bad at remembering birthdays.”
Dad looked faintly offended.
“I have improved.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Rowan stared at me.
“So all this time…”
His gaze moved around the room.
The modest oak table we had bought together.
The secondhand bookshelf I refinished one summer.
The framed photograph from our honeymoon in Lisbon.
Nothing had physically changed, yet he seemed to see everything differently.
“You’re Gideon Sterling’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
It was a fair question.
Maybe the first fair one he had asked since coming
