Chapter Twelve The Life They Never Gave Her
Chapter Twelve
The Life They Never Gave Her
Naomi had expected freedom to feel dramatic.
She imagined waking with some unmistakable sensation that everything had changed.
Instead, three mornings after Taylor International nearly became an international blackmail machine, she woke because Lucas was snoring.
Not loudly.
That would have been easier to forgive.
It was a soft, irritating little sound against the pillow beside her.
Naomi opened one eye.
There he was.
Billionaire architect.
Corporate reformer.
Man who had survived armed criminals, underground chambers, a violent family history, and enough secrets to fill several government inquiries.
Snoring.
Naomi stared at him.
Lucas stopped.
She narrowed her eyes.
Seconds later, he started again.
Naomi pushed his shoulder.
“Lucas.”
Nothing.
She pushed harder.
“Lucas.”
His eyes opened instantly.
“What?”
“You snore.”
He blinked.
“No, I don't.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I breathe deeply.”
“You sound like an exhausted lawn mower.”
Lucas stared at her.
“That's unnecessarily cruel before coffee.”
Naomi rolled onto her back.
Morning light streamed through the apartment windows.
No alarms.
No urgent messages.
No helicopters.
No monks.
No bells.
She smiled.
Lucas watched her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That smile is not nothing.”
Naomi glanced toward him.
“I was just thinking this might be the first boring morning we've had in months.”
Lucas moved closer.
“I can improve it.”
She laughed as he kissed the curve of her shoulder.
“That wasn't what I meant.”
“I disagree.”
His arm slid around her waist, drawing her against him.
Naomi's body fit naturally into his.
She had stopped being surprised by how safe ordinary affection could feel.
Lucas kissed her cheek.
Then her jaw.
Then just below her ear.
Naomi inhaled sharply.
“That's cheating.”
“Against what rule?”
“The one where we're supposed to get out of bed.”
“I don't remember agreeing to that.”
His mouth found hers.
The kiss was slow.
Warm.
Nothing urgent hiding behind it.
No fear that someone might interrupt with another impossible revelation.
Naomi curled her fingers into his hair and let herself enjoy him touching and tasting different parts of her body.
When they finally separated, Lucas smiled.
“Still boring?”
“Marginally improved.”
“Marginally?”
“You can try again later.”
“I intend to.”
She pushed him away playfully and sat up.
Her engagement ring caught the sunlight.
For once, she looked at it without thinking about what had happened immediately before or after Lucas placed it on her finger.
A proposal.
A promise.
Not a clue.
Not evidence.
Not a key to anything.
Just theirs.
Her phone rang.
Naomi looked at the screen.
Mama.
Lucas reached for his own phone.
“Which one?”
Naomi gave him a look.
He grinned.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
She answered.
“Good morning.”
Evelyn’s voice came through immediately.
“Are you dressed?”
Naomi looked down at Lucas’s T-shirt hanging loosely over her curves.
“Yes.”
Lucas coughed into the pillow.
Naomi kicked him beneath the blanket.
Evelyn continued.
“Good, because I'm downstairs.”
Naomi sat upright.
“What?”
“With Amara.”
Naomi froze.
Lucas did too.
“And Adrian.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because apparently nobody in this family knows how to make an appointment.”
Lucas mouthed, Your people.
Naomi pointed at him.
Evelyn heard movement.
“Is Lucas there?”
“No.”
Lucas covered his mouth.
Evelyn was silent.
Then—
“Baby, I've been married.”
Naomi stared at the phone.
Lucas buried his face in the pillow to keep from laughing.
“Mama.”
“Get dressed properly.”
The line disconnected.
Naomi looked at Lucas.
He was shaking.
“If you laugh, the wedding is off.”
That made him laugh harder.
Twenty minutes later, Naomi entered the living room fully dressed in fitted trousers and a cream blouse that skimmed her full figured shape beautifully.
Evelyn sat on the sofa.
Amara stood near the windows.
Adrian occupied an armchair as though he had been invited under protest.
Three different pieces of Naomi's life.
One room.
No one seemed sure what to do with their hands.
Lucas entered carrying coffee.
“Diplomacy supplies.”
Evelyn accepted a cup.
“You're becoming useful.”
“High praise.”
Adrian took one.
“You made mine wrong.”
Lucas stared.
“You haven't tasted it.”
“I can tell.”
Naomi looked between them.
“When did you two become brothers?”
“Never,” both men said.
Evelyn smiled.
Amara did not.
Naomi noticed immediately.
She looked tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Elias had been buried in Spain the previous day in a private ceremony attended by only a handful of people.
No great Covenant funeral.
No secret honors.
Amara had insisted on simplicity.
A father buried by a daughter who loved pieces of him and feared others.
Naomi approached her.
“How are you?”
Amara considered the question.
“Still figuring that out.”
Naomi nodded.
At least the answer was real.
Evelyn set down her coffee.
“We brought you something.”
Naomi looked at Adrian.
He pointed toward a large leather trunk near the wall.
“That thing nearly destroyed my back.”
Lucas frowned.
“You didn't ask for help.”
“You were upstairs.”
“You have my number.”
Adrian stared at him.
“Again, we're not brothers.”
Naomi moved toward the trunk.
A small brass plate had been fixed to the top.
Her name was engraved there.
NAOMI
Nothing else.
She looked at Amara.
“What is this?”
Amara's expression changed.
“Your letters.”
Naomi stopped.
Every letter Amara had written over the years.
The ones Joseph had kept.
The ones Naomi had only recently discovered existed.
“How many?”
“Two hundred and seventeen.”
Naomi stared.
Adrian muttered, “I counted.”
Amara looked toward him.
“You didn't have to.”
“I know.”
The answer carried something new.
Not closeness yet.
But less distance.
Naomi knelt and opened the trunk.
Envelopes filled it.
Different paper.
Different handwriting as Amara aged.
Some thin.
Some thick.
Each dated.
The earliest had been written when Naomi was only months old.
Naomi touched one.
Her fingers shook.
“I don't know if I can read all these.”
Amara moved closer.
“You don't have to.”
Naomi looked up.
“I wrote them because writing to you was the only way I knew how to remain your mother without putting you in danger.”
Evelyn's face softened.
Amara continued.
“But those letters are not obligations.”
Naomi swallowed.
“They belong to you now.”
Not instructions.
Not history forced upon her.
Something offered.
Naomi selected one envelope.
She looked at the date.
Her sixteenth birthday.
The year Joseph gave her the compass pendant.
She opened it.
The paper inside smelled faintly old.
She began reading silently.
Then stopped.
Evelyn watched her.
“What does it say?”
Naomi looked toward Amara.
“Can I?”
Amara nodded.
Naomi read aloud.
“My beautiful girl,
“Today you are sixteen. I wonder whether you still laugh when you are nervous. You did that as a baby, though everyone told me babies couldn't laugh from nerves. They did not know you.
“Joseph sent word that you are drawing clothes everywhere. On notebooks. Receipts. Church programs. Apparently Evelyn is tired of finding sketches in the kitchen.”
Naomi looked at Evelyn.
Evelyn smiled through tears.
“That child drew on my grocery list.”
Naomi continued.
“I hope no one ever teaches you to make yourself smaller so other people feel more comfortable around your dreams.”
She stopped.
The words hit harder than expected.
Amara looked away.
Naomi's voice became softer.
“I saw a coat today in a shop window and thought how badly it was cut for a woman with hips. You would have fixed it.”
Naomi laughed through her tears.
“I hope someday you design the clothes we spent our lives being told weren't meant for bodies like ours.
“I hope you wear something beautiful today.
“I hope you're happy.
“And if you aren't, I hope tomorrow is kinder.
“Love always,
“Amara.”
Naomi lowered the letter.
Silence filled the apartment.
Then Evelyn sniffed.
“Well.”
Everyone looked at her.
“She was right about that coat thing.”
Naomi laughed.
The tension broke.
Evelyn wiped her eyes.
“I spent twenty years watching that girl complain because designers acted like curves were an engineering problem.”
“They are,” Lucas said solemnly.
Naomi looked at him.
He raised both hands.
“Architectural perspective.”
She smiled.
Then Evelyn and Amara looked at each other.
It was still complicated.
Naomi felt it.
Evelyn had raised her.
Held her through fevers.
Helped with homework.
Sat through heartbreak.
Argued about curfews.
Celebrated graduations.
Amara had carried her.
Lost her.
Watched from a distance.
Written letters no one delivered.
Neither history erased the other.
But Naomi knew there was something they still had not said.
Evelyn spoke first.
“I used to be angry with you.”
Amara looked at her.
“I know.”
“No. I don't think you do.”
Naomi remained quiet.
Evelyn folded her hands.
“When Joseph finally told me you were still alive, years after I had been told you were dead, I hated you for about ten minutes.”
Amara's eyes widened.
Evelyn continued.
“Not because you survived.”
Her voice cracked.
“Because I was afraid one day you would appear and Naomi would realize I was temporary.”
Naomi immediately moved.
“Mama—”
Evelyn raised a hand.
“Let me finish.”
She looked at Amara.
“I knew that wasn't fair.”
“No,” Amara whispered. “It was human.”
Evelyn nodded.
“I had this little girl calling me Mama. Running into my room after nightmares. Leaving glitter all over my carpet.”
Naomi frowned.
“It was one craft project.”
“Glitter survives nuclear warfare.”
Adrian looked interested.
“That is useful information.”
Naomi ignored him.
Evelyn's expression became serious again.
“I loved her before I understood how frightened I was of losing her.”
Amara's eyes filled.
“You were never temporary.”
Evelyn stared.
Amara took a breath.
“When I put Naomi into your arms, I knew exactly who I was giving her to.”
“You barely knew me.”
“I knew Joseph trusted you.”
Amara smiled faintly.
“And I watched you argue with a nurse for fifteen minutes because Naomi's blanket was too thin.”
Evelyn blinked.