Six years after I escaped the Vandermeer family, all seven of them came to my wedding.

I saw Conrad first.

He sat in the last pew of the small stone church, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the building's annual maintenance. One gloved hand rested on the silver head of his cane.

Conrad didn't need the cane. He carried it when he wanted people to notice that his hands were occupied.

My lungs locked.

"Nolan?"

Finn stood beside me near the altar, holding two plain silver rings. His brows pulled together. "You all right?"

No.

My name wasn't Nolan. The passport in my breast pocket said it was. My landlord used it. My clients wrote it on invoices. For six years, I had turned my head whenever someone called it across a crowded room.

Still, Conrad had looked directly at me.

He lifted two fingers from the cane. A greeting. Or a warning.

"I need some air," I said.

"The ceremony starts in four minutes."

"I know."

Finn followed my stare. The back pew was empty.

"Elliot."

Finn had never called me that before.

I snapped my head toward him. His face had gone pale. A man now stood behind him.

Vaughn Mercer wore a dark overcoat over his suit. Six years had added silver near his temples, yet his expression hadn't changed. Calm. Severe. The face of a federal prosecutor deciding how many years of your life to request from a judge.

His gaze dropped to the passport outlined beneath my jacket.

"That document won't survive inspection," he said.

Finn looked between us. "What the hell is going on?"

"Ask your fiance. Or ask Nolan Gray. The answer may differ depending on which name he uses."

My hand closed around Finn's wrist. "Side door. Now."

The musicians started playing. A cheerful violin melody followed us behind the altar. My shoes struck the old floorboards too hard.

I pushed open the sacristy door.

Silas Arden stood on the other side. He had removed his coat and rolled his sleeves to the elbows. His medical bag sat on the table beside him.

Of course he had brought it. Silas always arrived prepared for the damage the rest of the family caused.

His eyes moved over my face, throat and hands. "You've lost weight."

"You've lost your mind."

"Your pupils are dilated."

"I'm getting married."

"No. You're attempting immigration fraud while severely sleep-deprived."

Finn stepped in front of me. "You need to leave."

Silas looked at him as if he had spoken from beneath a table. "I know his blood type, his allergies and how many stitches he needed the first time he climbed out of his bedroom window. What do you know?"

"That he chose me."

The words stayed in the room.

I pulled the silver ring from Finn's hand and pressed it into his palm. "Take the car. Don't go to the apartment."

"You're coming with me."

"I'll meet you outside."

"You're lying."

"Yes."

Finn caught the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mine. "If you disappear again, I'm coming after you too."

A laugh escaped me. Thin and cracked. "Get in line."

I ran.

Rain polished the cobbles black. I cut between a florist and a closed bookshop. The harbor was three blocks away. If I reached the ferry terminal, I could cross to Cobh and take a train north.

A childish plan. Still better than stopping.

A black Range Rover turned into the street ahead. I ducked through an iron gate into a hotel courtyard. Stacked beer kegs filled one wall. A delivery van blocked the opposite exit.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

"You still run to the left."

Callum Vale leaned beneath the arch, rain in his dark blond hair. He wore a cream suit, perfectly dressed for someone else's wedding.

"You dyed your hair," he said.

I touched the brown strands at my forehead.

His smile widened. "There he is."

"Move."

"I leaked your wedding announcement to a society reporter in Boston. Half of Manhattan thinks the ceremony is conceptual art."

"You had no right."

"Six years, sweetheart. We ran out of respect for your rights around year three."

I lunged for the arch. Callum stepped aside too easily.

Rhys Cade filled the passage behind him. He wore black from collar to boots. Rain darkened his jacket. He didn't reach for me. Rhys never needed to.

"Let me pass."

"No."

"You said you wouldn't force me back."

Callum's smile disappeared.

Rhys stared at me. "So you did see me in Brussels."

Three years earlier, two men had cornered me outside Gare du Midi. They vanished that night. One woke in a hospital with a broken wrist. I had glimpsed a familiar silhouette across the street and blamed exhaustion.

"You should've kept walking," I said.

"I did."

"Do it again."

A chirp came from the van. The doors unlocked.

Everett Shaw pushed one open, headphones around his neck and a laptop on his knees. Live camera feeds covered the screen. One showed the church. One showed the harbor. The third showed me.

"Facial recognition still works with brown hair," he said. "Disappointing."

"How long have you known where I was?"

Everett shut the laptop. "Don't ask questions you aren't ready to hear answered."

I moved toward him. Rhys caught my upper arm.

I twisted, drove my elbow backward and kicked at his knee. Rhys released me at once. I stumbled into the van.

"I'm sorry," he said.

The apology frightened me more than his grip.

Conrad entered the courtyard. Vaughn carried my discarded jacket. Silas followed with his medical bag.

Six men. Six exits taken without a single locked door.

"You're coming home," Conrad said.

"I don't have one. You made that clear when you found the real heir."

A new set of footsteps crossed the stones.

The other men separated.

Leander Vandermeer walked through them.

He had become taller and broader than the silent nineteen-year-old I had seen through a car window. Rain clung to black hair. His white shirt was open at the throat. His eyes were green.

They had been the last thing I saw before leaving Blacktide Estate.

"Hello, Elliot."

My mouth dried. "Leander."

He looked at my formal clothes and empty left hand. "You were going to marry him."

"Yes."

"Are you in love with him?"

I lifted my chin. "Yes."

Leander reached into his coat and opened his palm.

A black onyx signet ring lay there. A narrow scratch marked the silver crest where I had thrown it onto my desk six years ago.

"No."

He caught my right hand. His palm was warm despite the rain.

"Let go."

"You left this behind."

"I left everything behind."

"I noticed."

He slid the ring over my finger. It still fit.

"I'm not a Vandermeer."

His thumb moved across the ring, then over the pulse in my wrist. "You decided that without asking me."

"It was your name."

"No. It was yours."

He stepped closer. The back of my hand pressed to his chest. Through wet cotton, I felt the slow beat of his heart.

"Six years," he said.

"You should've taken the hint."

His free hand reached past me and shut the van door. The last route vanished with a metallic click.

Leander bent until his mouth was near my ear.

"You still don't understand."

His breath moved against my skin.

"We knew where you were."

My fingers went numb inside his grip.

He drew back just enough to see my face.

"We always knew."