“Is that a gift?” “Something like that.” “I assume you’ve heard,” he said, pulling Sloane against his side, “that we’re expecting a boy.

The family name finally gets an heir.” I felt that one land — not for myself, but for the daughter of his asleep at my sister’s house, a child erased by her own father’s family before they even knew she breathed.

But I said nothing.

I waited.

The moment I was waiting for came during his toast.

Up on the main terrace with the microphone, he thanked his guests, and spoke of new beginnings and honesty and family, and then he turned, with a smug little smile, toward me.

“I also want to thank certain people from the past,” he said, “for having the maturity to be here today.