JULIAN
I watched Claire walk to her room to start working on designs for the showcase, her shoulders straighter than they'd been all day.
The moment her door closed, I let my shoulders drop, let the exhaustion I'd been hiding from her settle over me like a weight.
I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a drink, something stronger than coffee, then stood at the window staring out at the city.
My father was a murderer. I'd known something was wrong eighteen years ago, had felt it in my gut when they told me my mother had killed herself.
She'd been unhappy, yes, trapped in a marriage to a controlling man, but she'd never been suicidal, she'd been planning to leave him, I remembered that now with painful clarity.bShe'd told me the week before she died, late at night when my father was
