Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
In all the pictures, they were posing, my mother relaxed and confident in front of the camera. Richard was handsome, but stoic and stern-looking. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. They stood beside each other, his arm loosely wrapped around her waist, but there was nothing indicating a close relationship or any affection between them. It was odd to think I was seeing pictures of my parents.
“Richard had a reputation for being a playboy back then,” he murmured. “Hard to work for, as well.”
“Should I ask how you found that out?”
“I have my ways. His past was far bumpier than his present.”
I turned back to the screen, looking at the pictures again.
“These were taken the year you would have been conceived,” Luc said quietly. “I did some more digging and found out your mother terminated her contract with the modeling agency and her agent later that year and moved to Ontario. She opened up her own business two years later, but it was only around for about three years. After that, she worked in the public sector.”
I nodded, unable to tear my eyes off the images. “She wanted to expand the modeling world. As soon as she was pregnant and gained a little weight, she was ‘unusable.’ She wanted to represent pregnant models, plus-sized ones, those not totally perfect.” I sighed. “She was too early for that wave. She lost a lot of money and closed her doors. She went to work at a tax center. She’d had experience with that before—her parents insisted she have a backup to the modeling plan. She worked there the rest of her life.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer,” I said simply.
He rubbed my arm. “I’m sorry, love. I know this must be difficult for you.”
“It’s…unexpected,” I agreed.
“Let me do some more digging. Then we’ll talk, and I’ll help you come up with a plan.”
I nodded absently, looking at the pictures of my mother. She had been so young, so beautiful. Richard was no doubt handsome, sexy even, when he was younger, but he looked removed. Cold.
Just as my mother described.
Luc stood. “I need a swim in the pool downstairs to clear my head, then a nap. Care to join me?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow.
“Maybe the nap,” I agreed. “I didn’t bring a suit.”
He pressed a kiss to my head. “Okay. I’ll be back in a bit.”
The hotel room seemed too quiet. I changed and sat down, looking at the pictures again, my head full of questions. I glanced toward the shirt. Had my mother taken it after a night of passion, or had Richard given it to her?
I rubbed my temples. I needed answers.
Rashly, I stood and picked up the shirt. There was just one person who could give me the answers I wanted, and he was only a few moments away. I scribbled a note to Luc, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry, and I got in my car.
Ten minutes later, I was back at the Hub. I could hear voices and laughter coming from the deck, and I walked outside before I lost my nerve and changed my mind.
Husbands and wives sat at two tables, bottles of wine and liquor open, platters of munchies set out. All the men were smoking cigars, the air heavily perfumed with the rich scent of the smoke.
I approached his table, his intense gaze watching me closely. I lifted my chin as I addressed him.
“Mr. VanRyan, may I speak with you in private?”
To my shock, he shook his head. “No, you may not.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of these people.” He waved his hand. “They are my family, and I have no secrets from them.”
For a moment, there was silence, the tension in the air building.
“I was raised by a single mother,” I said, keeping my gaze focused on him.
He remained silent.
“She refused to tell me about my father. The only thing she said was that he was a narcissistic, unfeeling, selfish asshole she never wanted me subjected to. She also said he wouldn’t have anything to do with me anyway. That he didn’t want me.”
A frown marred his face, replacing the confusion.
“And?” he said.
“My mom died six years ago. She never told me who he was.”
“I’m sorry,” he offered. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“My birth certificate states father’s name as unknown. But my mother knew who you were.”
“Who I was?” he repeated slowly.
“Does the name Juliet Brennan mean anything to you?” I demanded.
His wife gasped, even as Richard’s face remained confused but impassive. He rose to his feet.
“Should it?”
“My mom had a shirt she kept locked away. I recall seeing it when I was younger, and I asked what it was. She said it belonged to my father. She took it away, and I never saw it again until she died.”