“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The funeral was months ago. Angela, what’s left of her, is in the ground. I’ve met with the attorney and all her affairs have been dealt with.”

Catalina looked up from her shoes.

Isabelle sucked a sharp breath. “Oh. You’re here about the will, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Of course that’s why you’re here. I’m so stupid.”

Catalina lifted her chin. “It’s not the primary reason I came. I wanted to see you, see how you were doing with everything. I came for you, Isabelle.”

Before Catalina had even finished her last sentence, Isabelle had turned away and wrapped her arms across her chest. “The will has been read, Mother. You weren’t in it. There’s nothing for you.”

Catalina shook her head. “That’s not possible. Angela had some jewelry, diamonds. She said once that if she—”

Isabelle rounded on Catalina. “There was nothing in Angela’s will for you. She left everything to me, even the diamond jewelry. I don’t wear jewelry, so I plan to give it all to charity. You see, Mother, you came all this way for nothing.”

“Isabelle, you keep those diamonds in the family! Do you hear me? I will not allow you to give those Harry Winstons to charity!”

“What family, Mother? What we have is not family! Don’t even use that word when you’re talking about our relationship.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t say another word to me about those diamonds.” Isabelle whirled, left the room, and slammed the door behind her.

Catalina stood frozen, staring at the door. “My daughter has always been a handful, Mr. Monahan. She’s always been…volatile.”

Thomas took a moment to answer. “I like her that way.”

“That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Catalina’s perfect face crumpled for a moment before she regained her composure. “I do want a relationship with her. I do love her, you know.”

“That’s not something you should tell me, Catalina.”

She turned her gaze to his and he was jarred once again by Isabelle’s eyes staring from her face. “You’re with her romantically, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“She won’t stay with you, you know. She never stays. Isabelle is like me that way. She’s a traveler, a mover. Isabelle might hate me, but she’s a kindred spirit in that regard. Even when she was a child she liked it when I moved them between caregivers and countries.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

She licked her lips and glanced away. “I was not cut out for motherhood.”

“Then why have children?”

She shrugged. “It happens. You know Angela has”—she swallowed hard—“had a different father than Isabelle?”

“I suspected, yes.”