The ten-year-old boy had Grant’s square jawline, his sharp blue eyes, and the same precise widow’s peak at the center of his forehead.

Ellis stood straight beside his sisters, holding his thumb against his jacket seam as he looked Grant in the eye.

Sloane came down the portico stairs behind Grant, her ivory train trailing quietly over the granite steps.

“Welcome to the Bellevue Hotel,” Sloane said, reaching out to touch Caroline’s hand with gentle formality.

“I’m Sloane Mercer.”

“Caroline Holloway,” Caroline said in her measured, quiet voice.

“Thank you for the invitation, Sloane.”