Page 5 of The Heiress

I lost it.

The tears came first, then the sobs, then the body-wracking wails. I didn’t think about whether I was loud or making a scene because I knew—I knew in my bones—that Jace had it covered. Somewhere on the edge of my awareness I knew that he was holding me and running his hand over my hair, that he’d turned me away from the rest of the house, and that at some point he’d moved us into a room and closed a door, but I didn’t register any of it until I was so exhausted from crying that I finally slowed down.

His shirt was soaked through with my tears and we were sitting on the end of my old bed. “You should rest,” he whispered, his hand still stroking my hair.

“I’m adopted,” I blurted out.

His hand froze.

My heart stopped. It was the first time I’d said it out loud. I still didn’t believe it and hadn’t planned to tell anyone until I had more information, but it was Jace and I used to tell him everything, so apparently my brain defaulted to Jace-mode and decided for me.

Stupid brain.

“You’re adopted?” he repeated slowly.

I pulled back and ran my hands over my face several times, probably smudging the little makeup I wore. “I am. At least that’s what the note from my mother said. Beverly delivered it this morning before the funeral.”So. Many. Lies.

“But…you look just like your parents.” I felt him staring so I looked up, but he wasn’t staring at me, he was staring at my graduation photo on the dresser behind me.

I stared for a moment too because he was right. I did look just like them. Or at least I always thought I had. “Maybe we see what people tell us to see.” The more I stared the more I realized that my nose wasn’t like either of theirs, my forehead was different, too. And that hair they always said was “just like my mother’s” was just brown hair. A lot of people had brown hair. Were there similarities? Yes. Definitely. Many of them. But there were also a lot of differences I’d always brushed off as uniquely me.

Did I look like myrealparents? Or were we just as different?

“You found out in a letter?”

I started laughing. Then hiccupping. The stress had finally made me crack. “Isn’t that fucked up?” All these years they could have said something and instead I find out the truthwhile grieving. “It’s my mom’s handwriting and her words. She said she was sorry about a million times.”

“A million? I see you still like to exaggerate.” I knew he was trying to lighten the mood and I appreciated the distraction.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t a million. But definitely at least a dozen.” Maybe it seemed like more because eachI’m sorryfelt like a knife slashing through my skin. A million cuts of pain and grief.

Jace slid a few inches closer and took my hand in his. A tremble shook my arm and I realized how nice it was to be touched by someone. It wasn’t until just now that I realized how alone I felt these last few days. Beverly helped me arrange things but when she wasn’t around there was no one. I was the only Rossi left.

And it turns out I wasn’t even a Rossi.

“I’m confused. Your parents sent you a note? When?”

I knew and I was still confused, so I certainly couldn’t blame him for needing clarification on the note from beyond the grave. “Apparently about nine years ago. Mom left it with Beverly after I moved to college. She said I should have it if anything ever happened to her.” I shook my head and laughed. “Beverly thought it was motherly advice.” It was not motherly advice.

There were no dreams and wishes for me. Just a warning.

“Fuck. How are you doing with all of this?”

Jace, I realized now that I was sitting next to him on the same bed we used to sit on as kids, was bigger than I remembered. Not just taller, butbigger.In physical presence and, I don’t even know,charisma?And that youthfulness was gone too. I used to tease him that he’d be carded until he was fifty, but now he was rougher around the edges. His eyes crinkled a little at the corners when he spoke, and there were scars here and there on his hands and cheek.

“Well, I clearly needed a good cry.” I waved at his wet shirt. “You want to raid Dad’s closet for something dry?” I felt really bad that I’d held onto him like a life raft for so long that I ruined his shirt, but I also really wanted to curl my hands back into the cotton, lay my head against his chest, and cry until I passed out from exhaustion. Even though he was essentially a stranger to me after all these years, he was also the only safe harbor I could find.

He looked down at his shirt and shook his head. “Naw. It’s the closest I’ve been to you in almost a decade. I don’t want to take it off.”

Oh God.The trembling started up again.

His eyes flared with panic. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you more. I just…”

I heard my own heart thud in the silence. “Just?”

He sucked in a breath and then let it out in a rush. “I just miss you so damn much.”

I kind of flung myself at him. I couldn’t help it. He didn’t hate me and Ineededto be held or I might fly apart. So I buried my face in his chest and accepted it when he pulled me onto his lap and cradled me against him, his chin resting against my forehead.

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