Chapter Eighteen Mercy
Chapter Eighteen
Mercy
Birthdays were taken quite seriously in the Hastings family.
There were traditions behind each passing year, and when Lady Hastings finished her second piece of pizza (undoubtedly the first time in history that Detroit-style pizza was cut into such small portions using a knife and fork), it was quite clear that those traditions would be upheld even if she found the location lacking.
In truth, I think I would have made it through the day unscathed had it not been for that. It’s what I told myself, at least.
“Gifts,” she pronounced. “Then your list. Dessert after.”
Gifts.
Right.
It would have been the normal thing to do, to give my husband a gift. Except I hadn’t known it was his birthday until a few days ago and I’d been more concerned with surviving this visit than taking the time to go shopping.
From where I sat in one of the leather armchairs across from Grant, I sent Rose a wild-eyed look, and she answered with a reassuring smile as she left the room with her mother. Lady Hastings excused herself to use the bathroom.
“I didn’t get you a present,” I told him.
He was seated casually, the ankle of one long leg resting on the knee of the other, hands clasped on his flat stomach. The tie was gone, a deep emerald green that had made his eyes a bright silver. His steady appraisal sent a flurry of nerves down my spine.
“I don’t know if I’d say that. The look on my grandmother’s face when she tried the pizza might have been the highlight of my day.”
I let out a reluctant laugh. “You’re welcome, then. Maybe I’m not turning this into a complete train wreck.”
“You’re doing wonderfully.”
Given five more minutes, I could’ve recapped my day with Rose and told him just how not true that was, but the truth, it seemed, would have to wait just a bit longer.
Caroline and Rose returned, speaking quietly as they came upstairs holding the gifts. Lady Hastings was just behind them, her gaze locked on my face rather than her grandson’s. The speculative gleam in her beady little eyes made me shift in my chair.
The boxes were wrapped in black paper, tied with black ribbon, and an oversize shopping bag in a glossy green with the Harrods logo on the side told me everything I needed to know about the type of gifts they gave each other.
He opened each immaculately wrapped gift with precision, sliding a knife through the tape and carefully setting the folded paper onto the coffee table before turning his attention to whatever his family had handed him.
There were more gifts than people in the room, so it seemed that they were from the entire family, rather than each person picking something specific.
There was a crystal decanter, the style more sleekly cut than the one currently in his office. A four-piece grilling set with a fancy French name that I wouldn’t dare repeat, made with beautifully carved wooden handles.
A gold watch that came from a bright-red Ferragamo box, which he seemed to genuinely like, studying the bespoke black watch face with particular interest. His initials were engraved on the back, and he ran his thumb over the letters before giving his mother a genuine, albeit restrained, smile.
There was an Italian cashmere robe in a deep midnight blue, and Caroline made sure to point out that it was from Frette, whatever that was supposed to mean. She leaned toward me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I have something for you, too, dear. But I’ll let you open it privately.”
My chest ached from the casual thoughtfulness. There was a time when I would’ve brushed it off as rich people doing rich people things. But as I watched all of them, I wasn’t sure I could do that any longer.
Rose’s eyes lighting up as he opened the watch, something I was sure she’d picked out.
Caroline smiling softly when her kids gave each other shit over the way they each opened their presents. Rose, I discovered, found it deeply annoying that he didn’t rip through the paper and make a mess.
Even Lady Hastings’s facade showed a hairline crack, a hint of a smile playing around her stern lips when Grant recounted visiting her for tea when he was in school.
They traded stories as he opened his gifts, and it was so easy to imagine his life back in London.
In grander, larger rooms filled with gilded bits of history, he’d open gifts just like this and eat beef Wellington prepared by a chef who’d probably fed him since he was a child.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t deny they loved each other, even if their lifestyle hardly seemed real to me. For the first time since coming home from the hospital, I felt that pressure build behind my sternum again—a corked bottle, bubbles pressing against hard surfaces, screaming for release.
Lady Hastings turned her attention to me as he opened a first-edition box set of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. “Did your family have any birthday traditions when you were growing up?”
When his schedule allowed it, Connor tried his best to sneak me away.
We’d go somewhere for pancakes loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles, and he’d sing “Happy Birthday” so loudly that I’d hide my face and call him terrible names.
It didn’t happen every year, especially when I was younger, but when it did, those were my favorite birthdays.
If I told that story now, there’d be tears. It would make Grant sad too. So I just let myself be sad and miss my brother and pretend like every question regarding my past wasn’t laden with emotional bombs rumbling under the surface of each interaction.
I fought to swallow, my throat dry and tight. “My mom let me stay home from school on my birthdays.”
That sounded nice, didn’t it? Simple.
“Ahh. Did you do something special while you were home?”
Across the room, Grant’s eyes searched mine as he closed the book, and I let out a slow breath, determined not to ruin this for him. For his family. He knew the truth. Always had.
“Just hung out together,” I told her. She gave me a polite smile, and even though my answering smile felt brittle, it seemed to appease her.
I wasn’t embarrassed of the way I grew up.
Being poor wasn’t a reflection on the type of person you were, just like having money didn’t make you a better, more worthy human being.
I was embarrassed that my family had turned out to be giant raging assholes who’d never cared much for their own kids.
The lie didn’t even really register, because I’d told it so many times over the years.
It was better than telling her that my mom didn’t want to buy treats for my classmates because my dad wanted the money for beer, and if there was no school alarm going off in the morning, they could drink later into the night.
“They must have been quite worried after your accident.”
It felt like I was breathing through a straw, a throbbing headache growing at the base of my neck. I clenched my hands together in my lap, fingers wrapped so tightly that the skin over my knuckles turned white. She didn’t notice. But Grant did.
He noticed everything. Even if I didn’t want him to.
The concerned look in his eyes burrowed under my skin.
“Grandmother,” he said, drawing her attention away from me. There was one last box in his hands. “Rose said this last one is from you?”
“Oh. Yes.” She shifted in her seat, hands gently clasped in her lap, ankles crossed underneath her chair. The picture of immaculate manners. “I do hope you like it.”
This one wasn’t wrapped, but the box was held together with a silky gold ribbon that fell away when Grant pulled on one end. He lifted the top and peeled back a layer of deep-green tissue paper, his face pleasantly shocked.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.”
Lady Hastings cleared her throat as he removed a leather bag in a deep chestnut color, large enough to hold a laptop and some files.
It looked expensive, from the stitched seams to the burnished-gold hardware, though it was free of any logos.
His initials were stamped into the leather in the center of the top flap.
Grant’s hands skimmed over the surface, his face distinctly pleased with what he saw.
“For your class,” Lady Hastings proclaimed, her chin lifting slightly. “If you’re going to teach, one must look the part.”
My gaze snapped to Grant, who’d gone almost comically still.
Rose stood and laid her hand on my shoulder. “Oh yes, Mercy told me all about this while we pretended to cook dinner. It’s lovely what you’re doing at the community center, brother.”
She lied so easily.
Behind my ribs, my heart hammered. Questions sprang up, one after another after another, and I’d have no reprieve from them until we were alone.
The community center? My community center?
Was that where he’d been when he said he was at work?
Look at me, I commanded silently. But he didn’t. His brow held the slightest pinch, and it only cleared when his mother spoke.
“We’d hoped to see it today—see where he teaches—but they were closed for an off-site event.” Caroline smiled, her eyes full of pride for her son. “Someday, when we have a bit more notice of our visit, perhaps.”
Grant collected himself, his chest expanding on a deep breath. “Perhaps,” he said evenly. “Thank you, Grandmother. It’s perfect, and I’m sure my students will harass me to appropriate degrees about how stuffy I look.” His lips tilted up on a crooked smile. “They seem to get great joy from that.”
As my pulse raced in my ears, I waited for him to glance my way. If he didn’t, I was fully prepared to drag his ass back to our bedroom and demand an answer.
“Thank you for the gifts. They’re quite thoughtful.”
“And your list, dear?” Caroline asked.
Grant ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tensing as he searched for what to say next. “My gratitude list this year is quite simple.” Finally, his gaze lifted. Locked onto mine. “I’m thankful for you, darling. More than anything else.”
His mother smiled.
Rose made a soft sighing noise.
His grandmother watched us with shrewd interest.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.