Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Breakfast goes by like a fucking dream. But just as Emily is about to lick the last bit of yogurt off her spoon, my watch buzzes.
Wednesday 9:45a.m. Bellinger House.
Well, fuck. I didn’t see that one coming, which says a lot about the last twenty-four hours. This is yet another thing I do every week, no matter what. For years. I’ve never missed it.
“Everything okay?” Emily asks, glancing at my watch and then at me, a little pink yogurt on her bottom lip.
Seeing the sweetness and warmth in her eyes, the concern and kindness, it fucking melts me. And my answer about what to do about this next appointment is crystal fucking clear.
“Yeah. Perfect. Now let’s go get you dressed, beautiful. Because I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
* * *
When we pass the sign at the driveway that says Bellinger House Assisted Living, my princess turns to me. She tilts her head, and a lock of her fire-red hair slips over her shoulder. “What are you up to?”
Taking a big fucking step, is what. But I don’t say that. Not yet. Because she’ll know it soon enough. “Just wait.”
She scoots her hands under her sexy thighs. “I like surprises. I think.”
But I can tell, somehow, that she’s a bit nervous. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s nothing bad. I promise.”
We park near the front door in one of the guest spots. I go around to her side and open the door of my SUV for her, helping her out. And then we walk inside, hand-in-hand.
She’s wearing the lavender dress I picked out for her. Ruffled a bit down the cleavage, brushing at her knees, a warm cream cashmere cape over her shoulders. Sweet. Sexy. Mine.
The usual group of guys is gathered in the back. In the middle of them, the person I’m here to see. He turns and gives me his big, familiar smile. And then he sees Emily. He looks so fucking proud that he’s about to burst. Because this? This has never happened. I’ve never brought anyone to meet him. because nobody mattered.
Until her.
“Baby,” I start, looking at my dad’s shocked expression. “Emily, this is my dad, Michael.” It still feels so fucking weird to call him by that name; I’m the one that bought and paid for our identities, I’m the one that decided he’d be called Michael, but still—still—it doesn’t feel right.
But right now, that doesn’t matter at all. Because she’s here, and I’m here, and we’re together. “Dad, this is Emily. She used to work for me. But now she doesn’t.”
My dad laughs a little. Sizing me up. Taking us in together.
And then he opens his big arms and welcomes Emily in for a hug.
* * *
The day is fucking wonderful. She fits right in, and he takes to her like she’s the daughter he never had. With every passing minute, it becomes more and more clear to me not just that this thing with her could work, but that it is working. Like it’s fucking meant to be.
We say our goodbyes after dinner, and this time my dad gives her an even bigger bear hug than he gave her at hello.
He has a big hug for me, too, and a meaty pound on my back with a gruff and proud, “Well done, son. Does me good to see you happy. Relaxed.”
I hang on to him a beat longer than usual. Because I couldn’t agree more.
My dad heads for the elevator and Emily and I head for the parking lot. But just as we’re walking through the big foyer, I hear a click-click of heels, and a woman’s voice calling out, “Primrose?”
Emily stops dead in her tracks. I look to her, but she won’t look up at me. She’s looking straight ahead.
Deer in fucking headlights.
The woman picks up her pace, and the clack-clack of her shoes fills the foyer. Sharp and harsh. She’s also got a wrist full of cheap bracelets that jingle together like bells. Annoying as fuck. She smells like cheap perfume and cigarettes. “Primrose? Is that you?”
But Emily doesn’t turn. She doesn’t speak. She just squeezes my hand and marches out into the parking lot, like nothing happened at all.
CHAPTER 10
Primrose
I don’t speak.
I can’t speak.
What can I possibly say? All I do is keep glancing over at Dane like I’m about to say something, then turning back, silent. My stomach feels like I just swallowed a gallon of vinegar, my arms and legs numb.
It’s pouring rain, coming down in unceasing pelting sheets just like the day I walked out the back door at Judith's.
Judith.
For ten whole minutes after we leave Bellinger House, my eyes keep sliding to the rear-view, to make sure she isn’t on our trail. But she isn’t.
Not that it makes the knotting in my stomach any easier.
For once, I’m grateful for lake effect, because Dane’s attention is completely focused on the road ahead. An eighteen-wheeler pulls in in front of us, sending a messy spray of water onto the windshield.