She pleated the edges of her tunic top, an old nervous habit she hadn’t been able to correct, keeping herself busy in tense moments. Even now, a grandmother who had read storybooks to Jasper on the hearth of this fireplace, ash on her clothes and a crooked smile no one had ever seen, she retained her precision of movement, her crisp beauty. “Oh?”

He nearly groaned in frustration, setting his glass down on a side table. He inspected his nails, busying himself just the same and avoiding her judgment. “Beaumonts don’t divorce.”

He heard an odd choking sound, maybe a laugh, and his eyes shot up from his lap to her face.

“Oh Theo.” She shook her head. “Perhaps we should have. Yes.” She paused and pursed her lips. “I should have.”

They both looked up to the veiled portrait, eyes drawn to the face they had hidden as if the black brocade could blow open and unleash...

“Mother...”

“It’s past time I said it, Theo. Our lives would have been—well, quite different, if I had made different choices.”

He tried to imagine a life without Alexander Beaumont. Without his firm hand and the punishments that came with it. Locked in the black wine cellar for talking back. Kept up all night for a week to complete homework, over and over, when he was caught with a book of fairy tales. Every word he spoke criticized and every action corrected.

He thought of a life without the thefts, the fictional charities and the long cons, the shady deals with Genni’s father, the secret bank accounts and the investors who would never get their money back. A life without his classmates at Gwynns hating him because his father tricked their parents out of their college funds, promising miraculous returns as they handed over their cash. Without the bad press and humiliating trials. A life where he’d been able to be a child, if only for a few moments longer.

A life where his mother had chosen him. His safety. His happiness.

Where she had protected him.

It seemed entirely absurd. And beautiful in a way which hurt.

“Doesn’t do a lot of good, now.” He picked up his glass again, slumping back into the tufted leather of his chair. “I always—” His voice was halting as she stared into the fire, and he tried to reach her with his words like a small child grabbing for his mom’s hand. “I thought you were disappointed in me. For the divorce.”

“Theo.” Her eyes were soft around the edges, the shadows of wrinkles lending depth to expressions which had always seemed hollow. “You gave me a grandchild. You’ve raised him very well—so much better than I did you. Alexia as your wife or not, you’ve made this family proud. You made a family where there wasn’t a real family at all.”

“Oh.”