My five-year-old son slipped his hand out of mine and ran across the polished teak deck.
“Mommy! Dolphins!”
His little voice carried over the music and conversation.
Then Alexander Vale turned around.
The champagne glass fell from his hand.
It shattered near his shoes.
He wasn’t looking at me.
He was staring at Liam.
Same dark hair.
Same gray-blue eyes.
And the same tiny scar cutting through the left eyebrow.
A mark that ran in the Vale family.
A mark Alexander himself had inherited from his father.
For a moment,
