Of course Harrison can’t let us have one single moment of relative peace, but I can’t say I haven’t been wondering and worrying about the same thing.

“Unless someone else comes forward, we may never know the truth,” Commodore says. “But regardless of the answer to that question, nothing changes. Lincoln will lead this family and the company after I’m gone.”

“And McKinley gets the resort and I get nothing. I see how it works.”

Commodore’s hard stare sharpens on Harrison. “You will get what you deserve, and only your actions and effort will dictate exactly what that is.”

“I already know what you’ve decided, old man. There’s no question there.” Harrison rises from the table, whiskey glass in hand. “It’s always been bullshit. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll be mourning the loss of my mother while I get drunk.”

We all watch him as he stalks out of the room.

“I’ll never understand him,” McKinley says quietly.

Commodore glances at her. “That, my dear, is what entitlement looks like. He will never work for what he wants. He’ll always expect it to be given. As long as that continues, he’ll be given nothing.”

Through the rest of dinner, the tension at the table is thick enough to cut with a knife. Commodore tells stories about his childhood, but everyone’s laughter sounds brittle and forced. After what McKinley said about her parents, I can’t help but wonder if there’s ever been real laughter in this house.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . that’s something I can change in the future.

I have no idea how, but I just made myself a new goal.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask as Lincoln leads me up the grand staircase, and all I can remember is the room from a decade ago when his mother caught us together.

“You’re not staying in a guest room. You’re with me. Even my grandfather understands and has given his blessing—not that we needed it. Besides, after today . . . I need you close.”

He pulls me into his arms, his chin brushing the top of my head. The stiffness of his posture seems to melt away as he simply holds me in the middle of the hallway.

Maybe I can give him exactly what I was seeking—peace.

We stand there for long moments, and by the time he releases me, every inch of my skin buzzes where it touches his. Despite the fact that I should be exhausted, part of me is alive and anticipating what’s coming next. Lincoln never fails to send my senses into overdrive.

My brain may be caught up in everything that has happened today, but my body is already moving beyond it.

Still, when we continue down the hallway, I have to ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to spend more time with your sister or your grandfather? I don’t want to take you away from your family tonight.”