Chapter 44
LUNA
I’m just leaving the gym when my cell phone buzzes. After giving a last wave to my second client of the day, an heiress to a hotel fortune, I dig the device out of my bag.
Dash: You need to control your husband.
I stare down at my brother’s cryptic message, at a total loss. What could Charlie—the sweetest man alive—have done to piss him off?
Luna: Not following.
The next text is a picture. Pumpkin appears on my screen, sporting a hot dog costume. I snort on a laugh as the next message arrives.
Dash: Charlie sent this. Paige insisted we put it on her.
Luna: Seems like you’re pretty lucky to have such a giving brother-in-law.
Dash: She says he got a hamburger costume for Pig.
A slow grin tugs at my lips as I imagine Charlie in a pet supply store, shopping for dog outfits. He’s taken on the role of dog dad and run with it. I half expect to arrive home to find him giving Pig a pedicure.
I’m in the middle of typing a response when an unfamiliar number flashes on the screen. I almost let it go to voicemail. But then I remember that 302 is a Delaware area code.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Lamont? This is Daniel Carmichael.”
Why is Wai Po’s lawyer calling me?
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
The man coughs on the other end of the line, and all my muscles—loose and warm from my workout—tighten up quickly.
“I received a concerning call this morning.”
“Oh, really?” Give me one guess who the caller was.
“Yes. The party expressed concern over your ability to fulfill the stipulations your grandmother set forth in the will.”
Unbelievable.
No, scratch that. Totally believable.
I should’ve known my father would pull this kind of shit.
“And what, exactly,” I bite out, “did this party say was the problem?”
He clears his throat. “That you were already married, and therefore, any new arrangement would be false. And because you are not living with your legal husband, you aren’t fulfilling the requirements.”
I bark out a laugh, the sound harsh in my throat.
“I have only married one man, and that is Charlie Keller.” I almost add that he is the only man I ever want to marry, but the thought isn’t relevant and also shocks the hell out of me. But I push past it. “Did this party provide you any proof of this fake previous marriage he claims I was in?”
Silence.
“Not as of yet.”
I grit my teeth, wishing fixing things were this simple. But knowing Bill Lamont, they won’t be.
“I’m going to assume the person who contacted you is my father, and I would like you to consider what he has to gain if I fuck this up.”
There’s a sharp cough on the other end of the line, and I can hear the disapproval of my cursing in the noise. Damn it. I need this guy on my side. Or at least neutral.
“You may or may not be aware,” I grind out, doing what I can to keep my cool, “that my father has known criminal associates.”
“Like your brothers.”
Fucking hell, I wish I could punch this stuck-up lawyer straight in his jaw.
“Yes.” I keep my voice deadpan because that’s the best I can do.
“If you receive any kind of documentation that claims I’ve been married in the past, I would appreciate it if you give me the chance to refute the document because I can assure you it would be a forgery.
And I am sure you and your office would hate to find out that you paid out an inheritance to the wrong beneficiary if I were to prove the document was invalid at a later date. ”
There’s a stretch of silence on the other end of the line, then a stern response.
“As you are the intended beneficiary, I, of course, would give you the opportunity to demonstrate you have adequately fulfilled the terms of the will. No more funds will be paid out until all proper channels have been followed.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, thinking about the first chunk of money that landed in my account. Seemed like so much, but it’s nowhere near enough to save Leo yet.
After we disconnect the call, I stride with stiff legs to my car and climb into the driver’s seat, where I pause to breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale in big gusts out my mouth.
In. Out. In. Out.
Doesn’t help.
“Fuck you! You greedy, piece-of-shit, dick-nosed scumbag!” My fists pound the steering wheel with each curse and insult.
I only stop when I accidentally set off the car alarm.
Just when I start to get centered in my life, my father has to ruin it. And the ridiculous thing is, if Bill Lamont were just a slightly decent human being, he wouldn’t have to fight me for this money.
Because by every account, he is the one who urged my mother to cut off contact with her parents when they didn’t approve of him. Instead of trying to be a better man, someone Wai Po and my grandfather could respect, Bill got their daughter to ghost them.
Not that I’m giving my mother an out, but she’s always let my father lead. And if he’d suggested mending bridges, she would have done it. After my brothers and I were born, my grandparents likely wouldn’t have fought against the match.
But no. Neither my mom nor my dad ever reached out to Wai Po. Not in over thirty years.
And now he wants her money?
I’m still a swirling cloud of anger when I walk in my house, but I stifle the turbulent emotions enough to crouch down and give my dog the love and affection she deserves for being the most adorable doggo in the world.
“Sweet Piggy puppy,” I murmur to her while giving her belly a thorough scratching.
The sound of guitar strings drifts to me from deeper in my house, enticing me toward the soothing noise. I know what I’ll find at the end. And that only makes me eager to seek the origin out more.
I find Charlie on the back deck, sitting on the steps that lead to the yard. His body curves over the wooden neck of the guitar. He’s not playing a song at the moment. His fingers twist the little knobs I think are used for tuning.
Despite spending a decent amount of time around musicians, I still have little clue how their instruments work.
The random, directionless strums he makes should be annoying. But to me, they sound comfortable. Casual. They show me Charlie is relaxed enough here to fiddle with the hobby that makes him happy. He’s not rigorously practicing to become some huge music star. He’s just having fun.
I need more fun.
I need more Charlie.
“Hey.”
His voice pulls me out of my head, and I realize I was staring off into the distance while listening to him.
“You’re home. How was work?”
Anger still thrums in my veins, not as strong as before, but enough to have me holding back my words. I’m worried I’ll end up snapping at Charlie, though he’s done nothing wrong.
Instead of answering, I settle onto the step beside him. Close enough that my leg and hip press against his. That our arms brush.
“Is something wrong?” He keeps his voice careful, his hand releasing from the guitar to cover mine, where I’ve left it resting on my knee.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Demanding comfort from him with my body. The man is already doing enough for me. There’s nothing in our contract about being my emotional support beam. But I don’t move away.
“Not really.”
Whatever my dad comes up with, I’ll prove he’s lying. All this means is more frustration and headaches. But the course forward hasn’t been derailed.
Pig trots past us, bumbling her way into the yard until she finds a mangled rope toy and drags it over to us.
I grab hold of one end, playing tug-of-war until I trick her into loosening her hold.
Once I have possession of the toy, I send it flying across the yard, and her stocky legs work overtime to chase after it.
“Let’s do takeout tonight and watch one of those K-dramas,” Charlie offers, not pushing me on why I’m not okay.
I snort. “One of those K-dramas? You say that like you didn’t watch every second of the last episode with me. And I heard you groan when I turned the TV off instead of starting the next one. You’re a K-drama fan too. Just admit it.”
“Guilty.” He strums a dramatic chord. “I can’t get over the way they stare intently at each other for five minutes straight.” Charlie gazes at me now, making his eyes overly wide until I can’t help laughing. “And, damn, they know how to make a cliffhanger.”
“So true.” I sigh. “You can play a little longer. I’m not hungry yet.”
Besides, watching Pig do a happy roll in the middle of my lawn helps dispel some of my annoyance.
“You don’t mind?”
I shake my head. “I like when you play.”
I like you, I almost add. But I catch the words before they escape and leave a vulnerable opening in my chest.
This marriage between Charlie and me is changing already. Every time I notice the shift, I try to remind myself this is good. We should get along because that’ll make everything easier this next year as we spend our time together.
Charlie plucks a series of strings, and the resulting music has me grinning. One of Violet’s songs. I wonder if he already knew her discography or if he learned it after he met her.
I make a mental note to invite her over. We are friends after all.
Then Charlie starts singing, his voice low and deep and so smooth that I imagine a knife spreading peanut butter. He lends a different perspective to the country pop song about a lost love, and soon, all thoughts of my father are forgotten.
All I can focus on is the ache in my chest. And how I’m terrified of the gaping wound I’ll be left with a year from now when Charlie leaves.
When I’m the one with a lost love.