Almost A Bravo. Christine Rimmer
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on, “But I’m drawing a complete blank on the villa we stayed at—the one where you were born, I mean. Didn’t you go to Montedoro to check it out, after college?”
She licked the beer mustache from her upper lip. “I did, yeah, the summer after my senior year. The old count and countess had died. The people living at Villa Della Torre invited me in for coffee and listened politely when I told them that I’d been born in their house. But they had nothing to tell me. They’d never even met the count or the countess. I stayed at the palace during that trip. Uncle Evan and Her Serene Highness were so nice to me. They remembered your visit all those years before, remembered that Mom had been pregnant, but they said that they hadn’t realized that Mom had given birth there, in the principality.” At the time, Aislinn had been kind of disappointed that they didn’t remember—disappointed, but not the least alarmed.
Not like now, when her whole world felt turned upside down, spinning in dizzying circles, way too fast.
She glanced at Connor again. “You sure you don’t remember anything?”
He took a gulp of beer. “Mom and Dad were always hauling us along with them to the far corners of the earth. The trips are kind of a blur to me. Sorry, I’ve got nothing.”
Liam said, “Something’s off with you...”
“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “What’s going on?”
Guilt took a good poke at her, for keeping them in the dark. But she just couldn’t go there. Not yet. “I was only wondering about how it all happened, you know, on the day I was born?”
Matt tipped his head to the side, studying her. “You’ve got a problem, haven’t you, Ais? And you don’t want to tell us what.”
She couldn’t outright lie to them—but she just wasn’t ready to tell what she knew. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to get into it, not right yet.”
“Anything we can do?” asked Liam.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and shook her head.
Matt put his massive arm around her. “You call. We’re there.”
She let herself lean into him, as if he could ground her somehow, keep her tethered to dry land so she wouldn’t go bobbing wildly off into nowhere, a tiny boat set adrift in a churning, angry sea.
* * *
After the disastrous visit to Kircher and Anders, Jax had gone straight back to Wild River and spent several hours in his study finding out everything he could about Aislinn Bravo. She kept public profiles on social media, so he learned a lot there. He also called a few people he knew in Valentine Bay and pumped them for anything they knew about Aislinn and the Bravo family.
The next day, he returned to Kircher and Anders. Kip ushered him back to his corner office and shut the door.
“I’ve got questions,” Jax said, as he settled into a leather guest chair. “Starting with, can the will be broken?”
“I’m sorry, but no. Martin Durand had an absolute right to disburse his worldly goods in any way he chose and his will is legally airtight.”
“Wild River belonged to my aunt. She left it to Martin, but it was always supposed to go to me when he died.”
Anders adjusted his glasses, braced his elbows on the arms of his swivel chair and steepled his fingers. “There’s not a lot of hope in trying to hang a case on that.”
“But in his last letter, Martin admitted outright that he and my aunt had an understanding that the ranch should go to me.”
“Yes. You could argue that. And the rebuttal would be that he did leave you Wild River, just with certain stipulations.”
“What about Aislinn Bravo? Is she really his daughter?”
“Jaxon, I have no idea if she is or she isn’t. You would need a paternity test to get a definitive answer to that question. And even if such a test proved that she and Martin shared no DNA, the will would most likely stand.”
Was Anders hinting at an angle there? “‘Most likely’?”
“If you proved she wasn’t his daughter, then you could use his last letter as evidence that he included her in his will believing she was his biological child. It’s a stretch, but you might challenge the will by arguing that Martin would never have left her anything if he knew she wasn’t his.”
“That sounds weak.”
“Correct. It’s weak. And your suit would likely fail. Plus, by the time you obtained DNA samples not only from Aislinn Bravo, but from Martin’s remains and then hashed it all out in court, Wild River would already be sold, anyway.”
Jax sat back in the guest chair. “You’re my lawyer now.”
Anders granted him a thin smile. “And I’m pleased to help you in any way I can.”
“Got any suggestions to get me out of this mess?”
“As your lawyer, I would advise you to marry Aislinn Bravo and remain married to her for the next three months.”
“I didn’t need a lawyer to figure that out, Kip—and in spite of Martin’s claim that the woman was once in love with me, so far she’s not jumping at the chance to get my ring on her finger.”
“I’m sorry, Jaxon. Truly. But there is no way I can help you with that. Give her a little time.”
“Time? There are six days left until we have to be married.”
“Look at it this way. If she doesn’t agree from the goodness of her heart, maybe she’ll think of a use for the money. Not many people would turn down a chance at fifty thousand dollars.”
* * *
It was just after noon and Aislinn was selling a ceramic sculpture to a regular customer at Sand & Sea when Jaxon called. She had her phone right there on the register counter, set to vibrate. It spun halfway around and lit up with his name, because she’d programmed it into her phone, ready to go as soon as she felt she could deal with him.
“Go ahead,” said the customer. “Answer it. I’m in no hurry.”
But Aislinn was so far from ready to talk to Jax again. “I’ll call him back later.” She gave the customer a big smile and let the call go to voice mail.
Later didn’t come—not that day, anyway. It was rude of her not to pick up or even listen to the message he’d left, and she was sorry. But she needed more answers before she faced his demands.
When she got off at four, she called Valentine House, where her great-uncle Percy and great-aunt Daffodil lived. They were brother and sister, Percy and Daffy, the last of the Valentines. Neither had ever married and they still lived in the house where they’d grown up.
When Uncle Percy finally answered the phone, she asked him if she could drop by.
“Bring pizza,” he instructed. “With the works. Anchovies on the side.”
Half an hour later, bearing an extralarge pie with everything on it—except the anchovies, which had their own small separate tub—she mounted the chipped concrete steps leading up to the seven-thousand-square-foot mansion on the edge of Valentine City Park. Aunt Daffy’s garden was glorious if a tad overgrown. And to Aislinn, the Italianate Victorian itself looked like something transplanted from the Garden District in New Orleans. Built by Captain Aeschylus Valentine back in 1922, the house boasted a healthy helping of gingerbread trim, an excess of dentil moldings and acres of balconies framed in iron lace. The paint job needed freshening and some of the moldings could use repair, but still. It was a beautiful old house and it made her smile every time she saw it.
Daffy and Percy greeted her at the door.
“So good to see you, sweetheart.” Daffy’s thin, dry lips brushed her cheek, light as a cobweb.