Victor Gutierrez gave a wry shake of his head, with an expression that suggested that I was quite amusing. “Who do you think asked her to dance with Walker Ames at that silly fund-raiser in the first place? She is my eyes and ears.”

He told Victoria to dance with Walker? “What is your game here?” I asked. Why aim his daughter at Walker, then ask me to warn Walker away?

“I am an old man, Miss Taft,” Victor Gutierrez said contemplatively. “But not too old to remember the wounds of the past.”

He could beat around the bush all he wanted. I wasn’t obliged to do the same. “Sterling Ames knocked up your granddaughter. You weren’t happy about it.”

“She was a child!” He pounded his fist on the bar, then recovered his composure in the blink of an eye. “And do not tell me eighteen is not a child. You, Victoria—you’re all children to me. My Ana . . .”

He trailed off, and I thought about what Victoria had said about the rift between her father and his formerly favorite granddaughter. “You wanted her to come to you for help.”

He’d wanted her to beg forgiveness.

“I wanted to protect her,” Victor said emphatically. “From her own judgment most of all.”

“And now you won’t even talk to her.”

“She gave away our blood.” Victor set his drink down on the bar, his voice softening. “I would have taken her in—her and the child, both. We are family. That is what family does.”

But she didn’t come to you, I thought. And then I realized why he would have found that so insulting. “Ana went to Davis Ames.”

“But for the money he gave her, she could have been made to see reason,” he told me, his dark eyes fixed on mine. “I implore you to see it now.”

“Imploring would be more effective if I had any idea what you actually wanted from me,” I said.

“Stay away from my Ana,” he requested. “You and that family of yours.” He smiled then and put a hand on my shoulder as he raised his eyes to the stairs. “Ah,” he said when Victoria descended. “There’s my girl.”

CHAPTER 45

“Your father asked you to dance with Walker Ames.”

“I never said that he didn’t.” Victoria barely spared me a glance as she led me up the staircase and away from her father and the party preparations below. “I did tell you that Campbell’s invitation to the first White Glove event had nothing to do with the business between our families’ companies, and that was the truth. Now,” she continued, leading me into what I presumed to be her bedroom, “do you want to spend the next hour cross-examining me about Walker and my father’s grudge toward his family . . .” She nodded to her bed. “. . . or do you want to look at those?”