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“I’m off to Boston for a spa day.” Ginger dabs at her lips with the cloth napkin. “I scheduled it weeks ago.”
Rheta looks around the table at her family while they share glances with each other. Dorian tugs at his shirt collar. Ellory bites her bottom lip. Spencer hides a yawn. They must wonder how their refusal to participate in the holiday she has planned will affect their standing. Rheta doesn’t come across as vindictive, but this family is different from anything I’ve known, and I couldn’t predict what any of them will do.
“There is nothing mandatory about spending Christmaswith our family.” Rheta takes a fortifying breath. “This week in Maine was an invitation. It has been years since we’ve been together, and I wanted to mend broken relationships, but it is a choice. Does anyone else have any pressing responsibilities that will make them unable to come to town with me today?”
I would rather go to York than spend the day alone at the house, but it isn’t lost on me that I will spend it with Rheta, Owen, Brady, and Marianne. Essentially, the Clark family and grandma.
“No, Mother,” Marianne says.
“Wonderful.” Rheta beams. “We will have a lovely day. I hope the rest of you will get your obligations in order to join us tomorrow for picking out a Christmas tree and ornaments. This year I intend to be involved with every stage of decorating the house. We shall do it together.”
“Mother,” Ellory says. Her tone is one she might use with a child. “We’ve never picked our own tree or decorated the house before. I’m sure there are staff that can do that for us.”
Rheta hits her palm against the table. “Not this year. Why pay someone to have our fun when we can experience it for ourselves?”
That’s a weighted question that no one answers, but I wholeheartedly agree.
Rheta eats her oatmeal. We eat our breakfast. No one says a word.
When Rheta’s bowl is empty, Hannah pulls out her chair.
“We leave in forty-five minutes,” she says to Marianne before turning to me. “I’m so glad you can come with us, Layla. Everyone else have a lovely day. I’ll see you at dinner.”
The door shuts behind her with a soft tap.
“Yep,” Dorian says. “She’s definitely dying.”
“She’s not dying,” Marianne says. “She’s old, and she’s had the flu. Is the case really so important that you can’t give Mother what she wants for Christmas? Time with her family?”
“Yes, it really is that important.” Ellory’s voice is calm but her eyes blaze. “You’ve been away from the family and the firm for too long. We have a reputation to uphold, and we won’t lose this case because of Christmas.”
“I didn’t choose to leave this family,” Marianne says softly, but her voice carries. “I was pushed out of it.”
Ellory sniffs. “You went against Father. What did you expect?”
I want to sink into my chair and disappear. I’m an interloper in this family drama. Owen meets my eyes across the table. His jaw ticks.
Dorian waves his hand in the air, as if he’s dismissing this petty argument. “What’s done is done. We can all agree that Father was a controlling—” He breaks off when Tori glares and waves her hand over Sadie’s head. “Man,” he finishes lamely. “I for one am glad to have Marianne back in the family.”
Marianne’s expression softens. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Ellory lays her cloth napkin on the table. “I am too, Marianne.”
Dorian nods, giving the impression that a few words have healed everything. “This is a time to unite and convince Mother not to throw the estate away in pieces. Marianne, since you’re the only one able to go today, we’re relying on you. Now it’s time the rest of us get to work.”
He stands. The lawyers in the room follow his lead. Spencer kisses my temple before his departure. From the way he glances at Owen, I’m positive he only did it to annoy his cousin. He doesn’t realize that Owen and I are only friends.
I lean back against my chair, exhausted from the Eccleston family drama, and I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. Six more days to go.
Chapter Ten
LAYLA
At ten-thirty a blackSUV waits for us with Miles behind the wheel and Rheta in the passenger seat. It looks like an FBI vehicle or a security detail for the President. It’s surreal climbing inside. The radio plays classical music, and it grounds me in reality.
I sit in the very back with Brady, leaving Owen and Marianne the middle seats. As we pull out onto the main road, Rheta, Marianne, and Miles laugh about something, but I can’t hear their conversation over Tchaikovsky’sWaltz of the Flowers.
Owen shifts and looks over his shoulder at me. His beautiful brown eyes now remind me of the color of hot cocoa after he sent a mug to my room last night. I expect him to say something, but he just smiles. I can see myself spending the entire drive to town smiling back, but staring at each other is a strange thing for two platonic friends to do.
