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“You do?”

“Yes. You know I do.” He kisses me again, deeper this time. “I love you, Sylvie Lancaster.”

“I love you too, Spencer Donato.”

“Shall we go to your father’s apartment?”

A sigh leaves me. “I suppose we must make an appearance.”

He drops his hands from my face, winding his arm around mine and steering me toward the back of the limo. “It’s going to be okay, Syl. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

Those five words stick with me through the car ride. While we’re at my father’s apartment, chatting with family, meeting some of my mother’s old friends. They were my favorite people to talk to. They knew Sylvia before she changed for the worse. When her negative trait was going after what she wanted, damn the consequences. They tell me story after story, and I laugh until my stomach hurts, grateful for the distraction.

The group text comes to all of us near the end of the afternoon, when the gathering is just winding down. Whit sent it to me, Spencer, Father and Carolina.

Whit:Seven pounds, four ounces. Twenty inches long. Lungs as loud as her mama’s.

The text is accompanied by a photo of a red-faced, squalling little baby.

All of us share a smile. My father is beaming with pride. Carolina looks pleased. Spencer slips his arm around my shoulders.

Me:What is her name????

Carolina:Yes! We are dying to know!

Whit takes minutes to respond. To the point that I’m stomping my black Louboutins against my father’s marble kitchen floor, frustration rippling through me.

When the text finally comes through, I can’t open it fast enough.

Whit:Her name is Iris.

“You have a great-grandmother named Iris,” Father says, his eyes suspiciously bright after he reads the text.

“I love it,” I say with a sigh.

My heart is full.

THIRTY-SEVEN

SPENCER

We’re headed backto my—our—apartment after the gathering, Sylvie’s head heavy as it rests on my shoulder. She’s so tired. The last few days have been a lot, and while I know she’s trying to hide the relief she feels about her mother’s death to everyone else, she knows she can always be real with me.

Just like I need to be real with her.

“Are you awake?” My voice is soft in the confines of the car, the wall up between us and the driver.

We have complete privacy. I already scoped the vehicle out earlier for any possible bugs. I’ve been at this too long to let a rookie mistake like that slip past me.

She slowly lifts her head, her gaze searching mine. “Yes. Everything okay?”

“Not really.” A ragged sigh leaves me. “I need to tell you something.”

“Are you finally going to confess your truths? The ones you keep from me?” Her voice is hopeful. No one else would want to know this kind of shit.

Only Sylvie.

I hang my head, letting my shame wash over me. After everything that’s happened with her mother, I haven’t been able to tell her about my father, and what I do for him. There are already so many secrets that tie us together.


Tags: Monica Murphy Romance