Atticus looked at me, really looked at me and for a moment, I saw something break in his expression. A crack in the marble. A glimpse of the man who'd once held my mother's hand at the track, who'd cheered when she won, who'd carried me on his shoulders when I was small enough to believe he was invincible.
Then the mask slid back into place.
"You're emotional," he said, his voice flat again. "And emotional men make mistakes. Fix the scandal, Lucien. Repair your reputation. Or I will repair it for you and you won't like my methods."
He walked past me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, the same one he'd worn my entire life, the same one that still made me think of hospital corridors and closed doors.
At the doorway, he stopped.
"Your mother loved you," he said, not turning ar
