“Oh, my baby girl. I have missed you, too.” Mama hugged and patted and hugged some more. “I was so worried about you, Emily.”
“Do I not get a hug too?” Emily’s father asked. “I am here too, you know.”
“Papa!” Emily’s shriek made Grimalkin growl and move to her side. “No, no. It’s all right,” she told the cat. “These are my parents, Grimalkin. Never ever hurt them. Okay?”
The panther flipped her tail and sat back on her haunches.
“Quite the pet you have there, daughter,” her father said as he hugged her more gently than she’d hugged her mother. As she stepped back, he smiled down at her middle. “Twins, I hear. Who is your OB/GYN? I would like to have a word with him or her and ensure they are worth their salt.”
“We can talk about that later,” Emily said, hoping to dodge the question permanently. She pulled Gryffe closer. “From the way you two are acting, I take it you have already met my wonderful husband?”
“You mean the man who stole you from us?” her mother said with a condescending sniff.
“Aye, that would be me,” Gryffe said, jutting his chin to a more defiant angle.
“He stole my heart,” Emily said, then pressed both hands to her stomach. “And gave me babies that he already loves and cherishes. I am so happy, Mama, and also so sorry for worrying you and Papa. Can you please forgive me? Can we put it all behind us?”
Mama’s eyes welled with tears that quickly overflowed, streaking her usually flawless makeup. “You’re giving Papa and me grandbabies to spoil. How could we not forgive you?”
“Walk with me, young man, so I can see if you’re worth your salt,” Emily’s father said to Gryffe with a gruffness that did not sound real.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Mithers,” Gryffe said, then turned to Emily. “As long as ye’ve no objections, my own?”
For some inexplicable reason, Emily got the impression that all this had somehow been rehearsed. Everything was too neat—too tidy. Her instincts tingled with the strange undercurrent of something in the room. “What’s going on here?”
Gryffe and her parents failed at assuming an air of innocence. “Yer father wishes to speak with me. ’Tis only natural he do so to put his worries about his daughter to rest.”
She folded her arms across her chest and eyed them. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Emily,” her father said in a gently scolding tone. He gave her the it’s time to straighten up and be serious look. “Your mother needs to speak with you. I have decided to be a coward and visit with your husband while she does so.”
“Be a coward?” Emily stared at him, unable to believe that of her father. “You’re not afraid of anything, Papa. What are you talking about?”
“The only thing I fear in this life is disappointing my little girl.” He kissed her forehead like he used to do when she was little, then hurried and left the room with Gryffe before she could say anything else. She turned back to her mother and braced herself. “Okay. What’s going on? You two aren’t getting a divorce, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” her mother said. “I am entirely too old to start training another one, and I abhor living alone. Well…as alone as I could possibly be with your five brothers constantly running in and out whenever they’re in need of a home-cooked meal.” She pointed at the chairs around the table. “Sit. Your tea is getting cold, and you do remember you need to limit your intake of caffeine while pregnant and when breastfeeding—yes?”
“Yes.” Emily took a seat but didn’t pour any tea. She’d worry about that after she heard what her mother had to say. “What’s going on, Mama? Papa looked—strained.”
Her mother fidgeted with her bracelet of multi-colored beads, twisting and rolling the beads between her fingers. “When we thought we’d lost you, we realized that we’d not prepared you properly.”
“Prepared me properly?”
“Been honest with you so you would be aware and able to defend yourself.”
Emily slowly shook her head and leaned back in the spindle chair that was so worn, it cradled her like a hammock made just for her. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say. Can you just come out and say it?”
“Papa and I are not your biological parents.”
A spinning sensation crashed across Emily, threatening to make her vomit. She closed her eyes and pulled in deep, deliberate breaths. “Could you ask Lilias for a cool cloth, please?”
“Here ye are pet,” Lilias said. “I had one at the ready. Thought ye might need it. Shout out should ye need anything else.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, struggling not to throw up her dignity. She pressed the cool damp cloth to her face, then to the back of her neck. She swallowed hard, wincing at the bitter bile burning the back of her throat. “If I get through this without puking, it’ll be a miracle.”
“Breathe, Emily. Deep and slow. In through the nose and out your mouth. It’s the hormones—and the shock. I am sorry. We should’ve told you years ago.”
Closing her eyes, Emily bowed her head and held the washcloth to her throat. “How old was I when you got me?”
