“You’re damn right. I’m not sneaking in. Claire’s my wife, and I’m exercising my rights as a free man.”

Brent’s brows peaked in question.

“She is currently my wife.” He tapped the breast pocket of his jacket. “This will come in the future, but for now, she’s my wife.” Tony didn’t care for the look Brent was sending his way, but it wouldn’t change his plans. Claire deserved to be free. She’d been through too much in her life, and all of it could be traced back to him.

“The house is perfect,” Brent said. “Courtney’s spent more time over there recently than she has at home. Between the decorators and her touch, I think you’ll both love it.”

“Is Eric meeting us at the airport?”

Brent grinned. “Yes, just like old times, but the rest of the staff that Courtney hired for the estate are new. She interviewed every one of them.”

“Roach?”

“He’ll be at the estate. I thought you’d like to see him in person.”

Tony nodded and sipped more of the amber liquid. It’d been over two years since he’d had a drop of alcohol: the aroma alone was enough to tingle his skin. The burning sensation as he swallowed rekindled the glorious feeling of weightlessness. Damn, he was glad to be back.

Eric was exactly as he’d always been. The only difference was his unusually large smile as Tony and Brent descended the plane’s steps. Well, that and the vigorous handshake. Truly, Tony didn’t mind. He’d retained Eric and Roach for the same reason. They weren’t just part of his past: he wanted them in his future and in Claire’s. They’d proven their loyalty over and over. Tony had proven his, too. No matter what the DA or US Attorney offered, Tony refused to name either of them as having knowledge of his activities. Of course, the prosecution had their suspicions, but without confirmation, that was all they had.

Tony didn’t care if he were riding in a sedan or a limousine—it just felt great to be moving, going from place to place. When Eric drove the limousine through the iron gates of his estate, a feeling of anticipation, as well as one of dread, rushed over Tony. It had been a long time since he’d been on his property. After the repairs had been made on the house, Tony realized how much he hated it. That was why he’d spent so many nights sleeping on the couch in his office. Now, he wanted to like the new house. He wanted to give Claire a fresh start with new, happy memories, but until he saw the house with his own two eyes, he didn’t know if that was possible.

The colorful fall trees parted and the dread disappeared. The house was so different, so new. His gaze transfixed on the grand white-brick home. That was what he saw: a home. Not a house. Not a monument. Tony didn’t wait for Eric: he opened his door and stood before the home. Though in the last two and a half years, he’d only seen his daughter in pictures, he imagined her running the length of the porch and dancing around the large columns. He saw an enclosed porch and pictured Claire sitting there, reading and enjoying the fresh breeze. It was perfect.

Tony’s main request during the construction was to make it open and airy. Never again would anyone keep Claire from the sun or the moon. Never again would she feel trapped. Jim had been right. Her future was her choice. She could sell this place if she wanted, but Tony had done everything in his power to make her not want to sell.

“Mr. Rawlings, would you like to enter your new home?” Eric asked, as he opened the front door. Tony had expected for it to be empty, not of furniture, but of people. Instead, he was greeted by his new staff. One by one, they introduced themselves. Courtney had thought of everything, from the estate manager, to a cook, and the cleaning staff. Even the head groundskeeper was present. When he introduced himself, Tony almost asked him about some flowers he’d seen in the front of the house, next to the mums. He’d never seen them before and worried that they wouldn’t be hardy enough for the cooler nights. Then he stopped himself. Anthony Rawlings, Number 01657-3452, was a gardener, not Anthony Rawlings, CEO of Rawlings Industries. He had other, more pressing matters.

It was when they were in the kitchen that Tony heard Courtney’s voice. Within seconds she was in the kitchen with her arms flung around Tony’s neck. The sadness that had been threatening his tour disappeared in an instant. Her elation was contagious. From that moment on, she was his tour guide. It wasn’t until she walked them into the master suite’s dressing room that the sadness returned.

“Where are all of your things?” she asked, obviously perplexed. “They were here the other day. I had the closet stocked for both you and Claire.”

Tony avoided Brent’s darkening expression.

“I had them moved,” Tony answered.

“To where? Another room? Why would you do that?” she questioned.

Tony swallowed. “No, not to another room.”

“Shit, I told you I wouldn’t rent you an apartment,” Brent said.

Courtney’s eyes clouded in confusion. “I don’t understand. I’ve done everything I thought you’d like. Don’t you like the house?”

“I love the house. It’ll be the most perfect place for Claire to raise Nichol. It’s everything I asked for and more.”

Her jaw clenched as sparks of understanding came to her eyes. “For Claire to raise Nichol. What are you saying?”

He reached for Courtney’s shoulders. “Please, don’t worry about it. It’ll work out.”