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He turned from where he’d been looking out at the view, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. His hair was damp from the shower. Incredible pain lanced Jesse, but she ignored that too.
He said to her now, ‘That storm never did materialise, did it?’
Jesse shook her head. Not that storm. But another storm had. It had whipped her up inside so intensely that she knew she’d never emerge as the same person.
Luc squared his body to face her more fully, and Jesse had the uncanny prescience that she wasn’t the only one who’d just faced some revelations.
‘Your name … Moriarty … it’s Irish, isn’t it?’
Jesse nodded, a little blindsided by this observation. ‘Yes, it is … My mother was Irish—from Kerry.’
‘O’Brien is Irish too …’
Jesse went cold all over. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. And then Luc said it out loud.
‘He’s your father, isn’t he, Jesse? Your mother was his housekeeper.’
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