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Hamish frowned. There was?

“Of course, darling,” he said, instead, ignoring the way the word came so easily to him. “Come with me.”

Tia barely breathed until they were at least ten paces out of the beautiful, old-fashioned kitchen with sweeping views over the rolling hills, all the way down to the duck-filled lake. It was stunning, but she’d barely noticed anything beyond what her realtor’s-eyes were trained to see. The quality of the cabinetry, the expensive European appliances, the bespoke wallpaper and bluestone flooring. No, her attention had been focused on the woman at the sink, the man who’d spoken to Hamish and mostly, Hamish, whose emotions she’d felt as the eddies of a turbulent ocean.

Cressida was in his past, but the betrayal by both his brother and fiancée loomed as large now as they had years ago. That much was obvious. Maybe it was impossible to move past something like that? Perhaps he never would? He’d left the UK and sought refuge in the States. Had it been the right decision, to run away? Or if he’d stayed and faced this head on, gone through the worst of it, might he have been rid of his resentment by now? It was quite clear to Tia that he’d never really dealt with this. He had let it simmer, and he’d put his head in the sand, but he hadn’t properly sat with the betrayal and learned to live with it.

Then again, who was she to talk? If someone tried to get her to bring her parents back into her life, she’d tell them to run all the way to hell. Their betrayal had revolved around addiction and theft, and she’d been given the space to deal with it privately. To retreat and lick her wounds without anyone but Roman and Grace knowing what had happened. But Hamish’s hurts had played out like some great big melodrama, a medieval form of entertainment for the tabloid-buying public.

It was outrageous.

The fact Ewan thought he had any right to complain about Hamish’s plans to start a family? Talk about self-righteous. Indignation fired through her. Hamish had nailed the issue on the head when he’d pointed out that not everything revolved around the younger sibling. Then again, didn’t younger siblings often think they were the star of the show? Looking back, it had been that way with Grace and Roman. Not that she wanted to ever think critically of her friend, but Grace had been ‘the baby’, and even though her parents had been total disasters, Roman had treated her like a princess from the day she was born.

Tia didn’t know what she’d expected to find when she walked into Hamish’s mother’s sitting room. Perhaps some outward sign of her disease’s progression? Instead, she was greeted by the sight of a slim, tall woman wearing tailored cream pants and a pale lemon blouse, her shoulder length blonde hair styled so that it hung loose and neat with a curl at the bottom.

“Darling,” she said, blue eyes poring over Hamish. “Goodness me. You don’t know what it means to have you here.”

Tia squeezed Hamish’s hand and he released it; she wished he hadn’t. Though her intention was to give him strength, she found herself strangely wanting that same gift in return. But she shouldn’t have worried. His releasing of her hand was only so he could put an arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him, so they were touching more intimately than they ever had before. The contact was incendiary, and she had to bite into her lower lip to stop the sharp huff of air from escaping.

“Naturally, I came.”

“Well, then, I almost wish it had come back soon,” she remarked with a droll smile, crossing the room with an elegant gait and stopping in front of Hamish, reaching up and placing a kiss on both his cheeks. A formal, stilted greeting for two people who’d been more or less apart for so long.

“Mother,” he addressed her formally. “This is my wife, Tia Stallone. Tia, my mother, Eleanor Ashcombe.”

There was a flicker of something in the older woman’s pretty features but she concealed it quickly. “Yes, I heard. Cressida mentioned,” she explained, gesturing to the roses on a table by the window. “My favourites,” she added, then turned back to Tia. “Welcome to Abington, Tia. The first of many visits, I hope. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

Tia smiled easily. Not because she felt warmth or happiness but because she was a professional who could grin and bear it through just about anything—notwithstanding the havoc hormones had been wreaking on her moods lately. That seemed to have settled down a little, thank God. Emotional instability was the last thing to introduce into this volatile mix.

“Your home is beautiful,” Tia said. “Such stunning history, and beautifully renovated.”

“Yes, Cressida mentioned you’re an estate agent.”

Hamish’s fingers dug slightly into her sides. “Tia actually owns and runs one of the most prestigious estate agencies in the world,” he corrected, voice low but throbbing with hidden meaning. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Perhaps I have,” Eleanor responded with a lift of one perfectly shaped brow. “I can’t be sure. You know your father handles matters of property.”

Tia suppressed a hint of laughter. It was so pompous and entitled and somehow so old-school patriarchy that she thought the other woman must have been joking.

“Would you like some tea?” Eleanor asked, gesturing to the chairs.

Tia thought longingly of something stronger, but until she’d done one of the pregnancy tests she brought with her—the date from which she could first viably test coincided with their trip—and knew if there was a little hitchhiker on board or not, she wasn’t going to drink anything. Besides, alcohol probably had the same ramifications as her surfeit of hormonal emotions.

Hamish apparently didn’t have the same reservations. “No.” He looked around, then dropped his hand to move to a bell by the door. He pressed it and not ten seconds later a staff member appeared, dressed in a suit.

Tia’s eyes widened. She knew luxury, she knew money, but this felt like something else entirely. Where had the person been waiting, to materialise so quickly?

“Benson, good to see you again.” Hamish’s mood was instantly warmer, his smile genuine as he held a hand out and the staffer shook it enthusiastically, his face crinkling into a smile. The man must have been in his fifties, Tia guessed. “Benson got me out of any number of situations when I was younger,” he said, angling his face towards Tia. She moved towards them, grateful for the significant thawing in this portion of the room. “My wife, Tia,” Hamish said, and there was a note of such pride in his voice that Tia almost could have thought he meant it. Apparently, they’d both brought their A-games.

“Congratulations, sir, that’s such wonderful news!” Benson said, shaking Tia’s hand enthusiastically, not a hint of disapproval or reticence on his features.

“Benson, some tea, please,” came a cool voice from behind them.

Benson’s smile didn’t slip though. Either he didn’t hear it, or he was used to it. He must have been, to have worked for the family for such a long time.

“Tea for mother,” Hamish said. “What would you like, my love?”

My love. The words almost choked her. Unlike the ‘darling’ he’d road tested earlier, this sounded so genuinely loving, so truly heartfelt, she almost couldn’t breathe.