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“You’ll fix this?”
“I promise. I’ll fix this.”
I blinked at Kane.
Confusion twisted the truth and what I wasn’t sure about in my heart.
Were the bruises from an accident on their honeymoon?
By the time Alma had made it to Australia, there was no evidence of any injury. Of that I was certain because she’d paraded around in her barely-there bikinis.
Was I making a mistake to tell Kane everything? I-I didn’t know.
So I went with my instinct, which was contrary to how I’d felt about this man for two decades.
I drew in a deep breath. “Alma phoned me a few months after you’d been married. Just after New Year’s. She was scared of you.”
“In what way?” he asked through his teeth.
“She’d complained about how terribly you’d treated her since the wedding. Obviously, she’s my sister, and I believed her.” I met his gaze. “And I didn’t think the best of you, so her narrative aligned with my thinking.”
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the dryer. “What did I do to her exactly?”
“You said awful things, abusive things, and in that particular conversation, she confessed you’d hit her.”
“I never touched her in a way that wasn’t consensual,” he grated out.
“She allowed you to hit her?” I asked incredulously. I’d heard of relationships like that, but didn’t think my sister would be involved.
“No!” He paused as if trying to gain his composure. “I didn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t hit a woman, not even one I hate as much as I do her.”
And I believed him.
I’d never seen him in the courtroom but imagined he could put on quite a show. But this . . . he appeared genuine. Devastated, actually, that Alma had accused him of those things. Or maybe it was that I’d thought he was capable of them.
Which meant my sister had lied to me. Why?
“She said she had an appointment to”—I swallowed hard. It still hurt after all this time to think of how close I’d been to never having Penelope—“terminate the pregnancy.”
“No.”
I recoiled.
I’d had the exact same reaction. But Kane . . . he . . . I didn’t understand.
“You didn’t want a child. You explicitly told her that,” I said.
“The same way I hit her,” he returned bitterly.
My sister was who she was. She could absolutely be manipulative, but . . . she wouldn’t do this. Not to her child. Would she?
“I convinced her to come to Australia. Grandma Josephine helped me find a private beach house and medical staff. Alma stayed for—”
“Six months. They were the best six months of our marriage.” He dropped his chin to his chest. “I should’ve known. She never went on another holiday longer than eight weeks.”
I touched his knee. By the time I realized I’d done it, I didn’t want to take it back. His pain was palpable. And I’d played a part in causing it, even if I’d done so under false pretenses. I’d been a victim of Alma’s lies too.
But I couldn’t really be a victim when I’d received the greatest gift of my life because of her.
