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“We knew you would.” Ariana grabbed her salad and headed toward the dining room.
I soldiered on with my fake happy wife attitude and arranged the freshly baked breadsticks in a basket. Their heavenly aroma at least gave me something to look forward to, and the way Kinsley smiled while dreamily looking at her date for the night did too. I vowed to see Kinsley happy. I wouldn’t leave until she was. Just like that first day when we had been thrown together and sent to a new home. I had claimed her then and there as my sister. I had promised I would make it all okay for her. With my last breath, I would. I only prayed she never found out how I had betrayed her. I touched my stomach. I would never forgive myself.
I walked down the steps into the sunken dining room that was enveloped in windows. During the day, the mountain view from those windows was breathtaking. Even now, at night, with the candles burning low on the table, the candlelight reflecting against the night-shrouded windows added a special ambience. Still, it all felt like I was playing house in Barbie’s dream home. The decorated table was worthy of Martha Stewart, or at least I had followed Martha’s instructions on how to properly set and decorate a table for dinner guests. Sheridan had told me that one thing she wished she’d known at the beginning of her marriage was how to set a proper table when entertaining. So, I bought burlap place mats, gold chargers, and candleholders, and ordered greenery and white roses that graced the table. And, per Martha’s instructions, arranged them all in a manner befitting a Holland.
I smiled at my guests, both young and old, as I descended the stairs. Especially the younger guests. Whitney had come with her parents, and Aspen and Miles had brought their son and daughter. Henry, their son, was the cutest five-year-old, with dark tousled hair and a royal accent to die for. He was actually Miles’s nephew, but his parents had died when he was three. Chloe, their teen daughter, from a previous marriage, was the spitting image of her mother, with hair of golden brown and fine features. A beautiful girl. Whitney, though closer to Henry’s age, was talking more to Chloe and filling her in on the dinosaur dig she had done in Montana before school started. It was Whitney’s wish to become a paleontologist one day. She had already created extensive reports based on the meticulous journal she had kept while on the expedition she’d had with Jonah and Ariana. Chloe was kind enough to look through them.
Of most interest, though, was Tristan and Kinsley, who were already seated together and chatting. I silently begged God, if he still loved me even a little bit after everything I had done, that he would let Kinsley find a man worthy of her. That she would find happiness, like Ariana.
Brock was to me as soon as I took the last step and relieved me of the basket of breadsticks that, honestly, I could have eaten all by myself. It was weird to feel hungry again. And did I ever need a carb fix.
“Thank you,” I said to Brock, who looked, in a word, happy. He probably enjoyed having more than me to talk to. And he loved talking all things medical with Miles and Jonah. Especially since Miles was planning on writing a sequel to his medical thriller. Harvest of Blood was still burning up the charts. I’d heard the three men planning dates and times for when they could get together to discuss the next book. It was good for Brock to have the distraction. He needed friends, since his first and best friend was out of the picture.
It was weird not to have Brant here. He was currently campaigning in Denver, but even if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have been welcome here. It was the sad reality. My reality.
“Everything looks wonderful,” Brock complimented me.
“You can mostly thank Kinsley for that.”
Brock looked at the decorated table, then back to me. “For the food, yes, but it’s you who’s making this house a home.”
Home? What was that? Certainly not this place. Home was where there was love. Not where pretty table decorations lived. Ariana and Jonah, Miles and Aspen . . . they had homes. Even among themselves they were at home. They were so entirely wrapped up in each other, in their children. Even Kinsley and Tristan looked more at ease with each other than Brock and I were. However, there was no use in disagreeing.
I put on my happy wife smile. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I do.” He pecked my lips.
I followed him to the head of the table, where he pulled out my chair. He kissed my cheek before he took his seat across the table at the opposite end. So formal, though given the state of our relationship, it made sense. Our guests took their seats along the large table that sat twelve. The Wickhams on one side, with Ariana’s family and the blind date couple on the other. It was a cozy scene on an autumn night. So hard to believe it was October already, and yet it felt like years had passed since Brock had come home from Afghanistan.
