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The only kindness I was granted came from my mother-in-law, Sheridan. She beamed at Brock and me. Her blue eyes were the exact shade of my husband’s, but much warmer than his had been since his return. She still wore her dark blonde dyed hair long. A gentleness radiated from her surgically enhanced, unnaturally smooth skin. How the sweet woman ever ended up with the shrewd John I would never know. Even so, to her, the sun rose and set with her husband. I don’t think she had any idea how calculating and manipulative he was. To her, he was the man who adored her and saw to her every need and want. Her family was everything to her, and she had welcomed me with open arms, offering to be the mother I never had. I longed to take her up on it, yet how could I, knowing she would rescind the offer if she knew the truth?
I forced myself to return Sheridan’s smile, all while silently praying that God would forgive me for making a mockery out of marriage and family. I begged for him to know my heart. If not for my child, I would have never married Brock, at least not under these circumstances. I prayed harder.
Sheridan joined us and kissed my cheek. “Dani, darling, I didn’t get to tell you how stunning you look today. The champagne plays so well against your olive skin.” She admired my curled hair. “And that beautiful ebony hair of yours.”
“Thank you.”
She gave me a gentle squeeze. “I know I keep saying this, but I’m thrilled Brock finally came to his senses and made you part of the family. I knew it was only a matter of time.” She grabbed a reluctant Brock and drew him closer to me. “Remember what I told you the first time you brought Dani to the house all those years ago?” she asked, not knowing neither of us would enjoy the trip down memory lane. That fond moment in time was now tainted with the present. However, it didn’t stop me from thinking about how in awe I had been of their palatial home that was nestled in the mountains of Carrington Cove. Still, my wonderment had nothing on how grateful I had been to Sheridan Holland for looking past the fact that I was living off student loans and had a colorful past. All she saw before her that day as we sat in their sunroom together, talking about my goals and how proud I was that I had earned an A in anatomy, was the woman I was striving to be.
I shook myself out of my thoughts and dared a glance at Brock. He was running his scarred hand—marks left from trying to fight off his captives—over his hair, which was growing out of the military cut. He looked handsome in any haircut, but I loved it when it was long enough to see his natural wave. Brock kept swallowing down what he really wanted to say, which was that he’d rather hear anything other than what his mother thought of me. Brock and I agreed once again. No need to keep shoving the knife farther into my heart and Brock’s back.
John didn’t agree and grabbed hold of the hilt of the knife and twisted it. “Love,” he flashed his politician smile at his wife, “what did you tell our son about our beautiful daughter-in-law?” Each word he spoke was covered in slime so thick it made my insides squirm.
Sheridan brought her hands up to her face, bursting with joy. She obviously didn’t notice how rigid we stood or how Brock’s hand clenched near his side. “The way you looked at your future bride that day said it all. It said—”
“I would change my life for you,” Brock finished his mother’s thought, making my head jerk up. When our eyes met, mine were filled with tears, his with despair. His hurt made my tears overflow. Then shame at admitting how much he’d once cared for me quickly replaced the hurt in his eyes. The pain that look caused me stole my breath.
“And so you have.” Sheridan placed her perfectly manicured hand on Brock’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure we would ever see this day,” her voice cracked. No one had been more distraught than his mother the day we were told Brock had been killed. “But look at you now. Out of my deepest grief has come my greatest joy—seeing you happily married.”
Did we look happy? We were better actors than I thought.
Brock placed a hand over his mother’s, not saying a word. His silence was my protection.
John gave his son an out by pulling over another parishioner. A distinguished gray-haired gentleman dressed to the nines in a designer suit. “Lance, come and meet my daughter-in-law.”
