Page 62 of Sheltering You

And when he met the right girl, he’d fall in love, and she’d love him back.

How hard could it be?

After all, it’d worked out for Daniel.

Derrick had been a cocky kid, not all that different from the cocky kid lying on the bed right now.

But Daniel had done it right, and Derrick had wanted what he had. A good career, a decent place to live, and a loving wife.

Derrick could still picture Camilla, the way she oversaw the renovations of their house, turning the old place they’d bought in St. Louis into a home. She’d stand in the middle of the wreckage of one of the rooms, one hand tapping her nose, deep in thought, the other resting on her swollen abdomen protectively like…

His thoughts stilled.

He blinked in the silence, images of Jasmine flashing across his mind like a slideshow.

The nausea when he’d first met her—which had gone away so abruptly.

The rapid weight gain.

The little belly she hid under the loose clothing.

Just a few minutes before, in that instant of fear when Rabie had lost his temper, she’d curled up, protecting not her head but her abdomen.

Derrick lurched to his feet, the motion so abrupt that Rabie whipped around with wide eyes.

“Sorry, bud. You…uh…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Come out when you’re ready to apologize.” He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and fled.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Adoor closed, and Jasmine twisted toward the hallway, expecting Derrick and Rabie to step in. Instead, Derrick passed without glancing her direction.

His door slammed.

Was he angry with Rabie or with her? Or had Michael called?

But Michael wanted to speak to her, so that couldn’t be it.

Maybe Derrick had no desire to spend time with her, and for that, she couldn’t blame him.

She checked the screen, but Basma still hadn’t emailed.

Restless, Jasmine stood. The game pieces were still scattered on the floor, and she itched to pick them up if for no other reason than to have something to do. But she didn’t. Derrick had told her she’d done the right thing with Rabie. Why give him another reason to be disappointed in her?

She’d cleaned the kitchen thoroughly already, and the house was spotless, not a speck of dust to be found. She added a log to the fire and used one of the tools beside it to get it burning, then watched as flames licked the wood, finally catching.

She wandered to the bookshelves but found nothing she wanted to read.

A long table behind the sectional caught her eye. Photographs had been artfully arranged, all of the same people at different ages, a family. There was one man, tall and dark-haired, like Derrick, though much older. He seemed familiar, somewhat like Dr. Wright—Roger, Derrick’s father. Could this be a relative? Perhaps Derrick’s uncle?

That made sense. Hadn’t Derrick said something about an Uncle Gavin in the conversation she’d eavesdropped on the night before? This house must belong to him.

The rest of this branch of the Wright family was very different from Derrick’s, though. The only one who seemed old enough to be Gavin’s wife was tall with silvery-blond hair and blue eyes. There were five others, all women. Three had varying shades of blond hair, like their mother, one had brown hair, and one had dark red hair that Jasmine thought must not be natural. She found the photo she guessed was the most recent and tried to work out their ages. The one who looked the youngest was probably in her early twenties, tall and willowy. There were a number of photos of her, some on the deck of a boat, her long blond hair flying behind her with the wind. She seemed free and full of joy.

The middle three—she assumed as much, anyway—were pictured together often. Redhead, blonde, and brunette. She couldn’t tell who was older or younger, only that they seemed close, always hugging or standing shoulder to shoulder, cheek to cheek, smiling at the camera.

Jasmine lifted a photo of the one who must be the oldest. She had her mother’s silvery-blond hair and the slender figure of the youngest, though nobody would call her willowy. She was slender but somehow tough, like she could defend herself. Though she smiled in a few photographs, she never wore the joyful look of abandon Jasmine saw on her younger sisters’ faces.

“That’s Alyssa.”