Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
But those days are behind him, and his eyes flick to mine, then to Kane, cold and assessing.
It’s the first time they’ve met.
Not under ideal circumstances, either.
“But get this, I got Gwen Lynn and M.E. Court coming in to do a mother-daughter signing next week! Two famous authors,” Hattie chatters.
I love her, and I don’t mind her book freakout today. It helps things feel less awkward.
“That’s going to be a big signing, Hat-girl. Are you sure you’ll have the space?”
“Oh, man, I hope! You wouldn’t believe how far some people will travel to get their books signed,” Hattie says. “Not just fans, but other authors and influencers.” She sighs, stars dancing in her eyes. “Gwen was so cool on the phone. Her latest hero is based on her hubby, Miller, that hardass whistleblower from that weird organ harvesting thing? He’s got the daddy vibe down, a lot like your—”
Kane stares at her.
“Um, never mind.” Blushing, Hattie beams at me knowingly.
“I wish real estate moved on TikTok half as easily as books,” Ethan grumbles. It’s the first time he’s said more than three words since we got here.
“I keep telling you guys to up your social media game,” Hattie says pointedly. “People love pretty places almost as much as they do books. You need to send your Reels to fewer rich dudes and more to their ladies.”
I laugh and shake my head.
It’s too adorable, watching my best friend lay on the business advice for my billionaire brother. They make a good pair.
I can see the amusement flashing behind his stern eyes.
“But he’ll figure it out. Blackthorn Holdings is killing it lately, like Leo never left. Right, hubby?”
“Yes, even if my wife might wind up more famous than I am,” Ethan says, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Never change, Pages. Don’t give me a chance to keep up.”
When Hattie stops batting her eyes, Ethan gives me a guarded look.
We both remember why we’re here.
Hattie and Kane know what this is and what it means, but they can’t feel it like we do.
Only Ethan and I can sense the hundred-ton boulder on our backs.
Kane’s shoulder nudges mine gently.
I grip his hand in both of mine.
My hold tightens when we hear footsteps.
Mom’s clicking heels and Dad’s heavier shuffle coming closer.
It’s so unbearably formal, but that’s the only way my parents do it.
The door opens and Mom walks into the room, followed by Dad.
She quickly flings herself into the chair across from us, with Dad forming up by her side with his hands folded behind his back.
Of the two, it’s Dad who smiles.
Mom is too careful with her face. Sometimes, I wonder how much she really can smile with the endless treatments she’d had to cheat aging.
But when she looks at us, everything she needs to say is in her eyes.
She read the journal.
I handed it over last night along with Grams’ painting and said we’d be here to talk—if there was anything she wants to talk about.
That’s why we’re here for this big family reunion.
To see if there’s anything she wants to say.
To find out if this family can even try to bury its bitter, ugly past.
“Well? Let’s hear it,” Mom says.
“Did you read it?” I ask.
She nods, then shakes her head. “Not all of it, of course. But enough. God knows, I was up half the night with it.” Oddly, she isn’t wearing much makeup today.
She rubs her eyes in a tired, soul-weary way I haven’t seen since childhood.
Ethan looks at me, practically vibrating with tension. Hattie puts a calming hand on his shoulder.
“And?” he asks.
Mom looks between us both.
“What I can’t fathom,” she says, her hands gripping the sides of the chair, “is why that ridiculous, tight-lipped old idiot had to send Margot on a wild goose chase looking for his feelings instead of sharing them while he still could.”
“Mom, that’s not fair. You sent back every letter he tried to give you,” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“But,” she says, “I never imagined him being so… honest, either. Or so eaten up with guilt.” She looks at Dad, who watches her with a soft, worried expression.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ethan growls, grabbing the small box by his feet and thrusting it at her. “Take a good, long look. He worked his ass off, trying to rebuild the baby shoes your mother made. If you read the journal, you know they lost the originals in the fire.”
Mom takes the box with a sigh and unfolds the loose cardboard on top. She looks down.
For the longest second, her face is completely unreadable.
Dad’s face goes white and he lays his hands on her shoulders.
Look, I still get mad at the way they treated us as kids.
The way we never felt like a priority, but there’s no doubt that they adore each other in their own weird way.