Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
The Uber pulls up in front of a large ranch-style home in northern Atlanta.
Roman’s brows pull together as the car stops.
He peers out the window at the large home, his brow lowering with every passing second.
And I silently pray that this was a good idea.
That I have not overstepped. That if the next two days go down in flames, he’ll find it in that big heart of his to forgive me.
“Are you okay?” I say, setting one hand on his forearm.
“Fine.”
I swallow. “We’re here for Mason. That’s it. Nothing else.”
He slips his left hand into mine, and squeezes. Then he’s got his car door open and we’re making our way out of the sedan.
The driver helps Roman get our bags from the trunk and then hops back into his car.
The sun shines overhead, beating down, though it can’t be more than fifty degrees out here.
The porch light is on next to the wooden double door entry, even though it’s the middle of the day.
Windows line the front of the home, framed in pretty shutters.
There’s a green, neatly trimmed hedge surrounding the yard and large Christmas bulb lights staked to the side of the stony walkway.
A Christmas wreath adorns each front of the double doors.
It makes our cabin look just as rustic as Noreen thought it was.
This place must be worth more than all of mine and Roman’s assets and incomes combined.
Not that I’m contributing much in the income department.
Still. Wow.
We stare at the house another minute and then Roman breaks the silence. “So, you’re saying I’m not here to ask my dad why he’s basically been absent for the majority of my life?” he deadpans.
“Ah.” My jaw opens while my brain searches for an answer. “I mean, if you want to, then ask him.”
“I don’t want to. I don’t need his excuses or guilt. I just want to meet my brother.”
“Perfect.” My heart patters. “Roman, you have a brother.” I’m not sure when I’ll be over the fact. My shoulder brushes his, and I squeeze his fingers. “We both know how special that is.”
He peers down at me. “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “No wasted time. If we could have Brice back—”
“We would.” I tilt my head to the side and study the house once more. “Even if he decided he wanted to disown us.” I blow a shaky breath from my throat. “Shall we do this?”
“Let’s go.”
Roman doesn’t pause. He lifts his hand to the wooden door and knocks. “What if he doesn’t like the soccer ball?”
“He’s going to love it. Little boys love that kind of thing.” I don’t actually know what little boys love, but Brice and Roman were always messing around with some kind of ball.
“Have you met your stepmom?” I ask as we just stare at the doors in front of us, waiting for them to magically open.
“Twice. Once after I graduated. And the one time I came here to see them. She was pregnant with Mason then. Dad didn’t make it a pleasant trip. I think he was anxious about becoming a father again and I was in the way. I never came back, and Dad never came to see me.”
“So, it’s been—”
“Five years.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.” I can’t imagine going that long without seeing my parents.
Light flickers through the window of the door; someone is coming.
“Have I mentioned that Felicity is only a few years older than me?”
I peek through that window, trying to get a better look. That’s right, he said that. I was a little too focused on the whole “brother” fact. “I mean, she has a four-year-old. So, a big age gap, then?” Not that I care. What does it matter to me if Roman’s father has a young wife?
“Twenty-four years.”
I swallow. “Oh. My entire life. My life is their age gap.”
It doesn’t matter. It just feels a little surprising. She’s just a mother-in-law. A step mother-in-law. Nothing crazy. Nothing shocking. She’s young. So what?
And yet, when Felicity Graves opens those double doors—because she swings both open, not just one—I am stunned.
The woman looks like a modern version of a red-headed ’70s movie star with strawberry curls bouncing on her shoulder and designer jeans hugging her hips.
She is adorable. Someone I’d share fries and a fully leaded Coke with, while talking about my ex.
And yet, she is my mother-in-law. Stepmother-in-law.
“Roman!” she cries, throwing out her arms.
Roman glances at me, his eyes widening. Is he asking for permission for this woman, his hot little stepmother, to hug him? If so, my answer is, over my dead body.
But Felicity doesn’t gather Roman up. No, she drops her arms, her smile just as wide as before. “Peter said you’d back out, but I knew you wouldn’t. We have been waiting and waiting for a visit. It’s been so long.”
“Probably as long as I’ve been waiting for Dad to come to a game.”
I gulp nervously with Roman’s dry tone, trying not to choke. Grumpy Roman is back. But Felicity seems unfazed.
“I’ve been keeping up with them online. You had a great season.” Then, Felicity, a redheaded Margot Robbie, turns her gaze on me.
I stiffen next to Roman and fear a little for my life. She isn’t going to hug me, right? I’m not actually wanting to share fries and gossip about old boyfriends.
“Stella?”
I press my glossed lips together and nod. “That’s me.”
“Are you a hugger because Roman is not a hugger, and it’s been the hardest part about being his stepmother.” She winks. Maybe she is a fifty-seven-year-old woman inside of a thirty-year-old’s body.
“Umm.” My brows pull together, unsure what to say. This is Roman’s family. I don’t want to be rude.
“She’s not,” Roman says.
I nod. “He’s right. I’m not. No hugging. I don’t even let this one hug me.” With my free hand, I pat Roman’s chest. “We never touch. Never ever.” I let out an uneasy, semi-fabricated laugh.
“Never?” Roman grunts.
But Felicity’s eyes drop to our knotted hands.
“Well, not never,” I say, an anxious edge to my voice. I glance at Roman, realizing what a stupid claim I’ve made—and yet, I am committed. “We touch sometimes. Depending on the situation. Mostly when we have to.”
Felicity’s brows knit. She is concerned for our marriage—with good reason.
While I’m a nervous ninny, Roman is calm. Isn’t he supposed to be the anxious one today?
“Can we come in?” Roman says, saving me from saying any more.
“Of course.” Felicity waves us inside.
The large living space has a tall, perfected Christmas tree, a fireplace, and two plush couches positioned about the room as if the space might end up in a magazine or online. It has all the amenities as our living room back in Tesoro, only ours could fit inside this room four times.
I draw a little nearer to my husband, which might be breaking all the “no hugging” rules I just claimed to.
“Mason!” Felicity calls, and a boy with bright orange hair comes scuttling out from the hall. He walks side to side, his hands pinched like claws. “Baby, go grab Daddy. Tell him we have very special visitors.”
Roman’s hand in mine tightens. This is his brother.
“Very special visitors!” Mason repeats, and he sidesteps and scuttles away.
“He walks like a crab wherever he goes,” Felicity says. “The boy loves the ocean and anything related.”
Roman glances at me, lifting his brows, and I know what he’s thinking, what he’s silently asking. Do you think this boy walking around like a crab will like a soccer ball?
“That’s …” I say, but I’ve drawn the word out too long. “Cute. So cute. He’s—”
“Cute,” Roman says, completing my sentence.
Silence fills the space, and I’m so tempted to tell Felicity how cute her Christmas tree is. How cute this house is. How cute she is. It’s the only conversation that comes to mind. I’ve decided I am nervous for Roman. He doesn’t need to be because I’ve got the nerves covered for both of us.
“Let me see what’s taking Peter so long.” Felicity winks at us—again. She’s very winky. Her nose scrunches as she leaves us standing in her massive living room. Alone.
“Roman—” I’m about to tell him how dumb I am. I am a literal mess when it comes to this woman, claiming Roman and I don’t touch, saying the word cute one too many times. I’ve lost it. When—
“That’s my brother, Stell.” He peers down at me, and his blue eyes are glassy like still, shining waters. “Did you feel it?”
I squeeze his hand in mine. “Feel what?”
“Mason came out, walking all ridiculous. And I felt it. That little guy is my brother.” He says the word brother like it’s sacred. “Did you feel that with Brice?”
I nibble on my lip, and because I have vowed never to lie to my husband again, I answer honestly.
“Not really. At least, not until he was gone. I longed for him. There was this invisible string that tied me to Brice and only Brice and someone had severed it. It was like I didn’t know what I had until I’d lost it.
With you, you didn’t realize what you had until you found it. ”
“Exactly.” He runs a hand over the bristles of his short beard. “Things with my dad have been strained for years. But Mason isn’t my dad. I should have come sooner.”
“You’re here now,” I say, wrapping my arm around his back. He follows my lead and pulls me into an embrace.
“I thought you two didn’t do hugs,” Felicity says, and we tear away from one another.
“We don’t,” I spat. “Not normally. Roman was—”
“Choking.” Roman lifts his brows, his tone dry. “I’m fine now.”
“You don’t do hugs?” says a handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair walking up next to Felicity—Roman’s father, Peter Graves. “That sounds like something your mother would say.”
Roman stiffens beside me, and a grunt falls from his lips. “Just when it came to you.”
Peter scoffs. “That’s accurate. You don’t hug your wife, Roman?” Peter says, peering at me. “That’s a shame.”