Which means that I’m left to sit alone with my fear that she’ll never forgive me, as well as my heart-wrenching guilt that if Dad were to discover that his daughter messed around with the agent who officially locked him up, I’ll be disowned. Losing BellaDonna wouldn’t be the end of the world, not for me. It’s a legacy I’ve worked damn hard to see last for yet another generation but it’s never been my dream. No, my fear is that Dad will never speak with me again.

Murderer or not, he’s all Stassi and I have left.

Tugging on her ponytail, my sister presses her lips together. “Did you see him—Paxton, I mean? Is that what’s brought all this on?” She waves at me like it’s explanation enough.

“At the gala,” I answer. “He didn’t give me his name.”

“And?”

“He’s magnetic, Stass,” I confess on a shaky breath. “Powerful in a way that has nothing to do with class or money. It’s his self-restraint, I think. How he can hold out his hand and tempt me to throw caution to the wind. There’s something about him . . .”

I swallow, hard.

Until Reid, I’ve never kept a secret from Stassi. What started out as an attempt to bulldoze my way into gaining information about Dad’s arrest, when no one would tell us anything, became something else entirely.

Clutching my knees to my chest, I let the pieces fall where they may. “When Reid Paxton looks at me, I fear I’ll go wherever he leads.”

She lowers her gaze to the thermos and fiddles with the plastic rim. I don’t know what to say to make this nightmare better, if I even can. While Reid didn’t promise to call when I ran out on him two nights ago, I know that I won’t be able to avoid him forever. Just like I can’t keep hiding from the world.

My father is a lying, scheming rat.

The sooner I accept it, the sooner we can all move forward.

Dropping my feet to the ground, I splay my fingers wide across each thigh. “I know you’re probably disappointed and angry. Or just plain confused but—”

“He came here on Friday.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

Stassi pushes the coffee aside. “We were getting ready to close for the night and he showed up, asking to speak with you. I didn’t recognize him at first, not without the”—she gestures at her jaw—“but I sent him packing the minute he introduced himself. It was petty of me, I’ll admit. Totally immature. He was only doing his job when he came to transport Dad to New Orleans, just like we all have shit to do around here that we can’t stand.”

My heart leaps to my throat. “You told him that I’d be at the Morellis’?”