Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun has begun to set when I hear a noise outside. A bolt of lightning races through my chest as I cautiously check the window.
Pierce is outside on the porch, his back turned to me. He’s on the phone.
“I told you to handle it. I expect it to be done.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his shoulders drawn up toward his neck.
“I don’t care who it is. Bury it, bury him, I don’t honestly care. Fix this, and fix it now.”
The harsh words wash over me. It’s strange to see my usually calm father-in-law in such a different light, shadows bared. Though I know he has a stern side from some of Simon’s stories, I’ve been lucky enough not to see it until now.
He pulls the phone down from his ear, taking a moment to compose himself, and I dash away from the window.
I glance over just in time to see him push open the door and step inside. He gives me a closed-mouth smile and casts a quick, uninterested look around the room, as if he’s not really seeing it, not even paying attention. He’s still distracted by whatever that phone call was.
That’s Pierce, though. He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, but never the warmest. Most often, he feels two conversations ahead of whatever is being talked about.
Though I suppose that comes with the territory of being the CEO of a company as large as Morning Capital.
I already see Preston slipping into some of the same habits, which only makes me relieved to have married the son who won’t take over the family business.
Simon and Duncan just have it easier.
“It looks great in here,” he says, surveying the stacks of boxes I’ve placed near the door.
I’m relieved he doesn’t bring up the search.
Doesn’t make this all more awkward. He brushes a box with the toe of his shoe.
“Ahh…” His face goes serious, and he turns to me, as if he just remembered something.
“Oh, right. I have been sent to bring you home for dinner. Rachelle is concerned you’re wasting away down here.
” At that, he gives a slight, charming chuckle.
I fold the cloth I’ve been using to clean the countertop and place the can of cleaner on top of it, dusting my hands on the seat of my jeans and nodding toward the picnic basket waiting by the door. “I’ve been more than fine. She had Duncan bring lunch just a few hours ago.”
“You know how she worries.” He scoops up the basket and holds the door open when I cross the room.
“About the family. About the company. About the amount of microplastics in our bloodstream and the fiber in our diets. All the usual suspects.” His smile is almost patronizing, but there’s a warmth to it that’s always present when he talks about his wife. “It’s how she shows her love.”
He locks the door behind us, and moments later we’re zipping down the quiet path toward Morning House. The evening air is heavy and cool, crickets chirping in the distance, competing with the frogs to be heard.
Growing up, I dreamed of having a home like this.
Somewhere to run and play and get lost for hours.
Swimming in even one pond, let alone three, catching fireflies in the evenings, my mom smiling at me from a rocking chair on the front porch.
It was a fairy tale that seemed to belong only in movies, never in reality.
But this was Simon’s reality. It was so normal it felt boring to him. The first time he brought me here, I was shocked to hear the way he talked about it—like everyone has something like this.
Everyone doesn’t.
But he did.
We do. I do now.
And someday, our children will know this place, too. I’ve given this to them, a beautiful, magical place to grow up. A family to cherish them. To make sure they never doubt how safe and loved they are. How they belong.
My hand goes to my stomach instinctually, gripping the flat skin. When I realize it’s happened, I lower it slowly, watching my father-in-law out of the corner of my eye.
I’ve known for three days, and it still doesn’t feel real. Especially because no one else knows yet. I want to tell Simon first, but it’ll wait until after the wedding. Until we’re home, alone. Until I can make it special.
Back at Morning House, the smell of roasted chicken hits my nose in seconds, maybe even before Pierce opens the door and insists I go in first. Saliva coats my tongue, and my body buzzes with anticipation.
I’m starving, I realize, for the first time.
Even after the picnic lunch filled me up earlier.
Somehow, Rachelle knew I would be, even if I hadn’t yet realized it.
I swallow, retreating to the first-floor half bath before making my way to the table in the formal dining room. Most of the family is there already, but we’re missing Vic, Warren, and Preston.
“I hope everyone’s hungry,” Rachelle says, zipping out of the kitchen with a bright yellow casserole dish held in between two floral potholders in her hands.
It seems she, too, has decided to pretend this afternoon didn’t happen.
Simon leans to the side, away from me, so Rachelle can place the meal in the center of the table.
“Here we go.” She eases away, resting the back of her hand against her hip and grins.
“It’s roasted chicken thighs and Palmini noodles in a lemon-garlic sauce. ”
“Palmini noodles?” Duncan asks dubiously, his upper lip curled. “The hell is that?”
Rachelle just shakes her head at him. “They’re made with hearts of palm. Your new brother-in-law is gluten-free, so we had the house stocked accordingly.”
Duncan sticks out his tongue as if he’s five, pretending to gag.
“Everything you’ve eaten all week has been gluten-free, my love.” Rachelle pats her son’s chest as she moves past him. “And you never noticed.”
“That’s ’cause he doesn’t bother to taste his food,” Preston points out as he appears in the doorway, before claiming the seat next to the head of the table near his father. He scoots his chair in, teasing, “Just opens his mouth and pours it down his throat. Isn’t that right, Pixy Stix?”
Pierce and Simon laugh. Rachelle grimaces. “I don’t know what you boys find so fascinating about those jokes, but not at the table. Please.”
Vic is next to appear in the doorway, cheeks flushed a pretty pink from the cool evening air.
“Who’s in trouble now?” She crosses the room quickly toward her husband and squeezes Duncan’s shoulder before taking the seat between him and me.
The two oldest brothers occupy the seats next to Pierce, leaving Simon to my left on the end closest to Rachelle.
“Trouble? Us? Never.” Duncan beams at her, kissing her cheek when she leans in. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”
Pierce leans over to show Preston something on his phone—completely unaware of the current conversation. Sometimes I wonder if either of the younger brothers still think there’s a chance they’re as loved by their father as Preston is.
There’s nothing evil or antagonistic about the way he treats his sons—there’s nothing but love between them—but it’s so obvious he has a favorite in his oldest boy, I wonder why it has never come up.
I’ve not had the heart to ask Simon about it, and he’s never mentioned it, so I guess maybe it’s one of those things that can only truly be observed from the outside looking in.
Sometimes it really hurts me for Simon’s sake.
“There you are.” Marlie stands, throwing her arms out to her sides as Warren makes his way through the doorway and comes to join her. “I was getting worried.”
“Sorry. Did I take too long?” He runs his hand through his damp hair. “I felt gross after running around the woods in the heat.”
And there it is, the first reminder that I disrupted everyone’s day.
Rachelle touches his chest as she moves by him. “Don’t worry, no one could blame you for taking too long in there. That shower is to die for, isn’t it?”
His expression goes awkward under her touch as he shies away from her. “It’s…yeah, it’s really nice.”
Unbothered, Rachelle slips around them and takes her seat at the end of the table opposite Pierce.
“We had that shower head imported from Florence. We stayed at a little villa off Lake Como a few years back, remember that?” She bobs her head until her children murmur in acknowledgment.
“Anyway, I looked up the company when we got back home. It’s a bit much, I know, but there’s just something a little extra luxurious about the way they do things over there.
” Her eyes get lost in the story, going a bit dreamy, and then she shakes her head, waving a hand in front of her face as if to brush away the fog in her mind.
“Anyway, I’m rambling. Dig in. Please. Before it gets cold. ”
The four Morning men don’t need to be told twice. Each of them reaches forward, grabbing for the wooden serving spoon, but Simon is the quickest. He smirks at Duncan, winks, then passes the spoon to me to serve myself first.
Once everyone has helped themselves, the room falls silent except for the scraping of silverware across the stoneware plates.
“This is delicious, Rachelle,” Warren tells her, wiping the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin.
“Oh.” She sets her fork down and takes a sip of wine. “I’ll let Camille know you said so. I’m afraid I can’t take credit for any of her masterpieces. She left it all frozen and ready to pop into the oven. An absolute godsend that woman, I swear.”
“Ugh, Ruby! Hey, stop that! Mom,” Jett whines. “She spilled her juice!” Across the room, both boys jump up from their smaller version of our dining table, leaving little Ruby with the white grape juice dribbling into her lap.
Jett doubles over, laughing to himself as Monty works to scrub a splash of juice from his shirt. “You’re such a mess, Ruby,” he mutters.
“Ruby, honey.” Vic launches up from her seat, Duncan quick behind her in a rush to clean up their daughter’s spill.
“We’ll have to get the high chair from the attic,” Rachelle says, eyeing Pierce, though he’s not paying attention, still lost in his phone.
“I’m not a mess. I’m a mica-phone girl, I’m a mica-phone girl,” Ruby says, pretending to sing into her blue-handled fork, her arms swaying this way and that.
“Yes, you are a mica-phone girl, aren’t you?” Rachelle coos. “You’re Nana’s little mica-phone girl.”
“Ah, right. She’s very into…who is it? Grace Adams?” Pierce says, still not looking up but apparently paying more attention than I’d realized.
“Gracie Abrams, Dad,” Duncan corrects.
“Honey, hold still,” Vic says, navigating around her daughter’s swaying body as she struggles to clean the mess. “Let Mommy get your hands.”
“Do you need any help?” I ask, rising from my own chair.
“We’re okay,” Vic says, offering me a soft but distracted smile. “This’ll be good enough. She’ll need a bath anyway.” She pats her daughter’s clothes dry one more time, then pushes her in closer to the table. “Please sit still, okay? Be a big girl for me.”
Ruby continues to sing in a whisper into her microphone fork as her parents walk away. Neither of them can keep from laughing.
Once the room has calmed slightly and we’ve settled back into our meal, Rachelle turns her head toward me, her smile wavering just slightly. “Astrid, I hope everything’s all right now. After…earlier.”
For the briefest moment, the room falls into an eerie silence.
No one moves. No one breathes. My lips creep into a smile that makes my skin feel plastic and cracking, as if it’s completely foreign to my features.
“Oh. Um, everything’s fine, thanks. And thanks again for… helping. You know, just in case.”
“Did you hear from your ghost girl again?” Duncan asks. Next to me, Vic jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. He gasps, holding his side. Preston snorts, chewing.
As I glance around the table, I’m playing the awkward guessing game of wondering what everyone must think of me.
I lock eyes with Simon for just a moment, who says so much without saying anything at all.
There’s an apology in his eyes, an explanation perhaps.
But it’s also the look of someone who doesn’t totally understand how I’m feeling.
I’m not even sure I understand how I feel.
He breaks eye contact with me to answer Duncan. “Leave it alone, asshole.”
Across the table, Polly draws in a breath, turning her head ever so slightly toward the kids, who are watching us intently.
Pierce places his phone down for the first time. His hands go to either side of his plate, waiting. “I think we can all agree that Astrid was tricked by someone playing a senseless prank. And now we can move on.”
“Why would someone want to prank us?” I cast a sideways glance back at Simon. “Especially like that? Pretending to be a little girl who needs help?”
Duncan’s eyes flick over me to meet Simon’s, as do Pierce’s and Preston’s. My blood boils, but I rein it in, returning to my meal. They think I’m silly. Stupid.
“There are plenty of reasons,” Rachelle says. “We’re Mornings. That’s reason enough.”
“Probably something for social media,” Preston says. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to trick us. Usually they go for the dumbest, so…Duncan.” He grins at his brother. Duncan grimaces, flips him off, then tosses a chunk of chicken across the table.
“Boys,” Rachelle snaps, voice low and filled with warning.
“They’re not wrong though, Astrid. And with the wedding so close, we can’t be too careful.
I hope you won’t try to communicate with them again.
Or come get us straight away if you hear anything.
It could be the press trying to find out where we are. ”
“Or a stalker,” Preston says, buried in his phone. “Duncan gets a few a month. Or he used to, anyway. Then he started balding.”
At that, Vic snorts, and Duncan gives her a look of mock heartbreak, hand to his chest. She kisses his cheek and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll still stalk you, baby. Don’t worry.”
“That sounds serious,” Warren says cautiously.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Rachelle assures him. “But we should all be on our guard. Thank goodness Astrid told us what happened.” She gives a warm smile, her eyes lingering on me.
I bow my head, but I don’t dare say another word.
At the end of the table, Pierce jolts up from his chair, phone in hand. “Sorry. I have to take this.” Down the hall, his phone goes to his ear. “Pierce Morning.” And with that, he’s gone from the room, leaving the rest of us to settle into awkward silence.