Page 28 of The Hawthorne Legacy
“I’m an awful son,” Jameson agreed, dialing his level of charm up to meet Skye’s. “Horrid, really, so preoccupied with the person you tried to have killed that I’ve barely spared a thought for how difficult getting caught must have been for you.”
I hadn’t breathed a word to Jameson about what his mother had done, but he knew Skye had moved out. It probably hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Grayson had forced her out—and why.
“What has your brother been telling you?” Skye demanded, without specifying which brother she was talking about. “And you believe him? Believe her—”
“I believe,” Jameson said smoothly, “that I’ve found Grayson’s father.”
That got an eyebrow arch out of Skye. “Was he lost?” The victim act melted off her like snow in the sun.
“Sheffield Grayson.” I said the name, forcing Skye’s gaze to flit toward me. “His nephew died in the fire on Hawthorne Island, along with your brother, Toby.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“And I have no idea why you think lying to me is a good idea, when I could have you kicked out of this hotel,” I shot back. I’d intended to let Jameson handle this. Really. It just hadn’t worked out that way.
“You?” Skye sniffed. “This hotel has been in my family for decades. You are under quite the delusion if you think—”
“That the management will care more about the feelings of the new owner than about yours?”
“Aren’t you just adorable?” Skye retreated into the room. “Don’t just stand there,” she called back. “You’re letting in a draft.”
With a glance at Jameson, I crossed the threshold—and found myself almost immediately joined by Oren and Eli. Apparently, I’d been under closer guard than I’d realized.
Skye gave every appearance of being delighted at the appearance of my security team. “It appears we have a party.” She sat down on a chaise longue and stretched out her legs. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? I have something you want, and I would like a few assurances, starting with how very welcome I will be to stay in this penthouse indefinitely.”
Like hell, I thought.
“Counteroffer,” Jameson interjected before I could reply. “If you answer our questions, I won’t tell Xander what you did.” He flopped down on a sofa next to Skye’s chaise. “I’m sure Nash has put two and two together. I figured it out quickly enough. But Xan? For all he knows, this is just another little trip of yours. I’d hate to have to tell him about your murderous impulses.”
“Jameson Winchester Hawthorne, I am your mother. I brought you into this world.” Skye reached for a nearby glass of champagne, and I noticed that there was a second glass beside it.
She wasn’t here alone.
“However,” she continued with a heavy sigh, “because I am in such a generous mood, I suppose I will answer a question or two.”
“Is Sheffield Grayson Gray’s father?” Jameson wasted no time.
Skye took a sip. “Not in any way that signifies.”
“Biologically,” Jameson pressed.
“If you must know,” Skye said, staring at him over the rim of her glass, “then, yes, technically Sheff is Grayson’s father. But what does a little biology matter? I’m the one who raised you all.”
Jameson snorted. “By some definitions.”
“Does Sheffield Grayson know that he has a son?” I asked, my mind full of Grayson, wondering what this would mean for him.
Skye gave an elegant little shrug. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“You never told him?” Jameson asked.
“Why would I?”
I stared at her. “You got pregnant on purpose.” Nash had told me as much.
“You were grieving,” Jameson said softly. “So was he.”
The softness seemed to get to Skye in a way that nothing else had. “Toby and I were so close. Sheff practically raised Colin. We understood each other, for a time.”
