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“Okay,” I nod nervously.
“My aunt and mother were twins. Not many know that, but it’s true. They were incredibly close growing up, but they went down different paths in life. My aunt was convicted of stabbing her husband and died in a prison cell in upstate New York.”
“Oh my God.”
“My mother went on to marry one of the richest men in the state.”
“Monica . . . why are you telling me this?”
“To tell you, you aren’t to blame for what your sister became,” she smiles, but instead of the softness she’d displayed earlier, there’s a fierce maternal instinct in her gaze. “I think it’s time you stopped beating yourself up over it, don’t you?”
I stare at her for a moment, tears burning in the backs of my eyes.
“I . . . I don’t know how.”
I’ve never said that out loud before.
Monica takes my hand, patting it gently. “It’s time to learn. We’re all a little fucked-up around here, dear. You’re just another one of us.”
Across the yard, I can feel Mason’s eyes on me and when I glance at him, the carefree smile is gone and replaced with a look of protectiveness.
“My son’s in love with you, you know?” Monica says, following my gaze across the yard.
“I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”
“No?” She leans forward, to lower her voice. “Sometimes, it only takes a moment.”
Then she straightens as if she said nothing at all and takes my hand.
“Come. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
If I can say anything about the Carpenters, it’s that theyknowhow to feed an army.
It’s normal food, thankfully—no fish in sight. Cheeseburgers (nowhere near as good as Mason’s, but they’ll do), steak, potatoes in multiple forms, desserts, and drinks.
Once Monica and I come back to the party, everyone seems to have accepted me. Or at least, they aren’t staring me down anymore. As soon as I come back to Mason, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into his side.
“Okay?” His voice is rough and his stubble against my skin sends a shiver down my spine.
“Okay,” I nod, thinking back on what Monica had said.
My son’s in love with you, you know?
I don’t want to get my hopes up, but judging by the look in his eyes when he nods, it’s hard not to believe her.
Dinner is an easy affair with everyone sitting down to eat and chatting animatedly. It’s nice to see them all so . . . easygoing. Everyone’s having a good time. No one’s mentioned Marcus Parker or Melissa Gaines and I’m even pulled into the conversation.
For once, I feel normal. Like I belong and not an outsider looking in.
Mason must pick up on this because he squeezes my bare thigh under the table, his thumb running in circles over the goosebumps on my skin.
He smirks at me when a shiver racks through me. Asshole knows what he’s doing.
“Who’s that?” I ask Mason quietly when an older man comes around the corner of the house. He’s probably around Monica’s age, gray hair, but it’s his eyes that stop me.
He looks kind. Gentle.
“Hope I’m not too late,” the man says, holding up a bottle of some wine I can’t pronounce.
