Page 151 of Discretion at Its Finest

Then footsteps padded softly behind me.

“Morning,” Brielle whispered, hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from sleep, baby settled on her hip. She looked softertoday, less shattered than yesterday, still holding all of her emotions and feelings together.

“Good morning,” I murmured, taking a sip of my coffee as I glanced down at what was my most recent grandchild. She blinked up at me with her big bright eyes, confusion and curiosity laced with one another.

“Coffee?” I asked, turning to Brielle, and she nodded, placing a “World’s Best Dad” mug beside me.

I quirked an eyebrow as she smiled. “For Killian.”

I nodded in understanding, pouring a cup when, as if on cue, Killian walked into the kitchen, dressed in matching pajamas to Brielle. We acknowledged one another with a simple glance before he walked over to his wife and daughter, kissing both on the forehead as she handed him his coffee.

My attention wandered back to the dining room.

There were kids. Everywhere.

Too many to count.

Different ages, different parents, different branches of whatever sprawling tree these people called family. Yet somehow, it worked.

Somehow, it felt… easy for them. Natural.

Delilah sat beside Archer Lockwood, holding their daughter who was chewing on mushed banana. Calvin had wanted a dynasty merger. What he got… was a son who built a one-sided obsession for the woman he was groomed to love… which, ironically, made for better leverage than any forced arrangement ever could.

Footsteps echoed into the area again. I glanced over to see Eugene.

He stepped into the dining room, eyes down at first, then lifted when Juliet smiled at him from the table. He bent down, kissed her on the lips, soft and slow. Then he kissed Melanie’s head before brushing his knuckles across her cheek.

His gaze was tender, movements automatic and familiar.

But when his gaze drifted across the room to Brielle—

Nothing.

There was a brief moment of stiff eye contact before they both looked away like strangers.

I sipped my coffee, watching them with a patience that seemed fleeting. “Are you going to say good morning to your brother?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Brielle stiffened. “No,” she muttered, eyes as defiant as her mother’s as she stared up at me. “Absolutely not.”

I arched a brow at her. She matched it with one of her own, stubborn and fiery, the same spark Genevieve had when she was being impossible. I almost smirked.

She sure had her mother’s defiance, and the longer I looked the more I could see myself in her too. For years, I trusted my gut that she was my daughter, and standing here watching her, I knew I’d been right.

“One of you needs to be the bigger person… Break the ice so things can settle.”

“Why does it have to be me?” she asked.

I placed the mug on the counter, turning to face her, as a father would when lecturing his daughter… because in that moment, I felt that was exactly what I was doing.

“You know your brother better than I do… He was hurting, same as you. He probably feels guilty for what was said.”

Brielle scowled. “So I’m supposed to fix everything? Again?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t ask you to.”

“He said it himself. He doesn’t want me to try and fix him… fix us.”

“And you don’t have to be the one to do it all. He has to work for your forgiveness. I’m just asking you to start.”