Page 14 of His Son's Wife
“Is Wilson a man slave?”
I couldn’t ask her about my Daddy issues.
The rolling pin stopped mid-roll.
“I mean—is he a butler, valet or manservant?”
Mrs Davis began to cackle. I watched her entire bosom shake with it, wave after wave of wholehearted laughter that filled the kitchen completely. I smiled at the sound. Then felt a quiet sadness settle underneath the smile.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard laughter like that. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d caused it.
It made me happy that I still could.
“You should ask him,” she chortled.
I shook my head.
“Nah. He’s a little rigid for me.”
“You’re a good egg. You can call me Lydia,” she said, still smiling.
Today was a good day. It felt as though I could breathe again. As though normal was something I might find my way back to.
“Thank you, Lydia,” I murmured.
She glanced up from her pastry. She didn’t flinch at my multicoloured eye. Didn’t look at it the way people did—with that particular cocktail of pity and discomfort that made me feel like the problem rather than the victim.
“You’re going to be fine, my dear. Mr Kersey will make sure of it.”
I swallowed.
I wished I had her confidence. Lydia did not know about the laminated sheet.
Sheet or no sheet.
I was safe here—for now.
Chapter 7
Asher
The bloodwork came back with minor deficiencies—iron and vitamin B12, both already being addressed. Organ function was good. General health, considering the circumstances, was better than expected.
She wasn’t pregnant.
I paused on the hormone section longer than was strictly necessary.
My moronic son didn’t know what he’d lost. He would come to understand that soon enough. The PI I’d hired had accrued a significant amount of incriminating material—enough to ensure Gabriel understood the precise nature of his position before this was over. He wouldn’t stop his destructive trajectory until someone was damaged beyond repair. Or dead.
I wasn’t prepared to let either happen.
I lifted my phone.
The champagne wedding dress had made her look like something from another plane entirely. Her bronze skin seamless against the fabric. Dark hair intricately woven into an elaborate bun beneath the veil—gold, bronze and brown catching the light like she’d been designed for it.
They had looked so happy that I’d almost believed the lie.
Almost.
