Page 33 of Dark Secret

After breakfast that morning, Dylan went off to do some things he needed to do, and I went back home. I did some dusting, took care of the mail, and looked around the place. I had projects I hadn’t worked on sitting out on the kitchen table, and there were clothes in the dryer that needed to be ironed now if I ever wanted to wear them in public.

I was glad I hadn’t bought any potted plants; the poor things would have died from neglect by now. I spent far more time at Dylan’s than I did here now. It was here that I could finally sit and listen to Ember’s new song without fear of being caught. Not that Dylan would ask me to explain listening to a pop star sing, but it would make me feel funny.

I kicked off my Louboutin heels and settled on the couch. I started my laptop and clicked icons until I was on the video for Ember’s song. The official video wasn’t out yet, but the record label had released the song. I knew her story, her real story, better than the public did. She’d had a rough life, a very rough life, and had been given the unfortunate name of Bridget, when her father’s last name was Jones.

When she’d met my brother, she’d been using a name that she had decided to use as her stage name: Ember. It was how most of us knew her, but I’d heard my brother, her husband, affectionately call her Bridge more than once. It was their thing, so I’d left it alone.

Her song was beautiful. Like most of her music, it reached right into my soul and bared the things I hid even from myself. Things like how much I missed my family, the babies, and my sisters-in-law. I’d wanted some space of my own when I’d walked away all of those months ago. I’d wanted to have my own identity.

Somehow, that had turned into me being banished from the family entirely. I wasn’t sure how, or why, but it had happened. I was the one, as always, left to pick up the pieces. I was sure Jessi had probably made Trent's life hell since he’d made that decision, but then, I remembered that she’d forgotten my birthday too. That might be the one that hurt the most.

We’d been so close, up until my brother finally realized he loved her. Then he’d become her world. The babies came along, and well, I’d become an unpaid babysitter, the family nanny. She wasn’t a snob now, it wasn’t that, it was just that she was consumed by her love for my brother and the family they’d made together. I couldn’t really blame her for that, even if it did hurt to be left behind.

Trent wouldn’t understand that, and he wouldn’t understand what it was like to be a blip on the family’s radar. None of my brothers would, I guessed. They were all big, bad, Alpha males and always had been. They’d been trained by our parents to expect me to take care of them. I always had, until I’d had enough.

I didn’t think it was too selfish to want something for myself, some happiness, but apparently it was. My brother had taken a dislike to Dylan, for some idiotic reason, and that had destroyed any chance we’d had for reconciling after I walked away. I’d wanted to give them time to understand that I meant something more to them than a secretary or nanny would. Then Trent had seen me with Dylan, and he’d made assumptions.

I guess he’d told Dad those assumptions, because even he’d turned his back on me. My father, always so practical, would have taken the advice of his firstborn, even though it was me who always went along with his schemes. Even though it was me who took care of him when he needed me.

I closed the video screen and stared at nothing. I had to get past this all, somehow. My family had abandoned me. It was a tough pill to swallow, but I’d have to. I’d been ordered not to contact any of them. I wasn’t sure what Trent would do if I did, but I knew his temper. It wouldn’t be pretty.

I’d leave them alone, even if I did want to call Ember and congratulate her. Even if I did want to call Jess and check on the children. I would leave them all alone. So what if it made me sob when I thought about the fact that the children would forget about me? So what if they might one day ask who that lady is in the pictures with them, and they’d be told she was who, nobody?

I swiped at my tears and decided then and there that I’d sign Dylan’s contract. It wasn’t just because I’d be alone otherwise; it was because he had shown me love, even if he didn’t want to call it that. He offered me far more than they ever had. He offered me a life to live, where they offered me mediocrity and spinsterhood.

I wiped my face dry and went into the bathroom to clean myself up. I’d had a good cry, but, honestly? I felt better for it.

Dylan had tried so hard to be what I needed last night. He’d distracted me when I was on the verge of breaking into tears, and he held me when that overwhelming grief came back. Because it was grief, this pain. They weren’t dead, but they might as well have been, if Trent had his way. They’d cut off contact and ordered me to back off.

I was grieving and probably would for a while. The good news was, I thought as I reapplied mascara, I had a new life just waiting on me to have the guts to take it. I stepped back when I was done, saw that my eyes were still a bit red, but I didn’t look so deathly now. Yep, it was time to greet this new life with both hands at the ready.

Dylan had already said we were going out that night, but he hadn’t said to where. I went through my closet, found a long sleeved dress of brown knit cashmere, and put it in a bag to carry back to Dylan’s. The dress looked like a really long sweater, it came down to my calves, but it was form fitting and had a deep, plunging neckline. Sexiness wrapped in innocent cashmere, he’d love it. I hadn’t worn it out yet, but I knew it would turn heads.

I picked out a pair of brown suede leather ankle boots with spike heels and added some jewelry to a smaller bag I’d put in my purse. If it wasn’t the right dress to wear, I’d pick out something I had at his place. I found my black leather jacket, perfect for the cool nights at the beach, a brown and white wraparound scarf, and gathered up everything.

For a moment, as I stood in the doorway, I wondered why we didn’t come back here more often. Dylan was comfortable at his place, and this place was so new to me it didn’t quite feel like home. I wondered if it ever would, and I kind of hoped it wouldn’t. It would mean I’d found a home with Dylan if I wasn’t here.

I closed the door, made sure it was locked, and walked away from the house with a smile on my face. An hour ago I’d been on my couch, crying my eyes out, but now, I was headed for a new life. I hoped.

I got back to his place after a meeting for the charity group, where I saw Roxie, and I put my bags down. Yes, this place felt more like home than my own home did. I kicked off my shoes, picked them up to put them in the closet space he’d set aside for me, and hung up my dress. It wouldn’t wrinkle, but I wanted it up anyway.

I went into the kitchen, made myself some lunch, and then relaxed on the couch for a bit. I was feeling a little tired after all of this crying and emotional upheaval. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but realized I had when Dylan came in.

“Hello, sleeping beauty. Do you want to wake up, or shall I cancel our plans for the night?” he asked, concern written all over his face.

“Oh no, don’t cancel! I was just a little tired, that’s all. Let me get up and get dressed.” I smiled and kissed him quickly before I got up to run to the bathroom. “How long do we have before we have to be there?”

“A couple of hours, babe. Don’t rush. Come here.” He pulled me down to him, and we fell together on the couch, laughing.

This is what I’d gained for my troubles. A man tickling me into laughter, until I protested that I’d pee all over us both if he kept it up. A man who adored me, from what I could tell. “Stop, Dylan, or we’ll end up in bed and forget these plans of yours.”

“No! Get off me, woman! Shoo!” He pushed at me playfully until I moved away and sat up, completely prim and proper now. “My plans must not be foiled. Go, clean yourself and make yourself worthy.”

He’d put on a very bad English accent and some very hoity-toity airs, which he finished off with an imperial wave of his hand. Oh indeed. Playful, was he?

I could swear he even patted at his hair a bit as I walked away.

An hour later, I emerged from the bathroom, my hair clean and curled in soft waves around my shoulders and down my back, makeup perfectly in place, and my own special scent, a French perfume that had been designed for only me in Paris at a very exclusive boutique, to finish off the picture I’d created. Soft innocence, but an underlying note of alluring seduction. Dylan would love it.