Page 38 of I’ll Be Watching You

She loved that he worried about her and cared about her, but it could also be a bit cloying. Still, she did work from home more now than she had in the past, and that seemed to appease him. She wasn’t going to quit working with her family; she loved it far too much.

She pulled into the garage while Nate parked to the side where there were several spaces for guests. She met Nate in the driveway and he asked, “Security system?”

“Yes.”

“And you always put it on?”

“I don’t live here.”

He gave her a look that told her he knew she stayed here most of the time, and she felt a tiny bit embarrassed. Yes, she and Gabriel were getting married in April, but she hadn’t wanted to move in. Some people thought she was old-fashioned. And she was about some things. She didn’t want to live in the same house until they were husband and wife. Gabriel respected her wishes.

Yet, she did sleep in his bed more nights than she stayed at her condo. Did that make her a hypocrite? She tried not to think about it.

“I know how to use the alarm,” Tess said, trying to cover up her sheepishness.

“Is Gabriel here?”

She shook her head. “He’ll be home around seven.”

“I’m going to check out the grounds.” And he walked off.

Tess let herself in through the front door and disabled the alarm.

She breathed deeply. She loved the aged leather scent and hint of citrus cleaner that permeated the old home, as well as the history of the antiques and the modern kitchen and the elegant colors throughout.

Tess walked to the back of the first floor where the large, richly decorated library was her favorite room in the house. It was warm, comfortable, and where she liked to work. Gabriel had a desk in here, but as a doctor he rarely worked from home and told her she could use it whenever she wished. It had slowly become her desk in her own beautiful office.

She first went to the entertainment center and put on a playlist of classical music she’d created that was calming, a good mix of Beethoven, Mozart, Liszt, and Tchaikovsky. The piano concerto played throughout the first floor of the house, the kind of ambient noise both Gabriel and Tess enjoyed.

Tess made a full pot of coffee and, when it was done, brought a cup with her into the office, setting it carefully on a coaster so it wouldn’t scar the antique mahogany desk. As her computer booted up, she gave herself a moment to reflect and gather her thoughts.

Her thoughts and her emotions.

She’d always been the good daughter. The dependable one. She followed the example her parents and grandparents had set: responsible, respectful, civic-minded, always ready to help. Not for praise, she never cared about that, but because doing the right thing made her feel good. If someone needed her, she showed up.

When Iris lost her husband suddenly, Tess stepped in without hesitation—listening, cooking, cleaning, sitting in silence when words didn’t help. That was who she was.

So when her parents told her that her father, a man she had always revered, had killed someone and was going to prison, Tess wanted to reject it outright. But they’d never lied to her before. And if Mom said it was true . . . wasn’t that enough?

Margo always insisted something was off, that their father couldn’t have done it, and Tess wanted to believe her. Of course she did. Their dad was a doctor, a healer. He was gentle, principled. He’d never so much as raised his voice. He wasn’t capable of violence.

But Mom was certain. And if anyone knew the truth about Dad, it was her.

So Tess stood with her.

It gutted her to take sides, but the more Margo pushed, the more Tess dug in. Because Mom had lost her husband. Because she had begged them to let it go. Tess believed that honoring Mom and Dad’s request was the right thing to do.

Margo needed answers. Tess didn’t. She trusted her parents. They had always done the right thing. Yet . . . her dad had killed a man. How could he justify it? In fact, thinking back, he hadn’t justified anything. He was remorseful and sad—those emotions were etched on his face the night he told them he was confessing to murder. But wasn’t confessing to a crime you felt remorse for the right thing? You make a mistake, you fix it. That was what Mom and Dad always said. Dad was fixing his mistake.

But everything had changed.

Now Tess didn’t just question that decision, she questioned everything. Her judgment. Her instincts.

She’d been engaged twice. Both men left her, one only a month before their wedding. Three years ago, she had chosen loyalty to her parents over truth. Now she knew: Their father hadn’t killed Devin Klein. Her parents had lied. Why almost didn’t matter to her, because what did all this say about her and her judgment?

She had turned thirty-five last month and felt as lost as she had at nineteen when she’d been sweet-talked by a college senior into losing her virginity and realized what a huge mistake it had been to sleep with someone she didn’t love—and who hadn’t loved her.

But wallowing wouldn’t help anyone. She shoved the self-doubt aside.