I learned something new instead.
Time came and went. Not just that morning, but in general for me. I had the window to tell me when day ended, I also wasn’t without consistent meals or company. The family was treating me like a guest who just happened to be locked away.
What was most terrible was how I kept justifying that this was okay.
But fuck, that repeating image of Kain being strangled, of his father’s cryptic words, it had left me with so much doubt. I’d been very close with my parents. It hadn’t always been easy, sure—is it ever?—but I relished our little unit.
My dad was gone often; he worked as an independent landscaper, so his jobs were all over. In spite of that, for most of my life, money was there, we were comfortably middle class. The only time money came up was when he pulled me from riding, explaining that it was just beyond what we could afford.
I’d been distraught . . .
But I’d forgiven him.
After he’d passed, my mother began to fall ill. They were like two lovebirds; she was lost without him, and I was so busy with my new job I couldn’t return to keep her company. All the money he’d squirreled away—and there was a good chunk—ended up being spent on my mother’s health. I often wondered if quitting sooner and moving back here would have prevented some of her fading strength.
I loved them both so much. My father had taught me that family takes care of family.
How could I sit by and watch Kain throw his family away just for me? How could I watch him shed blood with his family for me? I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
So time passed. I’d call my mother here and there, I’d claim work was just filling my time, and I’d often send Kain to check in to make sure she was all right. The nights he wasn’t with her, he was here—sleeping in the bed I was forced to see every single day. We’d tangle our bodies together, we’d watch the stars and the sun as they crossed the sky.
It all blurred together, so much of it the same.
Until one night it changed.
In a small way, but it changed.
Lying on the pillows, I realized how Kain was looking at me. It was the same look I’d glimpsed on our first night together, that real brand of tenderness no hookup should ever create.
And as I faded away, I had the funniest thought.
That’s what a man in love looks like.
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN -
SAMMY
A torrent of envelopes rained down onto the table, some of them sticking to the side of the pancakes I’d been about to eat.
“Look out below,” Kain said, standing over me with a smile.
Lifting an envelope, I stared at him dubiously. “Usually you’re supposed to say that before you drop things on someone. What is all this?”
“It’s the mail from your shop.”
Perking up, I stacked everything neatly. I’d been at the estate for over two weeks now. Most of it had been spent inside of this beautiful excuse for a prison. It had its upsides—my own bath, a nice fresh smell from the flowers, books to read, and all the stars at night I could count.
Oh . . . and I was lucky enough that no one stopped Kain from seeing me.
Getting kissed under the stars—even through a window—was pretty amazing.
Regardless, being stuck as I was, I couldn’t see my mother or run my business. Kain had returned my purse and phone to me, which did help some; I could call her freely, but it was clear she doubted my reasons for not stopping by.
Blaming work was a shaky lie, it wasn’t keeping me busy at all. It was a mixed blessing that Fran’s wedding had ended so abruptly. No one was blogging or gabbing about the dress she’d worn—the one I’d made. That meant I didn’t have the explosion of business I really needed . . . and it also meant I didn’t have to field calls about dresses I couldn’t make because I wasn’t able to get to work.
Kain’s father wasn’t going to let me go anywhere.
In a last-ditch effort to not lose everything, I’d given Kain my bridal shop key, asking him to collect my mail.
And . . . he’d done it.
“There’s a lot of stuff,” he said.
Frowning, I started digging through the pile. Most of the stack consisted of bills. Kain saw too many for me to bother hiding them. “What?” I finally asked. “Is it that shocking?”
Dropping into a chair beside me, he pulled one of the envelopes closer. “When Fran and I went to your shop that first time, it looked like you were doing really well.”
“Appearances.” I shuffled another bill aside. “They say if you act rich, you’ll become rich.” It almost worked, too. Maybe the police will still turn those checks over to me someday.
“If it helps, after seeing what you did in such a short time for us, I think you’re one hell of a wedding planner.”
That had me smiling helplessly. I almost shoved a small, white envelope in with the rest, but at the last second, I saw the name on it. This is . . . Peeling it open, I pulled the photos into the light. They weren’t even all the way out before I was shaking.
Hazel looked beautiful in her wedding dress. It fit her perfectly—of course it did, I’d made it—but it was her smile that really made her glow. She was standing in front of a man dressed as Elvis, her husband grinning in a mismatched blue-and-tan suit.
It was easily the trashiest wedding photo I’d ever seen.
I loved it.
“Whoa, hey, you okay?” Kain asked me.
I couldn’t answer, I was so overwhelmed. She looked so happy.
There was a knock at the door. I heard someone outside talking—was Costello on guard duty or Hawthorne? When the chatting continued, I knew it had to be Fran and Hawthorne. She never talked to Costello beyond a few blunt sentences.
Heels clicked through the door, Francesca swaying into my prison. Mic followed her closely. She said, “I was going to ask if you wanted breakfast, but it looks like someone else brought it to you.” She leaned over my shoulder. “Wow. That’s got to be the worst wedding I’ve ever seen!”
Heat burned up to my ears.
“Are they seriously in Vegas! Ha-ha, wow, who does that? Gawd, that’s . . . Sammy? Are you crying?”
Wiping tears from my eyes, I folded the envelope. “No, of course not.”
Kain touched my knee under the table. It was comforting, I sent him a quick smile.
Next to me, Frannie folded her arms. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad. I’m happy.” Sliding my chair back, I took a deep breath. “It just feels good to know Hazel got the wedding she’d always hoped for.” How could I explain how I was feeling? I’d spent hours on that dress, and I’d given it all up just to keep Hazel from missing out on her big dream.
Mic made a tiny whimper. Lifting my head, I realized Francesca was looking at her feet. Her hair had fallen over her forehead, hiding most of her expression. It dawned on me that her silence wasn’t because she was being snotty.