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Then he lowers his head. When he lifts it again, his eyes are wet. The moment lasts only a second before he wipes at his face and straightens, but I see it. So does everyone close enough to be watching. That is what stays with me. Even here, even now, grief is happening beneath observation.

When the service ends, I start forward almost instinctively, but there is no opening. Security closes around the family as people begin approaching with condolences, and Ross disappears behind a wall of black suits, relatives and officials before I get within twenty feet of him. I stop where I am. There is nothing to do except let him go.

Margaret, Amelia and I make our way back toward the car with the rest of the departing guests, and I catch one last glimpse of the Kensington family through the cathedral doors before they disappear from view.

Outside, the press is still gathered behind the barricades, cameras lifting whenever another black car pulls away. The street feels strangely loud after the stillness inside, full of engines, voices and the constant movement of people trying to leave at once.

None of us says much until the car is moving. Amelia looks out the window for several blocks before she finally speaks.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

Margaret nods. “Neither can I.”

I keep my hands folded in my lap and watch the cathedral disappear behind us. A few minutes pass before Margaret glances toward Amelia.

“There’ll be an announcement soon.”

Amelia turns toward her.

“About the company?”

“And the family structure,” Margaret says.

“Charles’s death changes more than the title on an office door.”

I look at her. “What do you mean?”

Margaret hesitates before answering.

“The succession plan.”

I know what she means, but hearing it spoken aloud feels different after what I’ve just witnessed.

“Ross?” I ask.

“Possibly,” Margaret says.

“Possibly Sebastian. There are structures in place, obviously, but I don’t know how much has ever been made public.”

Amelia leans back against the seat.

“Everyone’s going to be watching now.”

The words stay with me as I look out the window as the car moves through London. A week ago, Ross was sitting beside me on my sofa. Now that his father is dead, the family has been pulled into public view, and somewhere behind closed doors, decisions are being made that could change the shape of his entire life.

Chapter Sixteen

Ross

Aweek after we bury my father, I sit at the head of a conference table I’ve occupied dozens of times before and understand, for the first time, that every chair in the room now means something different.

Sebastian sits to my right. My mother is beside him, dressed in black, her face composed but visibly exhausted. Across from us are Arthur Langford, the family’s outside trust and estates counsel, Katherine Wolfe, two senior trustees, Voss, and three members of the Holdings board who have known my father longer than I’ve been alive.

No one wastes time pretending this is an ordinary meeting. Arthur opens the leather folder in front of him and begins with the personal provisions of my father’s will. He reads through the assets transferred directly to my mother, the residences reserved for her use, several personal accounts, charitable directives, and specific bequests to Sebastian and me. Watches, artwork, private collections, pieces of property that meant something to him because they belonged to his father or grandfather before him.

My mother says very little.

When Arthur mentions my father’s study at the estate and the contents he specifically left to her discretion, she lowers her eyes and grips the edge of the table. Sebastian notices too. Neither of us says anything as Arthur continues.