“Well, firstly, Della Mae was stunning,” Addy suddenly says, her face illuminated by her phone’s screen. Waving her spoon around, she reads robotically from whatever article she’s found.
“Young model, Della Mae Taylor, born in West Cork, Ireland. Spotted at sixteen while working weekends at her aunt’s café. Relocated to America within the year, signed to Marrow & Finch Modeling Agency. Known for her sharp cheekbones, striking blue eyes, and an androgynous edge that made her a favourite for print rather than runway.” Addy pauses, scrolling, her brow creasing slightly. “It says she was private. Rarely took part in interviews, avoided social events. Described as polite but distant. Prone to fainting spells on set, which were often brushed off as exhaustion or low blood sugar.”
“She was the polar opposite of my father,” Rhys grunts from above me. My fingers toy with the hem of his t-shirt, listening to the rest of Addy’s findings.
“She met Phillip Waversea at a charity gala in her early twenties. Real fairytale stuff on paper. Wealthy academic benefactor, ten years her senior, very charming, very powerful. They marry within eighteen months, and fall pregnant almost immediately. After that…” She trails off, her thumb scrolling back and forth vigorously. “There’s nothing. No photos. No interviews. No sightings. Her name disappears completely. Either the Waverseas are extremely private people or their PA did an amazing job of burying everything thereafter.” Addy lowers the phone and finally looks up at Rhys. “I can’t find a death notice or evidence of a divorce. They’re still legally married, but any property or shares visible are solely in Phillip’s name.”
Rhys doesn’t speak, although his arms tense around me. I know without looking that he’s staring across the room, his gaze lingering beyond the walls of the manor, like his version of the past is finally shifting into focus. I tighten my hold on him, my thumb rubbing slow circles into his side, offering what little comfort I can.
Setting her dessert aside, Addy sits straighter, concern rippling through her usually bright expression. Clayton has the same look, although he’s busying himself with organizing the paperwork.
“Guys, if there’s no death certificate,” Addy mutters. I try to cut her a look, but she’s already talking. Speaking what we’re all thinking into existence. “What if she was disposed of, like, in another way? What if she never left this house?” Addy’s brown eyes flicker around the room, visibly hunting for hidden alcoves that could be hiding a body. A cold weight settles over all of us, the implications of what we’re thinking having too many consequences to bear. To my surprise, it’s Rhys that shifts first, setting me aside with careful hands and rising to his feet.
“Christ, I’m going to need to be drunk for this.”
It was a long night of Rhys drinking until he passed out, his limbs a dead weight thrown over my body. I managed to catch a few hours of sleep before I couldn’t take the heat or heaviness of him anymore. Slipping out of bed, I curled up on an elongated adult beanbag in the library and didn’t wake until roused by the delicious smell of food wafting through the manor.
It’s there, in the kitchen, I find Addy sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island, practising sign with Clayton, who has opted to sit on a stool like a normal person. In the background, Fiona is busy cooking, her head bobbing to a quiet hum of the radio. Sunlight pours through the tall windows, warming the marble floors beneath my bare feet, the satin of my pajamas hanging loosely from my frame.
Thanks to Addy’s signing, Clay looks over his shoulder, and the smile he gives simply melts me from the inside out. To think, this man could barely manage more than a grunt when I first met him. Now he’s out here, blond hair shining and smiling like a Greek god. He’s wearing yesterday’s T-shirt and jeans that have seen better days, yet he looks more relaxed than expected.
“What’s got you all chipper today?” I can’t help but grin, curling my arms around his neck. Leaning into me, Clay’s head nudges my receiver.
“I just saw the most beautiful girl in the world. Do I need a better reason?” On the countertop, Addy snorts.
“Oh, charming. I’ve been talking to you for the past hour.” Thankfully, there’s a glint of humor in her expression. Twisting, Clay scoops me up with a small squeal and plants me in his lap. Kissing my neck, his stubble makes me laugh, and Addy groans. “Ugh, get a room, you two. Some of us eat here.”
“Speaking of which,” Fiona pitches in, curling a towel and flicking Addy’s ass on the counter. Her squeal pierces my skull, but it works to make her swing her legs over the side of the island and hop down. “Lunch is ready. One of you should fetch Master Waversea. It’s his favorite.”
My brows raise at this. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what it is, but I don’t want to admit that there is much about Rhys I’m yet to learn. Instead, I slide into the stool beside Clay since Addy has offered to wake Rhys up. She took a saucepan and a wooden spoon with her, so that’s not a good sign.
Clay bumps his knee against mine beneath the counter, his onyx eyes still warm as if this lightened mood of his is here to stay. I can’t quite decide if it’s due to the little progress we made last night, or the enormous progress we’ve made with Rhys since coming here. Sure, he’s still a grump, and that’s not likely to change until we leave, but his rage isn’t directed at Clayanymore. We’re starting to merge into a trio that might just stand the trials ahead.
Speaking of grumps. There’s the distant clatter of metal, Addy’s muffled cackle and the thunder of footsteps echoing down the hallway. Fiona has to turn away to hide her laughter, whilst my eyes catch on the neon pink flash skidding through the room. Addy ducks behind the island before Rhys stomps in, his hair sticking up in every direction.
He pauses in the open archway, his eyes scanning the room for Addy before settling on me. His eyes are wild thanks to his wake-up call, only a pair of sweatpants on his lower half which are on backwards. I push a stool out, gesturing for him to join me. After a moment of hesitation, he manages to ease the tension from his shoulders and sit. Fiona places a plate in front of him first, before we all receive the same. Addy slowly stands, a guilty look painted across her face.
“You wait,” he threatens with the point of his index finger in Addy’s direction. That same finger then crosses over his throat, but there’s a lightness to it. A hint of playfulness between them that is entirely new. Addy picks up on it too, glancing my way to wink just as Fiona hands her a plate too. The four of us lift our forks to dig into the poshest take on a Coq au Vin I’ve ever seen, and I notice Fiona about to slip out with her own.
“Wouldn’t you like to join us?” I ask, halting her mid-step. Twisting her head, Fiona gawks at me like I’ve just grown another head. Realizing I’m serious and that Rhys isn’t going to object, she slowly retraces her steps and lowers into a stool beside Addy. There are multiple dining areas, but I prefer to eat in the kitchen. It feels like the beating heart of the manor, where all the hustle and bustle happens.
Putting a tiny portion of each component on the plate onto my fork and popping it into my mouth, flavor explodes across my tongue. I’m not responsible for the sound that escapes me.The sauce is a mixture of sweet and salty, the meat melting away, and the vegetables crisped to perfection. I’m practically salivating as I go for another forkful. It’s not attractive, but Clay and Addy react in exactly the same manner, and Fiona beams with pride.
“I’m not surprised this is your favorite,” I pause long enough to bump Rhys’ shoulder. “I can ask Fiona for the recipe, but I doubt you’d ever get anything close to this caliber from me.” Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Rhys huffs a small laugh and shakes his head.
“I don’t need you to cook for me. If I want it that badly, I’ll learn to make it myself.”
“Or you could come back to visit more,” Fiona points out boldly, shrugging one of her shoulders. If she picks up on the shift in Rhys’ demeanor, she doesn’t comment on it. I’m sure Rhys would sooner burn this manor to the ground than commit to staying more often, and it’s not my place to argue.
What others may see as a streak of luck, being born into this lavish lifestyle with his fancy favourite food and designer clothes, Rhys sees as a curse. Everything about the manor reminds him of his fear and loneliness. Although, as he shifts the tightness that had settled between his shoulder blades, he cuts me a small smile and I cling to the hope that not everything in the manor is all doom and gloom for him anymore.
The rest of the meal is enjoyed in silence, the sound of forks scraping against my receivers. Fiona dabs her mouth with a napkin, beginning to remove our plates when Rhys stands.
“Let the men handle it,” he states, collecting my plate before Fiona can. “You ladies go and gossip. I know Harper is burning to ask you a million questions. Just no photos. Pre-braces Rhys doesn’t ever need to see the light of day again.” I’m as shocked as Clayton, who slides off his stool.
“Since when did you clean up after yourself?” he asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Rhys places the plates into the basin and grabs a hand towel.
“Since we became such a great team,Claybake,” he drawls sarcastically. I watch on in amazement, the quiet domesticity of them falling into washing and drying hitting me harder than any revelation from last night. It’s a reminder that the past is done, even if those ghosts are creeping back up. The here and now is what matters and all we have control over.
