Legacy of the Highlands Read Online Free PDF Page A

shrugged and turned to look at
her.
    “Diego! What the…” she sputtered. “Where’s
the man who drove me here from the church?”
    “He decided to take the rest of the day off.
Someone had to steer this giant boat out of the cemetery. Why not
me?” When he tossed his sunglasses onto the seat next to him, Alex
saw that his eyes were bloodshot and swollen. The forced smile he
aimed at her never reached them.
    “You’ve been crying,” she said softly.
    “And that surprises you?”
    “A little. Yes. No. I know that you loved
Will. I guess he would have wanted you to be here,” she admitted
with a sigh.
    “And do you? If not, I’ll leave.”
    He had her off balance and she wasn’t sure
how to behave toward him. “I really don’t care what you do and I
don’t have the strength to argue, so you may as well hang around,
at least for the Camerons’ little do. Then you can go,” she said
and shifted her gaze away from him, but not before she saw him
flinch at her curt dismissal. Diego didn’t say anything and turned
his attention back to the procession of limousines headed for
Beacon Hill.
    Diego Alessandro de León Navarro was Will’s oldest
friend, the son of a self-made, immensely wealthy Argentine and a
sensuous Italian beauty. Both men, as only children of privileged
families, became as close as brothers when they’d met at the kind
of prep school that exists for the sons of the very rich.
    Like many moneyed South Americans, the
Navarros used real estate as a safe haven for their assets and
maintained homes in Buenos Aires, New York City, Miami and
Bariloche, high in Argentina’s Andes.
    The Cameron family’s fortune also reached
into the stratosphere, but their New England reserve dictated a
lifestyle of less flamboyant, quiet wealth than the Navarros. The
brick townhouse on Boston’s Beacon Hill where Will had grown up was
among the city’s most exclusive properties, but it whispered wealth
instead of shouting it.
    Will had been amused when Diego quickly
exchanged the threadbare jeans he’d preferred in college for
custom-made shirts and bespoke suits that skimmed his body. The
last time Alex had seen him, a platinum watch that tracked three
time zones had circled his wrist. His favorite transportation
alternated between the family’s Gulfstream and his Maserati Spyder,
depending on his destination and how quickly he wanted to reach it.
Although most of his life had been spent in the U.S., his parents
had gifted Diego with an aesthetic in clothing, manners and morals
that were sophisticated and European. With the ease of someone who
never had to be concerned about money, he’d told his friends that
it was no big deal to spend a few hundred every couple of weeks to
have his thick, black hair trimmed. Not an extravagance, he’d
explained. He simply didn’t like the look of a fresh haircut. None
of this was affectation or a need to impress; it was simply Diego.
He was kind and generous and as Will’s best friend, he’d been part
of their extended family until the friendship had abruptly ended a
year ago. Alex still suspected that Will’s explanation for the
sudden rift was pure fiction. She had no idea why he’d never wanted
to tell her the truth.
    Alex was out of the limo as soon as Diego steered it
to the curb outside the Camerons’ tall, red brick house. She ran up
the steps as if there were no place she’d rather be. In reality,
she dreaded the next few hours, but she wanted to be with Diego
even less.
    She noticed the music the minute she entered
the house. Bloody hell, they’ve got jazz on the sound system. Their
son’s dead and they’re throwing a freakin’ party. She told herself
she’d have to tolerate an hour of chitchat with people she barely
knew, offers of food and drink and comments like, “How perfectly
awful. Call me dear…we’ll do lunch.” But the urge to flee became
too hard to fight and she began to search for Diego, although she
wasn’t sure what she wanted from