A Miami vacation! A fresh start! I’m seething when I think about it. How dare he play these charades with me.

I think back to New Year’s Eve, the way he acted like he was too tired to deal with what I’d told him I needed. About how cranky he’s been lately. I was just the one he was taking it out on.

I sip my glass of bourbon—neat, though I never drink it neat—and feel a fiery burn down my throat. It feels right, the way holding my hand to a flame right now would feel right. I’m not numb anymore; I’m angry.

Then someone calls my name. A man’s voice. Not Oliver.

I turn, frowning, and see a handsome, furious man striding across the lobby in my direction.

I guess Dennis’s flight landed early.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

He’s almost the Dennis I’m used to seeing. Almost. The suit is still top-notch, but a little rumpled now, the neckline of the shirt a little yellowed. His face is still chiseled and handsome, but there’s patchy growth—quite the opposite of designer stubble—across that sharp jaw. And his eyes—his eyes just look harder to me now than they did before.

“Gillian!” It’s like the sight of me is a trigger, and he’s getting angrier as he walks towards me. “Where is he? Where’s my son?”

I put down my drink, carefully.

“He’s upstairs,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice cool and firm. “He’s in his room. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” he snaps. “My son was supposed to be at your house, under your supervision, in the…in the countryside. Not in some crime-ridden city being told his real grandmother is some washed-up alcoholic.”

Where does he get off with this “real grandmother” thing?

And for someone who tends to make a fuss about all his philanthropic donations, he really doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that alcoholism is an actual disease.

“Dennis.”

Oliver’s voice. He’s by the elevator bank, walking towards us.

“Oh, you’re here too,” Dennis says. “Quite the little reunion.”

“I just texted the others,” Oliver says pleasantly. “To let them know you’re here.”

Dennis’s eyes narrow. Oliver’s cheerful tone makes it impossible for him to sound threatening but there’s a clear undertone of I’m watching you.

Sure enough, soon the elevator doors open again and Mom and Abigail emerge, Mom frowning, Abigail looking like she’s holding her breath.

“Where’s Sam?” Dennis raises his voice, and people across the lobby are turning our way; the clerk looks up uncertainly from the welcome desk.

Mom steps closer to Abigail, looking suddenly taller.

Abigail’s voice is steady. “He’s upstairs. I didn’t want him coming down to a scene.”