Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-four
CASSIDY
Morbid curiosity leads my heart out of bed.
As I sift through my closet for something comfortable to wear, I worry about my appearance. First, what man wants the princess he returns to rescue to resemble the haggard witch? Then, my head spinning at his intrusion, and pounding from a hangover, I stop caring.
This isn’t a bookish moment. I need to get over my starry-eyed ideals. Whatever reasons Isaiah had to leave were more important than his feelings for me.
I’m sure Isaiah’s not the only super hot country singer who’s ever bedded a rando. Made her feel like she was special. Or kept her insides twisted up for days over what happens when it ends. Because, of course, it was ending with my stupid heart getting broken.
I need to stop letting my heart lead me and start using my brain.
Stomping down the stairs, I’m in full-fledged “shit or get off the pot” mode. I’m actually leaning toward making the decision for Isaiah altogether and telling him to get the fuck out. He’s an uppity asshole, reserving the whole inn, and displacing guests who reserved rooms months ago for their getaways.
Take it from me. No one wants their life controlled by another’s whims.
At the foot of the stairs, I’m blocked by a severe woman in a gray suit, who doesn’t belong in my family’s home. She informs me I can’t go into my sister’s office unless I kowtow to her bad behavior. Something I find little humor in. I’m already irate that the man on the opposite side of the door plans to use his celebrity status to insist I accept a phony apology.
Who the hell does this enormous jerkface think he is, upending my life twice in twenty-four hours? I’m Rose Cavanaugh’s granddaughter for Christ’s sake. Gran never gave anyone power over her. So, why should I?
The only thing stopping me from telling Isaiah’s bitch exactly what I think of the people he employs is Monty’s congenial greeting. Isaiah’s bodyguard has been nothing less than a complete gentleman. He’s ditched the suit and tie, looking casual in khakis and a ribbed black shirt. Because of his stature, what he’s wearing still screams don’t mess with me.
What his jovial demeanor doesn’t quite scream is “Team Vespa.”
Isaiah’s assistant doesn’t seem to like me and, now that we’ve met, the feeling is mutual. In the heat of the moment, I call her the c-word.
Hearing Isiah’s voice, I push Vespa out of the way. Seeing him in the flesh, the fight in me crumbles.
He’s got on similar worn jeans to the pair that hug his ass so nicely it makes a girl’s heart go pitter-pat. These are darker. He must have a closet of the same fit and style. A signature soft t-shirt shows off his muscular forearms. It’s bunched, riding up over his hip on one side caught in the waist belt of the baby carrier strapped to him.
Sound asleep in the front pack is a tiny bundle in a white sleeper with a pink daisy print and pink trim.
The baby jumps and I feel awful for raising my voice and startling her. However, my regret over swearing hardly registers. Crazy, since I watch my language in front of my niece and nephew.
Isaiah and Vespa bicker. He tells her to get out. By the time someone’s closed the door, I’ve figured out what the fuss is about. My family has done nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing wrong . But Isaiah’s closest confidants don’t want anyone finding out this child exists. The fight Vespa’s having with me is for him.
Deep worry lines etch Isaiah’s face. The need to understand his motives overwhelms my anger and sadness. I scribble my name on the stupid paper. Although my heart seizes when Isaiah confirms Aria is Kylie’s daughter. For a fraction of a second, I considered I could be wrong.
He has a child.
I offer him a seat and watch Isaiah arrange himself on the couch with the cumbersome carrier dangling between his legs. The entire situation is awkward. Yet, he’s seemed embarrassed since he said he didn’t know anything about Aria.
“Hi, pretty girl,” I channel every ounce of my aunt’s grace, talking to Aria the way I did the first time I held Emeran after she was born.
She reaches out, wrapping her slimy, tiny fingers around mine.
None of what’s happening is Aria’s fault and I’m agreeing to listen to assuage my guilt. If I’d known about her, I wouldn’t have kept Isaiah away.
He says he trusts me. That I’m important to him. So why did he keep this from me? My eyes fill with tears and the intricate pattern of the Oriental carpet becomes terribly interesting while Isaiah explains how painful this past year has been for him.
Even so, I can’t look at him. The man I grew close with was open and expressive. I was more concerned I was reading into Isaiah’s intentions than I was that he was hiding how he felt about me. I think I understand his grief now. The exhaustion, and depression he felt. Except, I still don’t understand how his pain allowed him to abandon this adorable little girl until Isaiah takes my hand and says those three words.
She isn’t mine.
The second emotional shove derails any processing I’m doing. I’m exhausted and his confession has me taking on the weight of his depression. I’m also grieving. Not for Kylie, per se, but for what Aria and Isaiah lost on top of whatever dreams I lost with him.
The number of intrusive questions I have are too many to count. Thankfully, Isaiah continues to explain why he’s here without me prying.
“Yesterday when Vespa called to say Aria’s nurse had fractured her elbow, I wasn’t ready to give up on us. I realized why today. I’m tired of being alone. I want to take Monty’s advice. To believe I deserve better than the cards life dealt. And, no matter how great a job I thought I was doing paying for a qualified nurse, if Aria is lonely for a family then I haven’t done right by her at all.” He lays his guilt at my feet.
“What about Kylie’s family? Wouldn’t they want her?”
His jaw clenches. “Kylie wouldn’t want that.”
I open my mouth and clamp it shut before asking anything else insensitive.
“I don’t know who Kylie was involved with.” Shamefaced, Isaiah releases my hand and answers me, anyway. “Until I do, it’s better that Gatlin and everyone else at Kingsbrier who knows about her thinks that Aria’s my daughter.”
“Trusting me with Aria’s identity means more than you know, Isaiah. But a baby changes everything. We lead lives that are polar opposite. I haven’t held back. Everything you’ve learned about me is the real me. I’m a cook. This is my life.” I spread my arms. “Whether or not she’s your daughter doesn’t make a difference. In my wildest dreams, the man I thought I was dating wasn’t keeping me in the dark about a child. I need to wrap my head around how I feel.”
“Cass,” he pleads.
Aria fusses, having reached her limit at remaining patient and adorable. She’s likely wet and hungry. Isaiah gets up to search for her diaper bag, but it’s not in the office. It’s obvious he has limited experience with babies. He isn’t frustrated as much as frazzled.
“Listen, I’m glad you want a family for Aria,” I say. “But things can’t go back to the way they were. Whatever I felt before, I also thought by now we’d have said goodbye. It hurt when you bolted out of here because I made the mistake of believing I was your priority during those last few hours we had together. I was under the impression the calls you took were about the tour. But you were checking on the baby, weren’t you?”
Isaiah licks his lips and nods.
He’s found the pacifier attached to the infant carrier. A bug-eyed Aria puffs away. Emeran did the same thing, trying to wretch milk from the nipple when she was ready to eat. Although Aria seems fascinated with our drama.
Drama I have no need for because Isaiah Roomer has tour dates scheduled and Cassidy Cavanaugh isn’t leaving Kingsbrier.
“From what I gather, you’re a paying guest at the B&B now. I have a job to do. I won’t share my bed with you.”
“When you’re off in the afternoon, can I see you? Spend time with you?” His concern overflows.
“I live down the hall. You’ll see me.”
“That’s not what I mean, Cass.”
“I know. But you said yourself you can’t talk rationally when you’re dealing with irrational emotions.”
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
“He told you everything,” Vespa snaps as I enter the kitchen.
She’s draped her suit jacket over the back of a chair and is sporting a short-sleeved silk blouse, which makes me annoyed because it’s New Year’s Day. For heaven’s sake, why isn’t she dressed in train-wreck chic like everyone else on God’s green earth? Her laptop and multiple cell phones are arranged on the table, along with a dark chocolate protein bar. The kitchen’s become her command station.
Yeah, that won’t last. This is my domain.
Retaliation isn’t my style, but between my hangover and Isaiah’s confession, I’m battered and bruised. With my luck, Vespa’s an early riser. If I have to put up with her every morning for the next two months, I can see whipping up a specialty batch of chocolate chip banana muffins, slipping super-choco-lax into hers, and serving it with a smile.
In no mood to reply, I search for my fuckoffee mug, acting clueless.
“I warned him not to tell you he wasn’t Aria’s father. If he was blabbing, I asked him to keep that part to himself. Do you have any idea how damaging this is? To Kylie’s memory? To Isaiah’s reputation? In the best of circumstances, an illegitimate child can sink his career. Isaiah knows that and still he told you,” Vespa huffs, incredulous. “I suppose I’m grateful he stopped before he admitted every sordid detail to Gatlin and Bellamy. Lot of good it did me.”
Still pretending she’s not there, I retrieve the creamer out of the fridge. I pour a cup of coffee and add a dash of cream and take a sip. Then, despite being aware I’m on shaky ground if Isaiah’s assistant knows him so well, I lean against the countertop, sighing blissfully as the coffee hits my palette.
“You know, I’m not to blame that my cousin and his wife are supporting your boss,” I say after having a few sips. “You’re also awfully presumptuous that Isaiah had any intention of spilling the beans to me. Had he not, you would’ve broken your exceptional code of ethics.” I replace the carton on the refrigerator shelf and swirl the half-full cup. “I stand by what I said. You really are a cunt. This is a big house. The next time I walk in here, you’d better be the fuck out of my kitchen.”
I turn on my heel to go back to my room.
Halfway up the staircase, I get woozy. My head is throbbing and my hands tremble. Coffee spills over the rim. So that I don’t pass out and drop the entire mug on the runner, I turn around and sit my ass on a stair.
This is shock, I think. You haven’t eaten. You’re emotionally exhausted, and the man you’ve been sleeping with waltzed in on your pity party and lobbed a Hiroshima-sized bomb.
Oh, and unless the trustees vote otherwise, he’s planning to live here until his tour begins. Which means the clock has restarted on the misery I felt counting down to New Year’s.
I set my cup to the side, let my body go limp, close my eyes, and lay there with the stair tread pushing into my back.
The next thing I see is Rhiannon standing over me with a worried look on her upside-down face… Or maybe it’s me and she’s right side-up? All I know is Isaiah has turned my whole world topsy-turvy.
“Cass, are you okay?”
No, I’m not.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
“Your daughter is adorable.” Rhiannon gushes, holding her camera up to show Isaiah the images she’s taking of the baby on the LCD screen.
Isaiah returned twenty-four hours ago. The whole reason for the photo shoot is to capture Aria’s First Christmas. I waffle between finding his attempt to make it up to Aria sweet, and feeling like it adds to the lies.
After my meltdown on the stairs, Rhiannon dragged me to my room where Gracyn was scrubbing the shoe mark off of my wall. I couldn’t stomach their sympathy. I went and stood underneath the spray in the shower with hot tears running down my face until I shivered from the water turning cold. My older sister went home to spend New Year’s Day with her family. Rhiannon went back to bed and stayed another night.
As uncertain as I feel about Isaiah’s presence, I won’t correct anyone’s assumption that Aria belongs to Isaiah. My sisters understand I’m not ready to talk about why his presumed daughter was in Nashville while he celebrated the holidays here with our family. Although they’re somehow now aware of the nurse who broke her elbow. Like a jerk, I continue to let everyone assume Aria was sick at Christmastime. Whatever they read into it about Isaiah being a horrible, uncaring parent, I don’t care.
“Cassidy, look at these.” Isaiah waves me over from where I stand in the doorway, rubbing my arms and watching.
He’s been friendly and keeps a comfortable distance from me whenever we’re in the same room.
It’s Rhiannon’s ecstatic grin that makes me move. She’s an excellent photographer. Taking pictures of Isaiah Roomer’s daughter is a boon to her career. I can be happy for her and sad for me at the same time.
I curl my hand to shade the viewfinder and peek at the image my bestie is proudest of. Still too young to sit, Rhiannon propped Aria on some pillows. She made a headband from a holiday ribbon and tossed a festive blanket over the pillows that compliments the cream-colored sleeper the baby wears. Aria wore a red one this morning. It’s in the wash. Something to do with her suffering from reflux because of her immature digestive system and Isaiah not burping her well enough.
I had a front-row seat to my brother-in-law, Joe, learning how to manage my nephew’s needs as a newborn. He figured it out, though—having been a confirmed bachelor before becoming involved with Gracyn—we all had some laughs at his expense.
I’d tease Isaiah about his bumbling, but that’s not fair to either Isaiah or Aria. Embarrassed over baby puke, he admitted to Rhiannon he’s a complete novice at baby wrangling. I’ve noticed his hackles rise when Aria fusses. An odd reaction for an otherwise easy-going man who exudes confidence.
I’m also just beginning to feel human and getting a grip on my emotions. I don’t want Isaiah to misinterpret teasing for flirting and give him any false hope.
As if I weren’t lacking privacy when the B&B had normal guests, Vespa has decided Grandad’s office, the unused room to the right of mine, is perfect for her to conduct business. I’d tell her where to go, but I’ve done that once and look where it got me. Apparently the woman needs to keep an eye on me.
Wherever Isaiah goes in the house, Vespa follows. If she wasn’t so hands-off with the baby, it wouldn’t surprise me if she wiped his ass, too. Currently, she’s sitting in the opposite corner of the living room, glaring at me over her phone while furiously texting.
“It’s a nice picture.” I immediately wish I’d found a better compliment. It’s artsy and beautiful. One every parent would want on their mantle. But no one accuses me of sour grapes, so it must’ve come out okay.
“Let’s move the wingback beside the tree and get a few of you holding her, Isaiah.” Rhiannon suggests.
“I’m not really dressed for it.” He kneels to pick up the wiggling baby.
I speak out of turn. “Right. He needs his abs shirt.” Scarlet flames lick my neck. What prompted me to say that?
They laugh, so the flippant remark must appear sassy instead of cruel.
Isaiah catches my eye. “I do, don’t I? Next time,” he says.