Chapter Ten
Nash slept until nine the next morning. When his eyes popped open, he couldn’t get them to shut again, seeing as how they were propped open by his overactive brain.
He tentatively peeked into the hallway outside his room and found his bags tucked against the wall. Perfect. In less time than it took to send an email, he was in the pool, using long strokes to keep the current from pushing him back. He’d never swum in an infinity pool before but found the process invigorating. Instead of having to make turns, he could lose himself in the rhythm, stroke-stroke-stroke-breathe, while his thoughts settled like a jar of pebbles.
Kensington was obviously distressed and saddened by the loss of her father. She may have dealt with many of the emotions pre-death, but that wouldn’t make the separation any easier. There was no way to prepare for not being able to hold a conversation with your parents. He should know. He hadn’t spoken to his parents in three years and his siblings in almost two. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d called from the prison phones, mailed letters, sent emails—he even sent flowers to his mom on Mother’s Day— but it all went out into the void and disappeared, as if they didn’t exist. Or, more accurately, he didn’t exist.
Was there any way to explain to another the sense of becoming nothing that happened when a parent pretends their child had never been born? No matter what he did in this life, he could never get back to what he’d once been in their eyes. There would be no birthday cakes or cards. No just-checking-in phone calls from his dad. He was an undiscovered island shrouded in dark clouds with no hope of making the map because he’d shamed the family name.
His energy waned and his feet bumped the back side of the pool. He splashed awkwardly to standing. He shouldn’t have let his thoughts wander so far off the path ahead. How many times had his counselor told him there was no use looking backward and wishing he’d taken a different road? This was the road he was on, and the only way to see the curves was to look toward the future.
Well, he’d taken a curve in the road and it landed him on a path full of bumps and ruts. He had a wife who was emotionally unstable. As understandable as that was under the circumstances, it didn’t lessen the need for him to be on his A game. If what she said about her sisters was true, then she was headed for a firestorm.
Her sister was another bump. Raquel was a fireball, not afraid to draw attention to herself, be it negative or positive. She had a mind of her own and a will to back it up. She’d be a formidable foe in the battle for Hazel’s Dairy Delights.
Lunette was a mystery. She walked like a beauty queen but hardly said a word. She hadn’t even glanced his way yesterday.
And Harrison? Harrison was a pothole. Nash smiled to himself as he dried off using one of the towels he’d found in the cabinet on the wall. An overprotective cousin, a lawyer cousin, could be a pain. He had no intention of hurting Kensington, but he could understand, given his history, why Harrison would feel the need to put him on guard. Heck, he would have done the same thing for his sister.
Although, he wondered at Harrison’s motivations. He had three female cousins; why take Kensington’s side? Did he have stock in Hazel’s Dairy Delights? The question waved at him, but the answer was too far out of his line of sight to figure it out plainly.
He showered, doing his best not to enjoy the jojoba-and-coconut-scented shampoo. The deep, tropical scent was much too feminine and foreign, but he thought Kensington would wear it well. She’d worn her plaid wedding dress extremely well the day before. He’d had a hard time pretending he didn’t notice the way the plaids folded to amplify her curves.
In the bedroom, he stared into his suitcase and did his best not to drip on the rug. He chose business casual clothing because he wasn’t exactly sure what the dress code was for billionaires when they were at home. The main area of the house was extravagant, to say the least. He’d lost track of the crystals on the chandelier, and the couch he’d occupied for most of yesterday was beautiful to look at but uncomfortable to sit on. It was well made and probably a custom piece designed for that specific place in the house. In fact, everywhere he looked, the furniture fit perfectly into the design. Even the small, twelve-inch table sandwiched between the high-back chair and the wall was just the right size. Goldilocks didn’t have a thing on the Donegal mansion.
Kensington’s wing of the house was stunning. He wandered into the kitchen and opened a few cupboards, finding plates and glasses in black and white. The walk-in pantry was organized, stocked with snacks and cereal, but missing staples like flour and sugar.
He wasn’t much of a husband. He hadn’t dared hold Kensington last night when a tear escaped her eye. And he’d added to her worries by bringing up the situation with her sister when he could have kept his mouth shut for a few more hours. He needed to up his game.
But what to do for his bereaved bride? Information on the company he was supposed to help save was tucked away, out of reach until he got clearance into their computer system. And he wasn’t about to wake up Kensington to ask for files—not after the night she’d had. He couldn’t ask her sisters either. Keeping his involvement on the down low was top priority until it came time to cast his vote.
He’d never felt so useless in a job in his life. He couldn’t even clean her house or wash her dishes, because she had a full staff to do those things for her. There was only one course of action left to take …
With a firm step, he headed out of the suite, hoping he didn’t meet up with Raquel or Lunette as he prowled around their late father’s house looking for a bag of chocolate chips.
* * *
Kensington slept until just after eleven. She woke up with a cotton mouth and a sore neck from holding her face toward the bathroom door all night. The shower had turned on at some point and she’d rolled over, not ready to get up and not willing to indulge in the thought of Nash all lathered up with her jojoba shampoo. The man was an employee, and there were lines that should not be crossed. Her father believed sexual harassment went both ways and made sure his daughters understood the hazards of a workplace romance.
Dad.
She fell back against the pillows as the events of the night before came crashing down. For a moment there, she’d existed as if things were normal.
Shock. She’d gone backward in the grieving process. She’d gone through anger and denial last night, and she thought she’d had that spewed out of her system months ago. Grief was such a pleasant and predictable process—not!
With a grunt, she kicked off the blankets and threw herself into the bathroom to get away from the depression that was seeping into her sheets.
The tiles were cold against her bare feet. Most mornings, she welcomed the jolt—it helped her to get going. This morning, it jump-started the rest of her senses. She sniffed the air. The room smelled different. A hint of jojoba lingered, but there was something else … shaving cream.Men’sshaving cream. Nash’s razor was on a stand near his faucet. She took a deep breath and enjoyed the spiciness he’d left behind.
Resisting the urge to open the cabinet drawers and see what else he’d unpacked, she hurried through a shower. As she washed and rinsed her hair, she wondered about this strange new world she’d woken up in where her dad was gone and she was married to a man she hardly knew.
After paying too much attention to her makeup for a day that would be spent at home, she made her way into the living area. The room was quiet, and there was no sign that Nash had been through there.
He’d better not be trying to charm her sisters—or even talking to them. Their focus needed to be on coming together as a family, not reprimanding her for marrying someone they’d never met. They’d be upset that she got married without them. Standing up for one another on their wedding days was an expectation they all carried. They’d talked in depth about it when she was engaged to Clyde. Having her sisters standing beside her, wearing matching bridesmaids’ dresses, was a dream come true. Except it didn’t come true thanks to Clyde—and it hadn’t happened this time either thanks to her unconventional situation.
Crap—she wasn’t even sure what to call the spot she’d gotten herself into. If she wasn’t so certain that her sisters would harvest Hazel’s Dairy Delights, she’d call the whole thing off and ask for an annulment. Sure, breaking the contract would cost her a pretty penny, but it would be worth it to restore some semblance of normalcy to her family life.
Kensington bumped into the head housekeeper, Lena, in the hallway outside her suite. She was dusting the lighting fixtures. Because of the bare bulbs, they accumulated dust quite easily. “Are my sisters around?” Talking to them first seemed like the best course of action since Nash already knew his part in all this.
