The longer I lay there, however, looking forward to going back to the place I’d started thinking of ashome, the more I realized something was tugging at me. Not physically, of course, but there was something I had to do before we left.
After checking that Trent was still asleep, I eased out of bed, carefully lifting his arm and sliding out from under it. He made a low noise, his brow furrowing and his hand reaching out like he expected me to still be there, but he didn’t wake up.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered, brushing my fingertips over his shoulder before slipping into the bathroom without waking him.
Trent had handled everything. Gregory. The arguments. The threats. He’d done it all with that terrifying, beautiful certainty that made me want to trust him with every part of myself, but there was one thing he couldn’t do for me.
One thing that was my job to fix—or to turn my back on until I could figure out a better way to go about things. With that thought in mind, I dressed quickly, tied my hair back, and called for a driver.
All I needed was a little bit of luck and I would be back before Trent knew I’d ever even left. On the other hand, he’d need time this morning to pack up the few things he’d been leaving at the apartment. I doubted he’d want anything to stay behind this time.
My car was waiting at the curb when I got downstairs. I climbed in, sending the driver a polite smile but then turning toward the window. Mercifully, he took the hint and the drive across the city passed in silence.
When we pulled up to the house, I told the driver I wouldn’t be long. I wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a lie, but he merely nodded and pulled out his phone, already scrolling by the time I shut the door behind me.
The interior of my family home was quiet. Too quiet for a place normally full of brothers, staff, and the occasional bird that flew in through the wide, open windows. Everyone was either at work or avoiding the tension, it seemed.
Smart men.
I checked my dad’s office first, but when he wasn’t there, I continued down the hallway, surprised to find the door to my mother’s old study was open. I hadn’t been in that room in years.
Convinced one of the housekeepers was probably just dusting in there, I peered in just in case, pulling up short when I saw Dad inside. He was standing near the far wall with a picture frame in his hands and he didn’t turn when I stepped into the doorway.
When I finally went to stand right next to him, he didn’t look startled or even curious. It was as if he’d been expecting me.
“You look like her,” he said quietly. His voice bounced gently off shelves filled with books my mom had once adored. “Out of everyone, all our kids,youwere her twin, Charlotte.”
My throat tightened instantly and he hadn’t even looked at me, just staring out the window with that photo still clutched in his hands like it held the essence of my mother. “You got every bit of her that was beautiful and good.”
The picture trembled slightly between his fingers before he set it down on the desk. I tried to recall the tirade I’d carefullyconstructed in my head yesterday, sharp words, questions, and accusations, but none of them stuck anymore.
They all felt flimsy now, exhausted, like even my anger knew it was running out of steam. I swallowed hard past the lump forming in my throat, trying to gather myself as I watched a dust mote floating on the ray of sunshine coming in through the window.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just?—”
“I know why you’re here,” he said, turning to face me fully.
I’d expected him to be angry or defensive, to try to argue his way out of accountability for what he’d done, but instead, he just seemed so tired. Not just the kind of tired that came with little sleep, either. I doubted this was about him spending the night tossing and turning.
To me, it seemed deeper. The termbone wearycame to mind. I almost offered him a hug, but then I remembered who he was and that he’d practically tried to trade me away like a baseball card.
“Trent came to speak to me,” he said after just staring into my eyes for a few beats. “Twice.”
I nodded slowly, knowing, of course, that Trent had spoken to my dad, but I hadn’t known he’d been here again. “He did?”
“Oh, yes.” A small, dry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Both times, he stood right in front of me, and both times, I saw the same thing. A man desperately in love.”
My pulse jumped. Trent and I hadn’t talked about the L-word at all, but something warm and bubbly took up residence behind my ribs at the thought.
“I was curious what he would do with that passion,” Dad admitted after a brief pause. “How he’d channel all that righteous indignation and protectiveness. I wanted to know if it was just noise.”
“And?” I whispered, my heart now pounding in my throat. “Did he pass whatever test that was supposed to have been?”
“He proved he’s worthy of marrying the first Westwood woman born in several generations.” My father’s voice softened in a way I hadn’t heard since I was a child. “Worthy ofyou.”
I stared at him, blinking rapidly, so stunned that I could barely formulate words for a long minute. It was jarring to hear that my dad thought my husband was desperately in love with me. It was even more so to find out that Trent had shown him the possessive, protective side of himself.
Trent’s fierce, unshakeable intensity, his willingness to step in the line of fire without hesitation, wasn’t for show. It wasn’t bravado. It wasloveand my father had seen it before I even knew to look.
