Part of Cheyenne wanted to hug her mom. The other part of her—the larger, more practical part that had spent twenty-one years learning who her mother was, only to see it unraveling through hindsight, knew a hug was the last thing her mom wanted. Or needed. Instead, the halfling offered the only other thing she had and finished the thought. “They pulled security footage from the hotel. Went through hundreds of faces to find the one that matched the man who became a drow right there on camera.”
She pointed at the monitor, and Bianca’s shoulders twitched up for a brief second before settling down into their usual position.
“You know how I feel about that word, Cheyenne.”
That word. “Drow.” The other half of me. Cheyenne felt her lips trembling as she pressed them together. “And they found him. With you.”
Bianca stared at the black computer monitor. “Yes.”
“That man’s my father.”
“Yes.”
Cheyenne pointed at the screen again. “And that came from a security camera at Chateau D’rahl.”
Bianca finally looked away from the monitor. “Chateau what?”
“D’rahl. The-the high-security prison for—” The halfling cleared her throat. I only get one warning, and she already gave it. “For people like him, Mom. That’s where they were holding him. And he went back.”
“It certainly appears that way, yes.”
“Did they tell you anything else? Did they tell you where the prison is, or if they moved him, or how long he—”
“Stop.” Bianca’s gaze was as firm and steady as the sharp tone of her voice, although she didn’t raise it a single decibel. “What I’ve told you is everything they told me. Nothing more. Nothing less. I know you have many more questions, Cheyenne. And I know you want answers. I don’t have them. And frankly, I don’t want to know anything else, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Cheyenne’s lashes fluttered as her stomach dropped. “How can you say that?”
“You’re my daughter.” Bianca took another deep breath, and the only indication of any other emotion beneath her pure strength of will was a brief and almost imperceptible flare of her nostrils. But her daughter heard the woman’s heartbeat quicken within her breast, and Cheyenne knew this was the most she’d ever get. “Mine, Cheyenne. I raised you in the best way I knew how, with no knowledge of what you needed. I raised you alone in this house, despite all the speculation and the prying and the questions. One night of throwing caution to the wind, and as a result, I put my entire life on hold, brought it out here to the middle of nowhere, and did what I had to do. For you. For me. For us. There has never been and will never be a day when I lay any of the responsibility for my decisions on your shoulders, but when I say it doesn’t matter, that’s the end of it. That man gave me you, and beyond that, he might as well not exist.”
But he does.
Every fiber of Cheyenne’s being wanted to scream at her mom, but there was no possibility of changing Bianca’s stance. Force and volume and passion were not the way to get through to her. The woman had delivered the longest monologue Cheyenne had received on the subject of her father in twenty-one years, and that was the most Cheyenne would ever get.
They stared at each other, each woman in seemingly complete control of her emotions while each of them raged inside in her own way.
A gentle knock came from the study threshold, and mother and daughter turned to see Eleanor standing with a silver tray in her hand. “I had to pull the chicken out of the oven, so it took a bit longer with the drinks. Would you still like—”
“Yes, Eleanor. Thank you.” Bianca moved away from her daughter and gestured toward the coffee table centered between the armchairs in front of the fireplace. “Set them down there, if you will. Will dinner still be ready at six?”
“It will.” The housekeeper averted her gaze and stepped through the thick tension filling the study. She set the silver tray on the coffee table—the mineral water already poured into two delicate crystal drinking glasses, fresh lemon wedges placed on the rims in the same position. The ice clinked when Eleanor removed her hands and wiped them on her skirt. “Six o’clock. Is there anything else before then?”
“No. We’ll see you at dinner.” Bianca’s smile was in rare form this time, meaning it was tight and strained and didn’t come anywhere close to delivering her usual quality of self-assurance.
“Thanks, Eleanor,” Cheyenne muttered.
The housekeeper dipped her head, looking like she was about to meet their gazes, then decided to go the safer route. She left the study, her footsteps clicking softly on the tile floors until she disappeared within the vast estate.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Cheyenne had to do something. She went to the coffee table and fetched both glasses of mineral water on ice. She handed one to her mom, and Bianca stared at the lemon wedge on the glass. She took the crystal drinkware, muttered, “Thank you,” and took a delicate sip.
“He didn’t leave you alone.” Cheyenne glanced at her mom, willing to take the chance.
Bianca swiveled the monitor to its original position. “I know that, Cheyenne. I have you, and I am grateful every day for that.”
“No, I meant in the hotel room.”
“I’m sorry?”
Cheyenne set her glass down on the silver tray before squatting beside the armchair. She unzipped her backpack and moved her laptop aside to find what she wanted. When she reached inside, her
