Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
I did the time zone calculations in my head, and surmised they were having breakfast or something before they took off for their days.
I sniffed hard to pull myself together and took the call.
I forced my tone to chipper. “Hey, Marlo.”
“Your father isn’t in hearing distance. I was listening in while you two were talking. I told him I wanted to speak to you so that’s why he ended the call so abruptly. And we’re still getting used to this together thing so it didn’t occur to him he could just hand me his phone.”
That was funny, and cute, so I let out a little laugh before I said, “Okay.”
“I know we don’t know each other very well, but I also know we both have the same equipment, and the same sexual preferences, so I’ll share now, until I met your father, I’d been through my fair share of assholes. Including a marriage that was not a barrel of laughs.”
That was particularly forthcoming.
“Um…okay.”
“In other words, if you need a sounding board, or a shoulder to cry on, or advice from someone who’s been there, this is me extending the official invitation.”
Oh shit.
With that, there was no way to hold them back.
I burst into tears.
“Oh, honey,” Marlo said through them.
Which only made me cry harder.
So much harder, I bent double and shoved my face between my knees.
“Get it out,” she cooed.
I shot back in my chair and declared, “I hate my mother.”
God.
Why did that feel so good to say?
“Honey,” she whispered in my ear.
“Why couldn’t Dad meet you thirty-five years ago?”
“Well, beautiful girl, I was only thirteen so that might have been a bit problematic.”
I barked out a laugh, the second one in our conversation that was surprisingly genuine.
“Talk to me now,” she urged.
“I…can’t. It’s too fresh. But…” I hesitated, then went for it. “Can we have a girls’ date when I get home?”
She did not hesitate.
“Of course. And if I have to chain Ned in the dungeon of this mausoleum to keep him from fawning all over you because he’s worried about you, I will.”
I was laughing again about her calling Dad’s house a mausoleum.
It was beautiful.
But it was sterile.
I hoped she did something about that. Finally made Dad’s house a home.
“I mean,” she continued, “I don’t know if there is a dungeon. But I’ll find it if I have to.”
“I would…” I cleared my throat. “That would be awesome. Not the dungeon part. Just the girls’ time part.”
“It’s a date. So, are you going to be okay until then?”
No.
“Yes.”
“Pretty liar,” she murmured. “I’m a phone call away, okay?”
“Okay. And Marlo, lie to Dad and tell him I’m fine. Please? Tell him he doesn’t have to worry. Hearts mend, right?”
“They do, my sweet. It takes time, but I promise, they do.”
It took Dad decades.
But he did it.
“I’m glad he has you, and I swear that isn’t selfish, because I’m glad I have you too,” I said.
“That isn’t selfish. A woman falls in love with a man who has children, she falls in love with a family. And I knew when you walked into the restaurant wearing that fabulous outfit, I’d fallen for you.”
Damn.
I was crying again.
Because she was amazing.
Because I was so, so happy Dad had found her.
And because Dair picked that outfit.
“I’m not helping,” she remarked.
“Oh, you are,” I sniffled.
“Good. Chin up, Blake. You’ve got this until you get home,” she bid. “And then we’ll have you.”
We’ll have you.
She was just the best.
“Thank you, Marlo, and I mean that. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, honey.”
We rang off, and I sat there sniveling and weeping in the pretty morning room that was one of the few totally feminine common rooms in the house, a room I wasn’t sure Dair had ever stepped into (which was why I was in it).
I was pulling myself together, my thoughts on finding some tissue, when my phone went again.
I looked down at it.
It was a number not programmed into my phone.
But since I’d contacted three auction houses two days before, and I was expecting callbacks, I took it.
I wiped my eyes, sniffled again, and answered.
“Hello?”
“Blake. Balfour,” Bally grunted.
I blinked at the priceless antique carpet in front of me.
“Bally?”
“Davi’s been buzzing in my ear,” he stated.
Uh-oh.
“Bally, I think—”
“I have apologies to make to you for my behavior with Helena but now is not the time. Now is the time to admit I inadvertently shared some information with my son that it seems took your relationship on a wrong turn.”
So Bally was the one who told Dair about the photo.
I’d been wondering about that (or, to be honest about it, almost obsessed by it along with my heartbreak).
“Please take no offense”—or, please do—“when I say I’m not talking to you about this.”
“Aye, we are, lass, considering my daughter tells me my son is a wreck.”
I sat very still.
“You must understand that Signe—” he began.