Chapter 15: Lucan's POV: The Seventh Page

Lucan's POV

Odette's writing desk has a lock that I could have opened at nine years old.

I opened it at midnight, with a butter knife, in my brother's widow's parlor, and it took less than a second.

I stood there for a while afterward with the knife in my hand.

For seven years I had told myself that I had no right to look.

The top drawer held stationery, a roll of stamps and a dish of wrapped mints.

The second drawer held six folders, tied with ribbon.

I sat down in her chair and untied the first.

Inside was a photograph of a laughing twenty-three-year-old in a green coat, and under it a card in Odette's tidy script.

Wants: the house, the title, the dinner at the head of the table. Tea: oolong. Weakness: flattery. Told her I was merely looking out for Lucan.

The date was three weeks before the wedding.

I turned the card over.

On the back, in the same hand, she had written the seating chart.

The second folder said: Wants the seat. Cried at the fitting, which was sweet. Nerves, not conscience.

The third said: Wants the library. Asked what the chair was worth. Perfect.

I read all six.

I read them slowly, because I had earned every line.

Each folder ended with the same note, and it was the note that made my hands shake.

Brent next, if the Goddess is kind.

I put the sixth folder down.

I had walked six women up the aisle.

I had held six hands under six tables while two hundred people checked their watches.

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