“You didn’t tell him?” Sawyer exclaims.

I slowly shake my head. “Can one of you go downstairs and…I don’t know…take him to a guest room or something?”

“I’ll do it,” Seb instantly replies.

“I’m coming with you,” his brother pipes up. “I’ve gotta see this.”

As the twins race for the door, I quickly call out to them. “Guys, don’t say anything about me. Seriously, I’m not ready for that. Let’s wait until Callum gets home.”

The twins exchange another one of those glances where a whole conversation takes place in a second.

“Sure,” says Seb, and then they’re gone, galloping down the stairs to greet their not-dead uncle.

Easton steps closer to me. His gaze lands on the suitcase near the closet, then locks onto my face. In a heartbeat, he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “You’re not running, little sis. You have to know it’s a stupid idea.”

I stare at our entwined fingers. “I’m a runner, East.”

“No. You’re a fighter.”

“I can fight for other people. Like my mom or Reed or you, but…I’m not good with conflict at my door.” I chew harder on my bottom lip. “Why is Steve here? He’s supposed to be dead. And how could they arrest Reed?” My voice trembles wildly. “What if he actually goes to jail for this?”

“He won’t.” His hand tightens on mine. “Reed’s going to be back, Ella. Dad will take care of everything.”

“What if he can’t?”

“He will.”

But what if he can’t?

3

Ella

After a sleepless night, I find myself in the sitting room that overlooks the front courtyard. There’s a plush bench tucked beneath the enormous expanse of windows that make up the front of the house. I throw myself onto the cushion, fixing my gaze on the circular driveway beyond the windowpane. My phone is in my lap, but it hasn’t made a peep all night or morning. Not a phone call, not a text. Nothing.

My imagination is running wild, conjuring up all kinds of scenarios. He’s in a cell. He’s in an interrogation room. His wrists and ankles are shackled. He’s being beaten by a cop for not answering questions. Does he have to stay in jail until the trial? I don’t know how this whole arrest, charge, trial thing works.

What I do know is that the longer Reed and Callum are gone, the lower my spirits sink.

“Good morning.”

I nearly fall off the bench at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. For a second I think that someone broke into the house, or that maybe the detectives are back to do a search. But when I glance at the door, I find Steve O’Halloran standing there.

The beard’s shaved off and he’s dressed in a pair of slacks and a polo shirt, looking a lot less like a homeless person and a lot more like the students’ fathers you see around Astor Park, the private school the Royals and I attend.

“Ella, right?” There’s a hesitant smile on his face.

I nod abruptly and place my phone facedown as I turn back to the window. I don’t know how to act around him.

Last night, I hid in my bedroom while Easton and the twins took care of Steve. I don’t know what story they told him about me, but it’s obvious he has no recollection of me or the letter he received from my mom before he left on the hang-gliding trip where he supposedly died.

Easton stopped by before he went to bed and informed me that Steve was in the green guest room. I didn’t even know there was a green guest room or where it was located.

A crippling sense of anxiety makes me want to run and hide. I am hiding. But he found me anyway, and facing my father is more intimidating than beating back a hundred mean girls at school.

“Well. Ella. I’m a tad confused.”

I startle at the nearness of his voice. Looking over my shoulder again, I find him standing only a couple feet away.

I dig my heels into the cushion of the bench, forcing myself not to move. He’s just a man. Two legs, two arms. Just a man who got a letter from a dying woman about a long-lost daughter, and instead of tracking that woman and that child down, he went on an adventure. That kind of man.

“Did you hear me?” He sounds even more bewildered now, as if he can’t figure out if I’m ignoring him, or just hard of hearing.

I cast a desperate glance toward the door. Where’s Easton? And why isn’t Reed home yet? What if he never comes home?

I almost choke on the raw panic that burns my throat. “I heard you,” I finally mutter.

Steve moves even closer. I can smell whatever soap or shampoo he used this morning. “I’m not sure what I expected when I got out of that taxi last night, but…” His tone becomes wry. “It sure as hell wasn’t this. From what East told me, I gather Reed was arrested?”

My head jerks in another nod. And for some reason, it bugs me to hear him call Easton “East.” The nickname feels wrong leaving the mouth of a stranger.

He’s not a stranger. He’s known them since they were born.

I gulp. Yeah, I guess he has. I guess if anyone is a stranger to the Royals, it’s me and not Steve O’Halloran. I think Callum once told me that Steve is the godfather to all the boys.

“But nobody has thought to explain to me who you are. I know I’ve been gone for a while, but the Royal household has been a bachelor residence for years.”

A chill flies up my spine. No. God, no. I can’t have this conversation right now. But Steve’s light blue eyes are probing my face. He’s waiting for an answer, and I know I have to give him something.

“I’m Callum’s ward.”

“Callum’s ward,” he echoes in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Who are your parents? Friends of Callum’s? Do I know them?” he wonders, half to himself.

Panic jolts through me, but luckily I don’t have to answer, because I suddenly glimpse a black Town Car pulling into the driveway.

They’re back!

I lunge off the bench and make it to the parlor in two seconds flat. A weary Callum and an equally tired Reed trudge inside, but both stop in their tracks when they spot me.

Reed turns. His vivid blue eyes slowly find mine and lock on.