“Neither of you are sick, are you?” Sheridan was immediately in a tizzy.
Brock squeezed my hand under the table while I swallowed my heart back down. Edward knew I was pregnant. I don’t know how, but he knew. Did he know who the father was? I patted Sheridan’s knee to let her know all was well before the lioness in me came out to protect my cub. I stared hard at my opponent from across the table. “We’re both well, thank you for your concern. I’m sure you’re aware of all that my husband has been through. I would be a callous wife to think of such trivial things when the man I love recently escaped death and has been in need of recovering at home.” Take that, you sleazeball.
Edward’s jaw dropped briefly before he quickly recovered with a slimy smile. “Of course. We are proud of our American hero. I only meant you deserve a getaway. After all, every couple as in love as you should have a honeymoon.”
“Which is why, when Dani’s holiday campaign is over at the end of the year,” Brock glowered at Edward, “I plan on taking my bride to the Turks and Caicos Islands for an extended period of time.”
“Oh, that sounds so wonderful,” Sheridan cheered.
My head whipped Brock’s way. My heart beating wildly. Visiting those islands was a bucket list item for me. Brock knew that. Which was why I loved and hated him for making my wish come true when it would only be a nightmarish experience. Days on end sharing a room with Brock while sleeping in separate beds. His rejection of me last night kept flashing in my brain, bludgeoning my heart to death. I didn’t know if I could take that on repeat for years to come. Though what choice did I have? Even if Brock eventually got over his aversion to me, I wouldn’t make love to him. I was never again giving myself to a man who didn’t love me.
Keep up the act, I admonished myself, remembering that nothing was more horrific than the thought of having my baby taken from me and my charity foundation destroyed.
Brock met my stare. “If that’s all right with you.” He rested his warm hand on my cheek.
“I can’t think of anything I would love more.” Other than running away and hiding from the devil, whose intense glare I could feel from across the table. I finally realized two things: one, who the real puppet master was, and two, that I was a puppet.Chapter Fourteen“Honey, you’re home. It’s so good to see your beautiful face.” Grandma kissed my cheek.
I stopped playing with the piece of solder in front of me. I was taking my lunch break to hang out at the stained glass shop with Ariana, Kinsley, and Grandma. Kinsley hadn’t arrived yet with lunch, so I’d been sitting at Ariana’s workbench admiring her skill. She was currently working on a large mosaic for a private client. It was stunning in hues of gold and silver. I loved to watch her work on mosaics because the broken pieces of stained glass were all so different and some didn’t seem like they belonged, yet once it was all put together, you realized the work of art couldn’t have done without each piece. Every piece had its place in creating a beautiful whole. It was such a metaphor for Ariana’s, Kinsley’s, and my life. We had all just wanted to find our place while growing up.
I smiled at Grandma, a mischievous old woman with unusual amber eyes that seemed to know all. This woman had given us our place. Given us each other. I remembered when she and Grandpa had brought Kinsley and me home. I was so skeptical. I figured they were just another couple wanting to look like do-gooders to the outside world when really they would use us and abuse us. I was so rotten that first year. I talked back at every turn or gave them the silent treatment. I couldn’t afford to trust them. I had felt so unworthy of being loved after all I had done. I hated them because they knew some of my secrets, having had to go to court dates with me. Yet they never judged me. Only loved me. Eventually, they helped me see that I was a child and had been preyed upon. They helped me finish high school even though I was a year behind. They even adopted me, when they didn’t have to, as I was already eighteen by the time the system would allow them to. Best of all, they gave me the opportunity to forgive myself.
Oh, how I wished Grandma could do that now. But I feared she wouldn’t understand how I could hurt my sister by falling into Brant’s arms for one stupid night when my world had ended. Sweet Kinsley, who used to crawl into bed with me those first several weeks in our new foster home. We would hold on to each for dear life, most of the time not saying a word, just silently crying for all that we had lost. Not only that, but I was making a mockery out of marriage, an institution my grandparents held sacred. Could they understand I had no choice? That once again I’d become prey to a predator even more dangerous than the ones of my youth. Could Grandma help me forgive myself for a moment of weakness?