Chapter 20
R ed or black?
Annie cocked her head, studying her reflection in the built-in wardrobe mirror. She wore a black shirt with skinny navy jeans—an outfit more suited for a night out than a will reading. Black court shoes with sensible heels would make it more appropriate for the occasion, but her red high-heeled pumps gave her more confidence.
“What do you think?” Annie turned to face her younger sister, Louise, who was perched on the edge of the sofa.
“Red is more sexy.”
Annie sighed. “Black then. It’s not a date.” She turned back to the mirror, smoothing down her shirt.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Louise looped her arms around Annie’s shoulders. “What would Grandma say?”
Annie furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s her will reading. You knew her much better than anyone else. What do you think she’d say if you asked her?”
“Do what you want and to hell with everyone else.” Annie chuckled softly. “I miss her, you know.”
Annie sank onto the mocha leather sofa, worn from years of use, and slipped off her shoes, stretching her toes. “I wish I’d been with her when she passed away.”
A gust of wind whipped through the wide-open windows of the living room, scattering multicoloured post-it notes from the desk. Annie watched as they danced across the room before settling on the wooden floor like fallen confetti.
Turning the red pump over in her hands, she looked up at Louise. “I should’ve been there.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Louise plopped down beside her, the sofa releasing a little sigh and sending up faint puffs of colourful dust—remnants of one of Louise’s projects. Her tanned skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight, the rays painting warm highlights on the floor. “You couldn’t have known.”
“If only I’d had my phone back then.” Annie sighed, shaking her head. “Do you know that I actually found it? When I searched his drawers for cash. It was there, buried under a stack of paperwork.”
“I’m so sorry, hon.” Louise squeezed her hand. “But it’s all over now. Thanks to your ex-husband.”
Louise clapped her hands and cracked a wide grin. “I wish I could see their faces when you tell them you voided the marriage, and they can say goodbye to that inheritance.”
Annie offered a half-smile, her fingers tracing the aged lines in the leather. “It was the right thing to do. But I’m sorry you’ll lose out on the inheritance money. Dad said we would’ve got something out of it.”
Louise scoffed. “Since when do you believe Dad’s promises when it comes to money?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Annie raised her hands in mock surrender. “And Conrad’s a good guy. I just couldn’t do it to him.”
Louise placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “So, what’s your plan after this? Are you going to tell him?”
“Tell him what?” Annie’s phone buzzed, drawing her attention. She glanced down at the message flashing on the screen. “He’s downstairs.”
“About the baby.” Louise’s eyes drilled into hers, pinning her in place.
“No, I don’t think so. It’s better he doesn’t know.” Annie slipped the red pumps onto her feet and glanced around the room, searching for her purse.
“Why not?”
“He’s got enough of his own problems, and it’s not even his kid. Not that we’re getting married or anything, you know.” She winked at her sister and danced toward the side cabinet, where she spotted the little black bag.
The doorbell rang. Annie pointed at the door, but Louise shook her head and bit her lip.
“You’ll be fine. He’s not a monster,” Annie whispered as she reached for the door handle.
***
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T he door groaned open on rusted hinges, and Conrad was greeted by a radiant Annie, backlit by the golden light filtering through the wide-open windows. The afternoon sun highlighted her chocolate hair, giving it an ethereal halo—a sight that captivated him.
Her lips curled into a mischievous grin.
“You clean up nicely, Mr Brenman.”
Conrad blinked and raked a hand through his hair, his grin widening. “You’re not so bad yourself, ex Mrs Brenman.”
Annie gestured toward the woman hovering by the brown leather two-seater. “I believe you’ve been introduced already?”
Louise looked different, nervously twiddling her thumbs. “Hi.” Her voice was quiet and shaky.
Conrad took two strides toward Annie’s sister and extended his hand, offering a firm handshake. “Great to see you again, Louise.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and her gaze shifted to her feet. She seemed so fragile. And so young. How could he ever have mistaken Annie for her sister?
As she reached out to shake his hand, her fingers trembled slightly. “Conrad, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have.”
Conrad offered a reassuring smile. “Water under the bridge, Lou. It wasn’t meant to be. Also—” He glanced back at Annie, a playful glint in his eye. “According to your sister, I dodged a bullet.”
Louise’s brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He chuckled, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Not about you—you’re lovely. I meant your parents.”
Annie’s laughter chimed in, and the room seemed to brighten, the atmosphere less charged.
“You’re not her type, anyway.” Annie pointed at a framed photo on the desk, drawing Conrad’s attention. The photo showed Louise embracing a woman with striking dark eyes and a confident smile that lit up her face. Her strong jawline and the determined tilt of her head gave her an air of quiet resolve, while the flowers in her hair added a playful, joyful touch.
Conrad gestured toward the frame. “Is she your ... ”
“Yes, that’s Meggie. We—” Louise’s voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard. “We’re engaged.”
Conrad gaped at the revelation. “Wow. Congratulations!”
His thoughts whirled, untangling the past confusion and creating a clearer picture. He hadn’t seen that one coming. Well, he should have.
Running his fingers through his hair, he felt a hint of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks.
“I was such a fool. I should have guessed when you talked about your friend with such admiration back when we met for coffee.” He shook his head. “What an idiot.”
Annie lightly punched his arm, her grin never faltering. “Well, now you know.”
She tapped her watch. “We should get going. Showtime.”
“Let’s do it.” Conrad offered her his elbow like an old-fashioned gentleman. Annie threaded her arm through his, her fingers gently brushing his arm, sending a shiver down his spine.
Louise waved them off, the tension easing from her expression. “Have fun, kids.”
Annie made a face. “Oh, we will.”
***
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A nnie checked her reflection in the tinted window of the sleek Tesla, which seemed out of place in the gravel driveway of her childhood home. But it was certainly better than Conrad’s old truck. The woman staring back at her had the same auburn hair, the same freckles peppered across her nose, and the same lipstick-smudged smile, but it felt like she was looking at a stranger. Annie was just a girl playing a grown-up, a kid dressing up in her mother’s shoes—red or black, still unsure—on a playground she no longer recognised.
A chill breeze whistled through the towering maples lining the driveway, sending shivers up her spine like a horde of ants marching across her skin. She reached out to steady herself on the cold metal of the car roof, her fingers brushing the silver surface, the chill seeping into her bones.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Conrad standing beside her, his casual elegance in a smart black jacket and jeans radiating quiet confidence that seemed to contrast starkly with the nervous flutter in her belly.
He reached over and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb tracing soft, reassuring circles on the back of her hand—a silent promise that he was with her, even if just for the moment.
He caught her gaze, his eyes sparkling with concern. “You ready?”
She nodded, her throat too tight to squeeze out any words.
“Annie,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “Remember, it’s just news. They’ll get over it.”
She let out a dry chuckle, her gaze drifting toward the house, toward the ghosts of her past. “This isn’t about the marriage, Conrad. It’s this house. The last time I walked through those doors ...” she paused, swallowing hard. “I was 16.”
His eyes softened as he gave her hand another squeeze, a quiet show of support in the face of her haunting past.
“You’re not that 16-year-old girl anymore, Annie,” he said firmly. “You’re a woman who’s made her own choices, stood by them, and is about to kick some old-fashioned butt. You’ve got this.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, his words kindling a spark of courage in her heart. “Thanks, Conrad.”
She wasn’t powerless anymore. Darren was gone. Those fears couldn’t hold her hostage. What was a house full of overbearing, judgemental relatives compared to that?
With renewed determination, she stepped forward, her red pumps adding a splash of bold defiance against the monotonous greys of the mansion’s stony path. Together, they crossed the threshold, stepping into a world teeming with memories of the past and anxieties of the present.
The scent of too many perfumes mingled with the smell of old wood and expensive scotch—a heady cocktail that was the signature of the Simmons family gatherings.
A sea of familiar faces, painted with warm smiles and hungry eyes, turned toward her.
Conrad’s grip on her hand tightened as Aunt Agatha, her father’s sister, started toward them, her eyes gleaming with juicy gossip and insincere praise.
“I’ll find the will executor,” Conrad said softly, releasing her hand. He vanished into the crowd as Aunt Agatha’s shrill voice cut through the murmur.
“My darling girl, how long has it been?”
Annie’s hand felt cold, abandoned without Conrad’s touch. She glanced down at her empty ring finger, the lack of a band a blatant symbol of her impending announcement. Her gaze then travelled to her red pumps—once a bold choice, now the only splash of colour in a world that had suddenly gone cold and grey.
With a fake smile plastered on her face, she took a deep breath, bracing for what was to come.
“Agatha, how lovely to see you. Shame you couldn’t make it to my wedding ... ”
***
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“A h, Mr Brenman. I was expecting you.” The will executor, Mr Avanti—as indicated by the name tag pinned to his grey-striped suit—stretched out his hand and gave Conrad a vigorous handshake.
“Mr Delavoure explained what’s supposed to happen, but are you sure?” Mr Avanti pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his sharp gaze narrowing on Conrad with an intensity that made him shiver as if something terrible was about to unfold.
“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, sir?”
Conrad took a deep breath and pulled a stiff, cream-white envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Yes, I am.”
But the will executor made no move to take the envelope.
“You know, you can still change your mind, and no one would be any wiser. This decision will have a tremendous impact on a lot of people.”
Conrad nodded, his gaze drifting toward Annie. She was pinned against the wall by a tall woman in a Merlot-red evening gown that glittered in the chandelier’s light. The woman waved her arms dramatically while speaking, towering over Annie like a willowy tree swaying in the wind. Hunched and visibly uncomfortable, Annie looked as though she was searching the crowd for an escape route.
Conrad’s jaw tightened. He should be there at her side, not here having a pointless back-and-forth with a man he barely knew. He extended the envelope with a steady hand.
“Thank you for your insight, but I’ve had enough time to think it through. I’m absolutely sure this is what I want to do.”
Mr Avanti raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “It’s your right, sir.”
Finally, he accepted the envelope, sliding it into a leather-bound folder on the mahogany desk beside him.
“The will reading will begin shortly. You’re welcome to join us, sir.”
“Thank you, but no. I’ll stay only for Annie’s speech and then head off.”
The will executor tapped the folder with his finger. “Given the stir this might cause, I totally understand. Well, good luck to you, sir.”
Conrad nodded. “Thank you.” He shook Mr Avanti’s hand and turned on his heel.
In the short time he had been gone, the dynamics in the main room had shifted.
The Merlot woman shifted toward the window and towered over a barrel-shaped man who stood at least four inches shorter than her. Meanwhile, Annie, cornered between a cushioned high-back chair and the fireplace mantel, looked like a trapped animal scanning the crowd for another predator.
Conrad sighed. Why had he even agreed to let her come here? If he’d known what this would mean for her, he would’ve insisted on delivering the news to her family over the phone—less chance of bloodshed.
He strode toward his ex-wife.
Was she ever his wife? He scratched his chin. His ex? Or had voiding the marriage erased everything like it had never happened?
Extending a hand to pull her out of the corner, Conrad shook his head. “No. I want to remember.”
“You want to remember what?” Annie raised her eyebrows, the haunted look in her eyes replaced by curiosity.
Conrad chuckled. “Didn’t realise I said that out loud.”
“So, what is it you don’t want to forget?” Her eyes sparkled, her tone teasing.
With a half smile, still holding her hands, he locked his gaze on Annie. “Us.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She didn’t deny there had been “us”, nor did she claim it wasn’t real. Instead, she bit her lip and nodded.
“I’m glad we met. I won’t forget you either.” Was that a blush on her cheeks, or was it just his imagination?
Maureen’s overly cheerful voice shattered the moment.
“Here you are, lovebirds!”
Did she really just say that?
Conrad nearly laughed out loud. The woman had no shame at all. Any lingering doubts about Annie’s plan evaporated. Her parents deserved what was coming to them.
“Maureen, so thrilled to see you. And—” Conrad nodded toward Annie’s equally beaming father. “And you, Richard.”
“Likewise, likewise, my boy.” Richard patted Conrad’s shoulder like he was a racehorse he’d bet on and was confident would win. “You’ve kept us on our toes till the very last minute, haven’t you?” His chuckle carried an undertone of disapproval.
“Solicitors. You know how they are. Always checking the fine print.” Conrad shook his head, then stepped aside to offer Annie his arm. “I think it’s time. Shall we?”
Annie swallowed hard but nodded, slipping her arm through his. Their walk to the room where Mr Avanti waited was far more in sync than it had been on their wedding day when he’d practically had to drag her out of the church like a sulking child digging in her heels.
Inside, the will executor sat behind a mahogany desk in front of three short rows of burgundy-upholstered high-back chairs, arranged like a classroom.
“Miss Simmons.” Mr Avanti inclined his head.
“Oh, Mrs. Call me old-fashioned.” Maureen jingled her fingers, glinting with multiple rings.
“My apologies.” Mr Avanti bowed deeper. “I was addressing your daughter, Mrs Simmons. And yes, welcome, Mrs and Mr Simmons. Please, have a seat.”
Conrad hovered near the desk with Annie, watching as relatives poured into the room. He recognised only a few faces from the wedding. The rest were strangers—though, given the Simmons family’s penchant for grand displays, he doubted anyone had been excluded. The will reading, it seemed, attracted even the most distant of relatives.
“I didn’t know your family was so big,” Conrad murmured.
“You and me both.” Annie shrugged. “I’ve only heard of half of them. Never seen them in person.”
Maureen waved them over and pointed to two chairs in the front row. “Come here. We saved you seats!”
Annie cleared her throat. “Thanks, Mother, but I’d like to say something first.”
Richard rose from his seat as if to join her, but Annie raised a hand to stop him. “I can handle this on my own, Father. Also—” Her emerald eyes landed on Conrad’s. “I’m not alone.”
“You bet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. But the reassuring squeeze of his hand said enough. He was on her side. For better or worse.
Well, certainly for worse.
And this could very well be the last time he saw her.
A shiver ran down his spine, and his jaw tightened.
No. Not if he could help it.?