “And I don’t think you’re... you’re as heartless as you’d like me to think.”

  “Heartless? Oh, you mean like my boyfriend?” Anessa laughed; a nervous, tight sound. “Get it? Heartless?”

  “No,” Charlotte said quietly. “I know you loved him.”

  “What have I told you about loving anyone when you’re a LaViolette? But you don’t listen, do you?”

  “According to you, I never loved Lawrence, so which is it?”

  “He’s a fool, you know. Running around town like he is. If Mother wasn’t intent on saving him for the Quickening, he’d be dead already.”

  Charlotte relaxed in her seat. Somehow, she’d never thought of it this way; that he was safer than any of them because his fate was already bound.

  It meant she had time, but not much. The Quickening was swiftly approaching.

  They passed the rest of the ride to the compound in silence. Anessa threw the car into park and rushed out like she was fleeing something. When she reached the end of the travel, she turned.

  “I’m sorry for what I said about him. I shouldn’t have said it. It was wrong of me.”

  Charlotte didn’t have a chance to respond. Anessa disappeared inside the back door.

  She shut the car door and followed her in, but it wasn’t Anessa in the mudroom. It was her great-aunt, Rosebud.

  “In an awful hurry, aren’t you, dear?”

  “I’m sorry. Did you see where Anessa went?”

  Rosebud flashed her a concerned look. She seemed to be reading her. “Is everything all right, dear?”

  “Yes, of course. She brought me home, and I wanted to thank her. I didn’t get the chance.”

  Rosebud lowered her voice. “Anessa’s battles must be fought alone. You cannot win by joining them. Only despair awaits you.” Her eyes brightened again, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Ah, your mother has made turtle soup! I must have some for myself before the others get their paws on it.”

  She lifted the hem of her housedress and shuffled off.

  Anessa reappeared. She’d slipped out from the side of a cabinet. Had she been hiding?

  “Rosebud is right. Best for everyone if you stay out of things that don’t concern you,” she said.

  “We’re family. How can it not concern me?” Charlotte approached her, ignoring Anessa’s light recoil. “Did Harlowe say something to you?”

  “I know Rosebud seems odd to you. She seems odd to everyone,” Anessa said. “But it isn’t always the firstborns who suffer for their love. Nor even just the women.”

  “What?”

  “Nor,” Anessa went on, “are the LaViolettes the only ones who dole out punishment like candy. You wanna know why Rosebud is the way she is? Why she never married? Why she floats around the compound like she’s thick in the head?”

  Charlotte waited for Anessa to continue.

  “Her only son was murdered for loving a Deschanel.” Anessa raised her finger. “Murdered by a Deschanel. Ask yourself why a family hell-bent on destroying the Deschanels didn’t see justice served for that crime? Why they buried it. Acted like it never happened.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Anessa shrugged.

  “Why tell me this?”

  “Why not?” Anessa’s lip curled. “If you’re going to learn the history of this family, might as well really learn it, eh, Adaline?”

  Lawrence

  Lawrence slipped into the eaves of the building across the street from Haywood LaViolette’s office. It was midday—lunch—and the streets were filled with businessmen and businesswomen shuffling about the Central Business District, slipping into one café or another for a quick reprieve before facing the second half of their day.

  He missed this. The realization surprised him, as it would have surprised his father. He’d been groomed into the family business, only to loathe it. Then he’d found his purpose in helping others. He’d used part of the trust his mother left him to start the Henry Foundation when the city had been brought to its knees by Katrina. From there, he sought outside donors. He took a salary only large enough to live on, and the few employees who helped him were content to do the same. He knew what most people thought of philanthropy and was determined to prove them wrong. Not everyone was out to use a good cause to make a quick buck.

  But for the son of a crook, there was no shrugging away this reputation. It siphoned Lawrence’s joy in doing good, leaving him hollow. It kept him up at night, as he agonized over ways to separate himself from the Henry name; to ease the minds of nervous donors. But there would never be a way to do this as long as he stayed in New Orleans.

  He’d been working up the courage to tell his father this when he met Charlotte.

  Ahh, and it would be so much easier if they hadn’t, wouldn’t it? He’d already be in Boston by now, which he’d hoped was far enough away to start fresh.

  Lawrence had been made a victim of his father’s choices, and if he hadn’t met Charlotte—if Harlowe hadn’t seen their love as a means to control Charlotte—then he’d already be dead.

  Charlotte had saved him twice now. First, by loving him. And then, by giving him another cause bigger than himself.

  If he couldn’t save her in return, then he didn’t deserve her.

  Lawrence perked when he saw Hestia LaViolette push through the glass doors of LV & Associates and drop onto Girod. He waited for Charlotte to appear behind her, but Hestia moved on, alone, headed in the river’s direction.

  When he was certain no one else was coming, he followed her. She kept a brisk pace that led into a parking garage.

  Lawrence checked behind him, then dipped in behind her.

  He yelped when his arms were pinned behind him. He thrashed, breaking one free, but Hestia whispered from his side, “We’re not here to hurt you.” She shook her head at him. “Seems you’re doing a fine enough job of that yourself, though.”

  “Who’s ‘we?’” he asked as he twisted out of his assailant’s grasp. He spun to see Adrien.

  “Come,” Adrien ordered, and Lawrence laughed.

  “With you? I’ll pass.”

  “Come on, Lawrence. For Charlotte,” Hestia pleaded. She was more effective at disarming him, but it was desperation that drove him to follow them into the elevator. This was the closest he’d been to Charlotte in almost six months.

  Once inside, Adrien pressed the button to put the carriage out of service.

  “If we know you’re here, so does everyone else,” Hestia said, a gentle accusation but an accusation nonetheless.

  “What do you think will come of this?” Adrien asked. “You believe you can swoop in, rescue her? That there’s anywhere in this world you could take her that we wouldn’t find her?”

  Lawrence realized he had no good answer. Adrien wasn’t wrong, but expecting him to do nothing was impossible. For six months he’d done as Charlotte had asked. Six months he’d been the peacekeeper with her parents, while the world went on, and Charlotte struggled—alone. Even Luther had slipped back to his old life. Julian, too.

  He didn’t need his old life. He just needed her.

  He suspected she needed him, too.

  “You certainly aren’t helping her cause,” Hestia said. “She’s spent months telling my aunt she doesn’t love you, but how can that be, if you’re slinking around in dark corners just for a sight of her?”

  “Is she all right?” Lawrence asked, sighing. “Will you at least tell me that?”

  “She’s working at the finest consulting firm in New Orleans,” Adrien quipped. Hestia grinned at her expensive heels.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “She’s fine,” Hestia insisted. “She has me, and I’m looking after her.”

  “What does that mean, looking after her? Not one of you has ever shown to be better than the last.”

  “What it means,” Hestia said, “is that there are some of us more reasonable to deal with than others. Some who are more forgiving. Less ruthless. But there are limits, Lawrence. Even for the more forgiving. The less ruthless. You want to help Charlotte? Then do as she’s asked and stay away.”

 

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