He Believed My Sister—and Lost Me

SLOANE Ainsley was straightening Elliot Ashcombe’s tie when Sloane Kingsley arrived for her grandmother’s memorial. It was the familiarity that stopped her. Her younger sister stood close enough for her knuckles to brush Elliot’s throat. He bent to listen, and Ainsley smiled as if she alone knew how to comfort him. Sloane had once known exactly how to knot that tie. The car door clicked shut behind her. Neither of them had noticed her yet. Sloane adjusted her charcoal coat and lifted her suitcase. Barcelona had taught her to enjoy looking beautiful without asking to be admired. Beneath the coat she wore silk, with Grandma’s pearls at her ears. Elliot looked up first. His expression flashed with recognition before his jaw set. Suddenly, he was the man from the day their marriage ended. “Sloane.” Not welcome home. Not I’m sorry about your grandmother. “Elliot.” Ainsley turned, concern blooming across her face with suspicious speed. “You made it.” Ainsley hurried down the steps, a hand pressed to her heart. “Oh, Sloane. We were afraid the flight would be too much. You must be exhausted.” “I slept on the plane.” “You look wonderful. Really.” Ainsley’s gaze swept her coat and pearls. “Barcelona has been good to you.” “It has.” Ainsley embraced her, orange-blossom perfume rising from her hair. It was the expensive scent Mom had always bought for her younger daughter. “Grandma would have wanted you here,” Ainsley whispered. “I was always coming home for Grandma.” Ainsley drew back. “Of course. I only meant—” “I know what you meant.” Elliot stepped toward them. “You don’t have to snap at her.” There it was. Two years gone, and he could still find a verdict without needing to hear a case. “I answered my sister,” Sloane said. “She’s been holding this family together,” Elliot said, his expression softening as he looked at Ainsley. “Especially these last weeks.” Ainsley touched his sleeve. “Please, don’t argue because of me.” “I’m grateful someone was here,” Sloane said. “I’m also aware that Grandma and I spoke every Sunday, no matter where I was.” “Calls aren’t the same as being present,” Elliot said. He had never asked why Grandma had entrusted the Barcelona business to Sloane. “I was where Grandma asked me to be.” Elliot’s eyes narrowed. “Of course she did.” Mom appeared in the open doorway wearing mourning black and a composed expression. “Sloane. We were beginning to think you’d stay away.” “Hello, Mom.” “You could have told us you were arriving today. Ainsley rearranged everything so there would be a room ready.” “I wrote to Dad yesterday.” Mom glanced at the suitcase. “Well. At least you look healthy.” Ainsley smiled anxiously. “I kept the blue room ready as best I could. I’ve had to use some of the wardrobes. I hope you don’t mind.” The blue room still held her wedding photographs. Ainsley was using the wardrobes. “We can discuss it later,” Sloane said. Elliot gave a disapproving exhale. “She’s trying to help.” “Then I’m sure she’ll appreciate not having to apologize in front of everyone.” Ainsley lowered her gaze, but her fingertips stayed on Elliot’s sleeve. Sloane moved past them into the house. White lilies filled the foyer. Grandma had hated them. She preferred roses, thorns and all. Sloane stopped beside her portrait. She remembered Grandma at the Barcelona kitchen table, inspecting contracts while Sloane burned toast. “I didn’t send you here to hide, sweetheart,” she’d said. “I sent you to remember how capable you are.” Sloane touched the portrait’s frame. “Grandma,” she whispered. A familiar voice spoke behind her. “My girl.” Dad stood at the foot of the stairs, looking older. He opened his arms and Sloane stepped into them. “I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. He could have been apologizing for so many things. She dared not ask. Instead she said, “I miss her, Dad.” “So do I.” His voice caught. “Ainsley visited nearly every day. Your mom arranged dinners. I made sure Grandma never had to ask for anything.” Sloane stepped back. “She never needed much.” Dad glanced toward the doorway. Something troubled crossed his face. “She was a difficult woman to please,” he said. “She wasn’t difficult with me.” His smile tightened. “No. She wasn’t.” Grandma had always sought Sloane’s advice. Dad was proud of her, but the preference had wounded him. Mom called from the doorway, “Desmond, the guests are coming inside.” Dad squeezed Sloane’s shoulder. “We’ll talk after the memorial, sweetheart.” He left. Sloane stood beneath the portrait until she sensed Elliot beside her. “You could have been kinder to Ainsley,” he said. “You followed me to say that?” Sloane knew his mouth, the scar at his temple. They had met in a university lecture hall and married beneath a summer sky, too delighted with each other to face the wedding photographer when asked. Now he stood inches away, angry on another woman’s behalf. “Do you believe I came back to hurt Ainsley?” she asked. “I think you’re angry,” he said. “And I understand why coming home is difficult. But she doesn’t deserve to pay for our mistakes.” “Our mistakes?” A muscle moved in his cheek. “Sloane, don’t.” “You still believe I slept with another man.” He glanced toward the open doors. “This isn’t the place.” “And stole from your company.” “There were photographs. There were transfers. You know what I saw.” “I know what you chose to believe.” His expression hardened. “You left before we could finish talking.” She remembered three hours in their kitchen, begging him to examine the false photographs instead of believing them. He kept asking for another explanation until innocence sounded like a lie. “I talked until you stopped listening,” she said. For a moment they were both silent. His gaze dropped to her bare left hand. He had helped remove the ring, yet seeing it gone still seemed to hurt him. Ainsley entered with two cups of tea, one prepared exactly the way Elliot liked it. She stopped when she saw their faces. “Oh,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize you were having a private conversation. I can go.” “Stay,” Elliot said at once. The answer was instinctive, and Sloane felt it more sharply than she wanted to. Ainsley handed him the tea. “Mom said you might want to leave before dinner. I told her you’d decide for yourself.” Their fingers brushed over the cup. Ainsley let Sloane see her smile. Sloane looked between them. “Is there something I should know?” Ainsley’s eyes widened. “Nothing like that. Elliot has just been very kind.” “Don’t make this into something ugly,” Elliot said. “You’re the one who decided what I meant.” He drew a breath, visibly forcing patience. “Ainsley and I have grown close. There’s no secret affair to uncover, if that’s what you’re implying.” “Were you going to tell me?” she asked. “Why would I have to?” His voice sharpened. “We’ve been divorced for two years. You have your own life. From what I’ve heard, a very happy one.” “From whom?” His eyes flickered toward Ainsley. “Does it matter?” he asked. “Yes,” Sloane said. “It did two years ago. Apparently it still does.” Ainsley put down her untouched cup. “Sloane, please. Elliot’s been through enough. Neither of us wanted to hurt you.” Elliot stepped slightly in front of her. An unconscious shield. He had protected Ainsley in exactly the way he had failed to protect his wife. His gaze lingered over her face. For a heartbeat, desire broke through his hostility—the look she remembered from their first apartment. Then her phone lit up. MATEO: Landed. Call whenever you want me there. Sloane turned the screen inward, but too late. Elliot had seen the name. His jaw tightened. “So he came with you.” “He didn’t.” “But he’s here.” “He’s someone I trust.” Elliot gave a short, humorless laugh. “Of course he is.” Sloane slipped the phone into her bag. “Tomorrow,” Mom announced from the hall, “Mr. Whitfield will read Grandma’s will. I hope everyone can manage to be civil.” Dad joined Mom in the hall. Ainsley steadied her arm. Sloane met his gaze. “I didn’t come home to convince you of anything,” she said. “I came to say goodbye to Grandma.” “And after that?” Elliot asked. “After that,” she said, “you’ll have to get used to the fact that I’m no longer the woman who waits for you to believe her.” She took her suitcase upstairs. Behind her, Ainsley slipped her hand around Elliot’s arm and asked if he was all right. Sloane had almost reached the landing when she heard him answer. “I was,” Elliot said. Sloane did not look back.