Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
I’m nearly positive that blush meant Simon, at the very least, had a small crush on young Lia.
But something in my gut tells me it’s more than that.
I know my husband well enough to know when he’s hiding something, and now I suspect it might go even deeper than just trying to seem unaffected by Pat’s death.
As we try on our dresses together in the basement, the women gushing over how gorgeous they are and how well they fit, I’m hardly present. My mind is swirling with questions about young Lia from the past and this even younger Lia now.
I step into the shoes Rachelle set out for me and nod along as she discusses hairstyles and makeup for each of us. She brushes blush along my cheeks as I sit in front of the mirror, comparing two shades before deciding on one.
Still, I’m thinking of Lia and Simon.
An hour later, my skin burns from all the makeup wipes it took to clean my face. Marlie is on speakerphone next to Rachelle relaying the makeup and hair choices to her team of stylists as I step out of the room behind Vic.
What are the odds this Lia and that Lia aren’t somehow related, right? It’s nearly impossible. I just can’t lock the pieces together yet. Something is still missing as they dart around in my head like bumper cars, thoughts and ideas bounding in every direction, refusing to click into place.
I eat lunch quickly. Thankfully it’s just Vic and Polly with me at the table since the men have already eaten, and they’re too busy fussing over the kids to notice I’m quieter than usual.
When I make it back to the guest house after lunch, I turn on Florence and The Machine’s new album and begin gathering the remaining boxes from the kitchen, carrying them across the room to rest near the door.
I try to keep focused. Not to linger in my thoughts, not to worry or stress over the radio or Lia or anything else. Simon is right. Whoever is talking to me is someone playing a prank, and it’s none of my business.
The Mornings need my help, and I want to give it to them.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sweeping the floor when the front door opens slowly. I pause, waiting, and am shocked to see my father-in-law appear in the doorway, dressed in a plain button-down shirt. Today, he’s slicked back his—mostly salt—salt-and-pepper hair.
He gives me a lopsided grin that reminds me instantly of Simon, then scans the house. His eyes move slowly, noting the room in sections that make it hard to breathe. “It’s coming along nicely in here. Almost done?”
I brush my hair away from my forehead with the back of my hand. “I think so. I’m still working on the last bedroom, and I need to wipe down the kitchen, but everything else is pretty much ready. Bathroom, living room, and the other bedroom are done.”
He shuts the door behind him, moving forward in the room, hands shoved into his pockets as he analyzes my work.
One hand shifts against the fabric, a small, restless movement—as though he’s rolling something between his fingers.
I’ve seen him do that many times when he’s deep in thought.
Sweat beads at my temples and the back of my neck.
Finally, he comes to stand next to me. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, then hesitates, jaw tightening for barely a heartbeat before that easy smile returns. There’s something on his mind, but I don’t know what to expect. My heart races in my chest, ears throbbing.
“You’re wondering why I’m really here,” he says finally, releasing a low breath.
Heat swallows me whole. I don’t know what to say. It suddenly feels impossible to hold eye contact, as if he’s seeing parts of me I don’t quite have words for. The way he watches my reaction—gentle but focused—makes me suddenly self-conscious, as if I’m failing a test I didn’t know I was taking.
Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for me to respond.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know my sons can be…” His eyes roll around the room, searching for the right word. “Handfuls.”
I chuckle without warning. “You’re not wrong.”
“I know they’ve been teasing you about this place and what happened out here.
” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue.
A single brow rises. “The truth is, it was a tragic accident. Nothing else. I’ve told them to knock it off, but—I know how they get.
” He gives me a warm look from the corner of his eye.
“I suppose you’re a Morning sibling too now, you know?
One more sister whose hair they can pull in the back of the car.
” He laughs under his breath, stroking his chin.
But as his laugh fades, his hand remains, fingers lingering along his jaw as though he’s holding another thought firmly in place.
“But you’ll let Rachelle or me know if they get out of line, won’t you?
They forget you’re still new to all of this.
Sometimes they lose themselves in trying to get a laugh. ”
Warmth floods my chest as I realize what he’s saying. I can’t stop the smile growing on my face. Every muscle in my body seems to relax. I bump his arm with mine. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
He pats my shoulder, leaving his hand lingering for a moment before he pulls back.
“Oh, I have no doubts.” Looking away, his eyes search the air, lips tight.
His gaze drifts toward the hallway, in the direction of the second bedroom, as if something there calls his attention.
He catches himself and straightens, giving me another reassuring nod.
Still, he’s quiet for a long pause. “They do mean well.”
“I know,” I say, nodding. “They really aren’t bothering me.” I want to say more—that I love this family, that I’ve always dreamed of having siblings like this, but I can’t bring myself to say a word. It all feels too heavy. Too desperate. Pitiful.
He huffs out another extended breath. “Well…” Before he can walk away, his finger goes to the air. “Oh, right. Rachelle mentioned you’re not at that nonprofit anymore.”
The word scratches my skin like sandpaper. My old company had a name, and yet here, with the Mornings, it’s always just been that nonprofit. A verbal shrug at the years of my life I poured into it.
“Yeah. I left in the fall. Budget cuts.”
His brows shoot up with a thought I don’t get to hear. His fingers press more firmly into the pocket seam, the move subtle but tense as the muscles in his arm flex. Then, his gaze shifts almost nervously. “You guys are managing, though?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Financially, I mean.” His voice is dry. Straightforward. He doesn’t meet my eyes.
“We’re good. Simon’s doing well, and I’ll go back to work when I find the right fit.
He’s not in a hurry for me to look.” I can’t help the hint of bitterness in my tone.
Does he think I’m taking advantage of Simon?
I signed the prenup like they wanted without a fuss. I did everything right. Didn’t I?
“Of course.” He nods slowly, still lost in thought.
Finally, his eyes meet mine. The air in the room seems to be heavier, quieter.
I can’t blink. I refuse to look away. “I just want you to know you can always come to me, should you need anything. Simon is the son I can read the least. He’s the only one not involved in the family business.
So, I guess my point is that if he were to need help financially, if he were to be in a bind, I’m not certain he’d come to me with it until things got very bad. ”
As he speaks, his hands come out of his pockets. He rubs his thumb in circles over his right palm, a slow, repetitive motion that doesn’t match the warmth in his tone. Like he’s soothing himself. Or steadying something within him.
He searches for something in my eyes. “I need to know that you’ll come to me if you need anything. If he needs anything.”
Finally, his meaning hits all at once—cold and instant, like a lock sliding into position. “Of course I will.”
He pats my shoulder again, squeezing gently. His smile is soft, but his focus drifts—another flick down the hallway before he reins it back. “All you need to do is ask. We’ll handle it discreetly. You and me.”
I give him a small smile, though this conversation has utterly perplexed me.
The Mornings are ridiculously wealthy. How could he ever worry we’d need help?
I don’t even think that’s possible. Simon has more money than we could ever hope to spend.
Unless… No. No. It’s ridiculous. He would tell me. Simon tells me everything.
Except about Pat and Lia…
His gaze shoots down toward his pocket, and he pulls out his phone. “I should take this.” He steps back before answering, almost too quickly, as if relieved for the interruption. I don’t hear his voice until he’s out the door.
Standing alone in the room, I replay the conversation.
Should I tell Simon what he said? Is he really worried?
Do I need to check into our finances? Is Simon hiding something?
Or was Pierce simply being nosy? Maybe they’re trying to force me into a job at Morning Capital after all.
Maybe they just want me to quit asking questions about what happened in this house.
Or maybe…god, is it all of the above? Stacked like a house of cards ready to topple?
Something twinges in my neck, sending a shard of ice down my spine. I move into the bedroom, watching out the window as he slides into the driver’s seat of the golf cart and backs away from the house. Once he’s gone from sight, I turn around, resting my back against the wall with a deep breath.
My eyes squeeze closed, my heart rate erratic.
When I open my eyes, everything stops.
On the carpet directly across from me, I can see the square imprint. Proof that the radio, here just yesterday, is now gone. Someone took it from me.