Page 67 of Your Masked Haunting

I’ve seen a lot of variations of Mona thus far, but never deer in the headlights, which is what she looks like right now. Nervous. Unsure. Like she wants to run.

Given her background, I understand how odd and scary this can be. Her family—if that’s what you can even call them—deserve to be in prison for how they treated her. But I hope that in some way, probably over time, she’ll feel comfortable calling my family hers too. I know it’ll never completely replace the holes hers left behind, but maybe it’ll ease the pain just a little.

“Yeah, I’m Mona. Thank you for having me for dinner.” Her voice is sweet and kind.

I can’t help but think of the Mona I’ve really gotten to know. The one who will flip me off, curse at me in the middle of a craft store—it’s hilarious.

For someone who’s struggled to use manners with me, she seems to be doing just fine with them.

My whole family is staring at her, and I have an inkling that it’s making Mona incredibly uncomfortable.

“So, dinner?”

My mom snaps into character, clapping her hands together and spinning on her heel, leading the way for the group. We follow behind her, Mona and I bringing up the caboose.

I lean down and whisper in her ear, “They’ll relax after a little while. They’re really excited to meet you.”

She nods sharply, and our eyes meet as I pull away, spotting a deep vulnerability in her gaze.

“They’re great.”

They are. But I also know they can be a lot, especially when they’re all wound up like this, like a dog getting a new toy. Not that Mona’s a toy … never mind.

We’re seated around the round table, my mom and dad to my left, Mona and then Cambrie to my right. Appetizers are served almost immediately—bacon-wrapped dates, and brie and fig crostini. After everyone gets a quick bite, the small talk follows.

She tells them where she’s from, where she went to school, and thankfully, they don’t pry deeper than what she’s willing to share. She’s honest though, not holding back about the no contact with her parents. Of course, my mom tells her that she is always welcome in this home.

When the appetizers are devoured and the plates are cleared, my mom leans back in her chair and asks, “So, how did the two of you meet?”

Mona scoffs with a laugh, the glass of wine she’s sipping on clearly loosening her restraint. I open my mouth to tell the story—at least the version that is family friendly—but she beats me to it.

“We met at Moore’s Crafts actually.”

I jump in, in case she hadn’t figured out who her crafting benefactor was. “I was such a gentleman and paid for her cart. But I was too nervous to get her number ... and then he appeared at The Schrader House.”

Her pupils dilate and cheeks redden. “It really was so sweet.” Sliding my hand over her thigh, I watch her in awe as she opens up to them about working at the house and about her in general. She leaves out a few select secrets about our relationship, but that’s probably for the best.

My parents and Cambrie are full-on swooning when she finishes, looking back and forth between us like they can’t believe this is real. Trust me, it wasn’t smooth sailing. There were a few hiccups, but we’re locked in, no escaping now.

Mona gradually relaxes more and more as the night rolls on, enough to join my family in making fun of me. She’s right at home in that department. They’re all laughing, and the conversation shifts down a rabbit hole everyone wishes their parents would skip—the part where they spill embarrassing stories.

Mona eats it up, a lightness in her shoulders I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. But as much as she’s enjoying it, I can see the pain behind her smile. Likely because she’s comparing my upbringing to her own. I don’t blame her; comparison is a natural human response.

I wish more than anything that I could’ve given her my life. Even though she said she wouldn’t change a thing because we ended up where we were and who we were because of what we had gone through, I wish I could take the edge of agony from her gaze.

By the time dessert rolls around, I’m full, both my stomach from the food and my heart from the night. I can barely get two bites of the fresh strawberry cheesecake before I have to stop eating, worried I might have to unbutton my pants on the way home.

We stay and chat for another two hours, moving to the main sitting room as the night fades away with ease. Eventually, Mona starts yawning, and I decide to call it.

“I’d better get her home and myself. I’ve got a game tomorrow.”

“No!” Cambrie whines, physically pouting. “I mean, you can leave, but Mona can stay.”

I laugh. “You can see her again. And how nice. Thanks, Cam.”

She groans. “Yeah, yeah, just go and ruin the fun, Cassy.”

Mona giggles, her cheeks warming. She feels the love.