6. Welcome Home
six
Welcome Home
Together, they ascended the steps to the entrance, each footfall a drumbeat to the reckoning she feared was coming.
But even as the grand doors swung open, revealing the housekeeper Helen waiting for them, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that whatever her family had planned, it was nothing compared to what Nash himself was prepared for.
Because, the simple truth was that she was walking alongside a monster she accepted as hers—a beast far more dangerous than any disdain her family could muster.
Bolstered by his presence, she threw her shoulders back and even managed a smile for the sour faced housekeeper she grew up avoiding.
Nash's hand was a warm pressure against the small of her back, guiding her with silent authority as they crossed the marble floor of the foyer.
The cold air had chilled her on the walk in, but it was his touch that sent shivers down her spine—a possessive claim that tethered her to him.
Here, amidst the looming grandeur of her childhood prison, he made it all seem far away and less painful than ever before.
Oh, how she hated this house. She could feel the weight of being back upon her, the house seeped with silent judgment from the austere lines of its facade. The brightly lit foyer was soon fading into the private den her family used. It all came crashing back. Just who exactly she was about to see.
But right as they reached the threshold of the den, Nash's fingers dipped lower, giving her posterior a firm squeeze that jolted her out of her rising dread.
She twisted her head, her eyes finding his in a moment of startled disbelief.
His wink was a flash of conspiracy, a private joke shared between lovers, and for a split second, the world narrowed to the devilish curve of his lips.
Her heart skipped a beat—not from fear, but from the unexpected intimacy of his gesture—and the tight coil of apprehension loosened within her. There was power in his touch.
They entered the den, the heavy scent of polished wood and aged books a familiar assault on her senses.
Her family awaited. Her parents, Aster and Augusta Blackworth, were off to the side, statues frozen in their false superiority, their gazes sharp as they took in her presence.
Her siblings seemed minutely warmer. Ash, with his carefully neutral expression was still welcoming.
His wife, Stacy, was smiling, even if it was a little strained at the edges.
Holly, though, was pale and drawn, leaning heavily on her husband Johnathon's arm.
She remembered that Nash mentioned that she has been going through a rough pregnancy.
Iris's gaze flitted around the room, searching for Rose, the niece she had never held, never seen except through photos.
The little girl was conspicuously absent, another child who her mother no doubt refused to let eat with the adults.
Her heart broke for the little girl, and she could only hope that her brother is a better father than their own dad.
She silently vowed right then that she would be a part of her niece's life.
A loving influence. Children need that. As she knew only all too well.
Silence stretched taut between them, no one speaking.
The tick of an antique clock marking each suspended heartbeat.
Then, as if breaking free of a spell, Ash stepped forward.
His smile did not quite reach his eyes, but his voice was warm as he greeted her.
"You look great, Iris. It's wonderful to see you again. "
His kiss brushed her cheek. A fleeting contact that spoke of a bond that was frayed but not severed completely. A flicker of gratitude warmed Iris's chest—relief mingled with a sliver of hope that perhaps not all her bridges were burned.
Her sister followed his example, stepping forward.
Holly's embrace was hesitant, her arms wrapping around Iris with an odd stiffness.
"Little sister," she murmured, the endearment laced with a thread of discomfort.
Withdrawing quickly, she covered her mouth with one hand, retreating to her husband's side as if seeking refuge.
Iris watched her sister's retreat, the tightness of Holly's expression etching itself into her memory.
In the space between breaths, she caught sight of Nash's dark glare.
His face a mere echo of his earlier fury.
He stood beside her now, a dark sentinel whose very presence commanded the room.
Everyone was leary of him, and she could not fault them for that. She was leary.
"Welcome home, Iris," her father's deep voice finally rumbled, breaking the fragile veneer of civility. It was far more than she expected coming from him. She rarely even got a nod of a head three years ago.
"Thank you," Iris replied, her voice a soft contrast to the steel in Nash's stance. Turning slightly, she allowed herself to lean back into his strength, finding solace in the support he offered so easily with nothing more than his presence.
Leaning against him like this, Iris felt the shift in the room's atmosphere—the undercurrents of old arguments were everywhere. As she faced the family she left behind, emotions warred within her. These were the people she used to look up to, strive to be like. But she had changed in Arizona.
"Yes, so wonderful to see our youngest daughter," her mother's voice cut through the silence again, the edge sharper than any knife.
"Of course, it would have been preferable to see a little less of you, dear.
" The words are accompanied by an exaggerate perusal of her body.
Stopping on each and every curve that she didn't have three years ago.
The air grew thick with tension as Iris's mother delivered her barbed comment.
Iris felt the sting, a familiar ache blooming in her chest as her face fell.
The cruel words settled over her like a cold shroud, and even her father shifted uncomfortably.
Curiously, his eyes shifted to look at Nash.
Whatever he saw there caused fear to spread across his face before he smoothed his features into an impassive mask once more.
Nash's hand on Iris's back tensed, and she sensed the fury coiling within him, a dark storm ready to break.
Her father met her gaze, his eyes devoid of warmth.
But, they also lacked their normal cold detachment.
It was more than he ever gave her before.
"I was beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you again...
or if Nash had you hidden away somewhere permanently. "
A smirk played on Nash's lips, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"I suppose you should be thankful I brought her then," he said, his voice low and smooth as silk, yet carrying an undertone that promised retribution.
"You forfeited the right to inquire after your daughter five years ago.
Or did you forget about that?" Her father's face whitened, and he shifted uncomfortably.
Confusion clouded Ash's face as he stepped forward. He looked between both Nash and their father, bewildered. "What does that mean?" he asked, his voice laced with unease.
Nash opened his mouth to answer, a cheshire grin on his lips. But before he had the chance to utter a single syllable, her mother interjected sharply, "Dinner is ready. We shall continue this in the dining room." She turned, leading the way with a dismissive wave of her hand.
The group moved, no words spoken and no smiles. Holly walked with difficulty, her movements betraying the toll of her pregnancy. Iris's heart clenched at the sight of her sister's struggle. She was much worse than Iris ever expected.
The sister she remembered was infallible. Effortlessly elegant. But no more. Gone is her perfect complexion. Replaced instead by sickly pale skin. Her hair, which never had a strand out of place, was thrown up in a hasty bun, tendrils falling carelessly.
Iris's heart broke. Her sister was suffering. A broken shell of her old self.
And no one seemed to be concerned. Iris observed their mother narrowing her eyes in disapproval, their father letting out a sigh of aggravation. No doubt upset at how slowly Holly was moving. Ash and his wife seem simply oblivious to her plight.
In a room full of family, and she suffered alone. No one cared. Johnathon was the only notable exception. Iris nodded her head slightly.
Good. He better be taking care of her sister.
"Holly," she murmured, reaching out to touch her arm gently. "Are you all right?" She asked softly, but her words were warm. She looked so pale. Fragile.
A stiff smile cracked Holly's strained expression.
"It's been more challenging than I expected," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"But Jonathan and I are so grateful for the teas you've been sending.
They're the only thing that helps with the nausea.
Better than even the prescription the obstetrician gave me. "
Surprise flickered across Iris's face before Nash interjected, his voice bearing a protective note.
"Iris was adamant we find something to aid you once we learned how severe your weight loss was in the first trimester.
Weight you did not have to lose." He said with a pointed look.
"She couldn't rest until we knew you were alright. "
Iris blinked, taken aback by Nash's declaration. She could barely make sense of the words they were both saying. Nash was sending her sister teas, but saying they were from her. Trying to keep her relationship with her sister alive even though she left him. Why would he do that?
"Yes, I just want you and the baby to be as comfortable as possible." Iris said while taking her seat at the table.