“You could never scare me away, Liv. I hope you know that.”

I nodded, and he tugged me into an embrace. When at last I shifted to settle in for sleep, he looked up—way up. I followed his gaze to see TC perched on the headboard.

“That’s a little unsettling,” he said.

“TC? Down.”

He did jump down—onto Ricky, who let out an oomph. I went to scoop up TC, but he gave me a baleful glare and lay down on Ricky’s chest and curled up.

“Congratulations,” I said. “You now own a cat. Don’t forget to take him when you go.”

“Didn’t I just say I’m not going anywhere?”

“Damn. Well, at least he likes someone.”

“Oh, he likes you just fine. This is a warning. If I try to jump you in the night, he’ll rip my heart out.”

I laughed softly and he pulled me against his side. I closed my eyes, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

—

I was in the kitchen the next morning, helping Rose with breakfast. Gabriel was at the table, busy on his laptop. Ricky had taken over the parlor desk to work on an assignment for school. As I washed berries, I said to Rose, “So, do you feel like you’re running a boardinghouse?”

“Starting to,” she said, putting a tin of muffins into the oven. “I might charge rent. And impose curfews. Seemed like doors were opening and closing half the night.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Ricky and I planned to go back to my place, but—”

“No,” Gabriel said, without looking up from his computer.

“I don’t see why—”

“Would you like a list? Let’s start with the fact that you seem to be sliding into visions randomly and end with the one where at least two very powerful fae really would prefer your boyfriend went home. As long as—”

My phone rang. “Saved by the bell,” I said, then looked down at the incoming call and blinked. “Oh, hell. Shit, shit, shit.”

“If that’s a reporter—” Gabriel began, his hand extended for the phone.

“No, it’s my mother. I completely forgot, she’s coming home this weekend.”

It’d been weeks since I’d spoken to her directly. Lena hadn’t taken the media onslaught very well. She’d fled to Europe to hide under the wings of protective friends. When I wouldn’t do the same . . . well, I’d like to say she was angry because she thought that was best for me, but I suspect it was because it would have made things easier for her. Everyone has people like my mother in their lives. They’re frustrating and flawed, and there are things both in them and in our relationships with them that we’d like to change, but ultimately we have to accept who they are.

I answered the phone with, “Hey, Mum.”

“Olivia. I heard the news. I’m so sorry.”

Shit! Of course.

“I should have called you,” I said. “I just . . . I’m the one who found him, and I haven’t been thinking clearly. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t blaming you for not calling. Despite what happened between you two, I know how much you cared for him.”

I exhaled and lowered myself into the chair across from Gabriel. “Thanks. Yes, the situation makes it awkward. I’m holed up avoiding reporters. I don’t know what I’ll do about the funeral and . . . Maybe we can talk about that. How to handle it. When are you getting in?”

“I’m not coming home, Olivia.”

“What?”

“Given what’s happened, this would hardly be the time.”

“But the funeral—he was . . . he was almost your son-in-law, and you’ve known his family forever.”

“I can hardly go to the funeral of a man my daughter left at the altar.”

I gripped the phone. “I did not—”

“James stuck by you, Olivia.”

“Um, no, he—”

“He got over the shock of your parentage and tried to make amends, and you wouldn’t let him. You had your reasons, but to outsiders, it does not reflect well on our family.”

Gabriel pushed his chair back, a hard look in his eyes. Eavesdropping and making no secret of it.

“I understand you wanted to tough it out,” Mum went on. “My concern is . . . You’re twenty-four, Olivia. In a few months you’ll be old enough for your trust fund, reaching the age where your father and I agreed you’d be mature enough to handle the responsibility. But in recent weeks you broke off an engagement to a wonderful man, and began investigating your birth parents’ crimes with a man that our family lawyer has nothing good to say about. Now James is dead—murdered—and you’re dating a member of a motorcycle gang. All I can hope is that last is some misguided publicity stunt to divert attention from your birth situation.”

“No, I—”

“He’s a biker, Olivia. And according to the papers, he’s two years younger than you.” She said it as if that was as bad as dating a criminal.

“Whatever’s happening to me has nothing to do with attending James’s funeral. We need to pay our respects—”

“We?” Her voice rose. “I certainly hope you don’t intend to go.”

“I was engaged to him, Mum. I’d never march up and stand at his graveside, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go, discreetly, and pay my respects.”