Jordan was asleep beside me, sprawled amongst the pillows and comforter, but I was wide awake, my laptop open and at the ready. I just needed to click the button that would upload the final layer to the trap.

I could only hope they would take the bait.

That my father would take the bait.

Christmas Eve and I was trying to screw over dear old Dad. Now that was the spirit of the season.

Not that he hadn’t tried to screw me over first.

Which was the part I didn’t understand. Why bother with such a small project when Roberts Enterprises had so much already? It was a nothing product for RoboTech as it was, quite literally Jordan’s pet project for Hunter.

So why would my father bother taking it on?

The only reason I could comprehend was revenge.

Ruining a company’s reputation for little more than vengeance. It wasn’t like I could say it was the first time I’d heard that particular notion.

It’s just that . . . I’d thought my father was better than that.

Sighing, I closed the laptop and picked up my phone, texting Heather to let her know the final trap was planted.

I was giving the family of my father’s greatest enemy enough material to blackmail him for years. And I was doing it without a second thought.

Because I trusted Heather and Jordan.

Because this all needed to stop.

Because, dammit, I had to believe my father might have a slice of good in him. Despite my childhood, despite the bullying attitude, despite the neglect and distance and disapproval.

My dad had to love me.

Right?

I went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaning back against it for a moment before I turned on the taps to fill the big tub. We were staying at the nicest hotel in town, which happened to be located just a few blocks from the hospital. It was a convenient location and though I’d argued with Jordan about the unnecessary expense of reserving the Presidential Suite, considering we were hardly in it, I was definitely feeling the tub right in that moment.

There were perks to dating a billionaire.

I filled the bath with warm—not hot—water and stripped down. I was just about to step in when my phone rang.

Thinking it was Heather, I answered without looking at the caller ID.

Big mistake.

“Abigail.”

My father.

“Hi, Dad.” I was proud of myself. My voice was steady.

“What have you done?” he hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, wondering if he’d come clean and admit to screwing with his daughter’s career for ego or revenge or whatever. I wondered if he’d finally tell me why I meant less to him than my brother.

“I should have known,” he said, completely obliterating the last bit of hope I’d held for him, “that you would do something like this.”

I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around myself. “Something like what, Dad?”

“Don’t call me that,” he spat. “As if I’d want someone like you to—”

My fingers clenched on the towel. “Call you what?” I whispered, but it was apparently enough to cut through his tirade.

“I’m not your father, Abigail,” he said, voice icy cold. “I may have given you my name, but I’ve never acted like a father to you. God knows you should have gotten a fucking clue.”

I swallowed. “What are you saying?”

“Little idiot,” he snapped. “I’m telling you that I am not your father.”

A frigid calm swept down my spine. “Who is?”

“A fucking yoga instructor your whore of a mother slept with in Maui. Can you believe it? She tried to come to me, to get me to fuck her. Probably thought she could hide the truth, but I knew. I knew! She—”

I breathed out slowly, trying, one, to come to terms with my Star-Wars-Luke-I-am-your-father-moment and, two, to thank my lucky stars that Jordan wasn’t my brother.

That would have been the flipping twist to end all twists in the sordid tale that was my childhood.

“So why didn’t you divorce her?”

He scoffed. “Robertses do not divorce. I wasn’t about to pay her half of everything just because she couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

“Wow,” I said. “I would have thought that a Roberts wouldn’t get married without a prenup.”

“Prenups are a requirement now. Believe me.”

I sat down, leaned back against the tub. “I don’t know if I can believe anything you say,” I said.

“I think that’s my line.”

I ignored the quip and instead asked, “Why didn’t you send me away? If you hate me so much, why keep me in your life?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, then his voice went hard. “Or I didn’t until you pulled your little stunt today.”

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “Hopefully that will teach you not to take things that aren’t yours.”

“I’ve got some of the best coders in the industry.”

“Some, I think, is the key word,” I shot back. “RoboTech has the absolute best working on this and”—I pulled my phone from my ear to check the time—“I’d open my email in about five minutes. I think you’ll be canceling that release.”

“What did you do?”

“Let’s just say, if you’re pissed now, I expect a monumental explosion when you open that email.” I pressed on when he tried to interrupt, saying, “I don’t understand anything about what happened between my mother and you. Why the elaborate gifts and birthday parties?” I laughed though it wasn’t humor-filled. “I guess I understand why you were so forceful when it came to sending me away to boarding school after she left. But everything beyond that, I don’t get. Why the job offer? Why the trust fund? Why pay for college?”

He was quiet for so long that I thought he’d hung up.

“Money is the easy part,” he said. “Emotions are too complicated.”

“That’s it?” I asked when he didn’t say anything else.

“That’s it.”

Wow. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better. No wonder my mother . . . no. That wasn’t an excuse, no matter how cold and difficult my father—Bernie—was. There wasn’t a justifiable reason for parading through lives and men and marriages, wreaking havoc as she pranced.

There was no reason to leave me behind.

“I guess I won’t be over for Christmas tomorrow,” I said.

“No. I don’t think you should come.”

A slice of pain pulsed through my heart.

“For the record,” he said. “That trap you and Heather pulled off today was pretty good.”

“I almost think that was a compliment,” I said, forcing my feelings down and trying to keep my tone light. I could cry later, after I’d digested everything he said. Now, I wouldn’t let him hear me crumble. “From the discerning Bernie Roberts. Someone knock me over with a feather.” A fake laugh. “Good chat. Can’t wait for the next one.”

Just before I hung up, he spoke. “You were a beautiful baby, Abs.”

Then he was gone.

God, my family was seriously fucked up.

Spending Christmas Day at the hospital just a little more than a week after spending a birthday unconscious in the same hospital wasn’t on any kid’s wish list, but Hunter was a trooper nonetheless.

He was more alert than the days previous and super excited about the package Jordan brought in.

Which contained a prototype of RoboTech’s robot. Complete in shiny, brightly colored packaging that I had designed.

Which looked amazing—but that was just my opinion—so I was extra nervous as he tore open off the Santa print wrapping paper and studied the box.

“A robot!” he said, immediately ignoring all of the painstakingly designed details and tearing straight into the cardboard. “Can I make it move?”

Jordan nodded and helped him retrieve the little robot. “You sure can.”

“And jump?”

Another nod.

“And talk?”

“Yes,” Jordan said. “At least a few words.”

I could have waxed poetic to him about the balance and composition, how I’d spent hours looking for the perfect shadow-free image that didn’t have the models—a pair of six-year-old twins, one boy and one girl—looking like they were insane, crazed, or trying to murder each other.

But I didn’t.

Because his enthusiasm to get inside the packaging was exactly why I’d spent so long creating it.

I didn’t want kids to study the box in confusion—to try to figure out what was inside.

I wanted them to know the contents immediately . . . and then be unable to wait another second before tearing it open and playing with that toy.

Hunter doing just that pleased me beyond belief.

However, there was one detail he’d missed in his enthusiasm that I wanted to make sure he noticed.

That the little girl inside me, who’d felt so lonely and discarded, needed to make sure he understood. Because he was special and good and sweet and even though his father was gone and his mother had left, he still deserved to know that he was loved.

That Jordan loved him.

And that I loved him too, but that portion of the story could wait until another day.

Jordan was installing the batteries as I rounded the bed and started scooping up the paper and cardboard.

“Hey,” I said, holding a piece up to Hunter. “Whose name is that?”

He frowned, little blond brows coming together for a half second before his eyes went wide. “That’s my name!”

Jordan nodded. “Yeah, bud, it is.”

“Cool!”

And then Hunter’s attention went right back to the robot.

Which was exactly how it should have been.

I tossed the trash into the bin and then went to sit by Cecilia.

“This,” I said, reaching into my purse and pulling out a card, “is for you.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “I-I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” I said, closing her fingers around the envelope. “But a little birdie gave me hints about something you might like. And this is open-ended so you can use it when you’re ready.”

Cecilia’s expression was careful. “Uh, okay?”

I smiled. “Okay is good. Just open it. I promise it will make more sense if you do.”

She carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out what was inside. It was a round-trip plane ticket to Finland and behind that a voucher for a very special hotel.

Cecilia gasped. “For—”

I nodded. “For the Northern Lights. I heard that you really want to see them.”

Her eyes filled with tears, her chin bobbed jerkily. “I-I do. I’ve always wanted to go, but I can’t accept . . .”

Carefully, I closed her fingers around the papers. “You can.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Or rather, you will.”

“Abby—”

“Shh,” I said. “Just hug me and accept. And”—I touched her arm—“promise me that when we’re out of the woods here, you’ll go.”

“I—” She sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” I told her. “Hugs.” I extended my arms, gesturing with my fingers at her to come on and do it already. “Then tuck that envelope into your purse and plan a trip.”

“You’re stubborn,” she said, but hugged me all the same.

“Thank you for being there for Hunter,” I whispered. “I don’t know what he would have done without you.”

“I love him,” she said simply.

“And he loves you.”

We both sniffed, holding tight until the sound of Hunter’s unmistakable giggles reached us. Then we pulled back and gazed over at the boys. They were huddled on the bed, Jordan’s arm around Hunter as he showed him how to program the robot.

“He loves him too,” Cecilia said. “And you.”

“I know.” I smiled. “And the feeling is completely mutual.”