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Chapter Twenty-Six
Neither Kris nor Nate spoke during the ride home. Roger had tried to convince Kris to return to their house in Beverly Hills, but she’d refused.
Nate didn’t blame her. This entire night had been…damn. Now he knew what it felt like to be on the set of a soap opera, except this was reality, not television.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked, flipping on the lights when they entered his house. It was late, and judging by the silence, both his father and Skylar were already asleep. “You didn’t touch your dinner.”
Neither had Nate. Gemma and Roger’s revelations had already been too much to swallow.
Once Roger dropped the Bombshell with a capital B about Gemma being Kris’s real mom, the rest of the story unraveled real quick.
Mariana had agreed to raise Kris as her own because Gemma couldn’t bring the baby, aka Kris, back to Ernesto. Luckily, no one had been around to witness the actual births—which came within a week of each other—except for Roger and the midwife, whom they’d paid off. They also paid someone to fix the paperwork, so it said Kris was Mariana’s daughter. Mariana and Gemma’s mother got to hold her granddaughter before she passed away a few weeks later, and after the funeral, Gemma returned home to Ernesto while Roger and Mariana moved to the U.S.
Unfortunately, the midwife blabbed despite her payoff, and her husband happened to be one of the officials in Ernesto’s pocket. He told Ernesto, who flipped out on Gemma, nearly killing her, and that was when she ran off to her cousin’s and faked her death. She’d used the entirety of her savings to create a new identity and worked as a chambermaid in a hotel in Quezon, selling her art on the side, until she earned enough to emigrate to Canada. By then, Ernesto had died of diabetes complications, and Gemma worked up the courage to reach out to Mariana. Mariana had taken the next flight out to meet Gemma in Toronto—without telling Roger. That had been the night she’d abandoned her husband and the niece she’d promised to raise as her own daughter.
It had been an emotional reunion between the sisters, one filled with tears both happy and angry. Based on what Gemma said, Mariana gave no indication she wouldn’t return to Seattle. She had, however, promised her sister she wouldn’t tell Roger about seeing her—Gemma hadn’t wanted to upend his and Kris’s lives with her sudden “resurrection” from the dead—and that she would send Gemma frequent photos and updates about Kris.
Except Mariana hadn’t returned home, and the last communication she’d sent Gemma had been a letter informing her she’d spilled the truth to Roger, that he wanted nothing to do Gemma because of her lies, and that he’d insisted Mariana cut off all contact with her sister. He’d allegedly said they already had a happy family of three, and he didn’t want Gemma to ruin it.
A heartbroken Gemma had stayed away, per his wishes, except Roger swore he’d said no such thing and that he’d had no idea Gemma was alive.
The entire story was so far-fetched Nate actually believed it. Plus, he’d seen the look on Roger’s face when he spotted Gemma at the cafe—no one, not even the best actor in the world, could fake that kind of shock.
“I’m not hungry,” Kris said, more withdrawn than Nate had ever seen her.
Spikes of pain prickled his skin. He hated seeing her like this.
“Just a sandwich,” he persuaded. “You’ll be starving in the morning.”
“No, I’m fine, but eat. You didn’t touch your dinner either.”
Nate cupped her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. “If you eat, I eat. You don’t eat, I don’t eat.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he saw a flash of Normal Kris. “That’s emotional blackmail.”
“Is it?” He thought about it. “Seems romantic to me. Or maybe I’m watching the wrong kinda romantic movies.”
“Fine. Let’s both not eat.”
“Okay.”
They made it to the third stair of the staircase before Kris huffed, turned around, and marched him into the kitchen. “One sandwich. That’s it.”
His mouth tipped up. “You got it.”
They worked in silence—Nate arranging the focaccia bread, pesto, ham, and cheese; Kris pouring the water and setting the table with plates and napkins. He waited until she bit into her sandwich before he dug into his own.
“This is amazing,” Kris murmured after a few bites.
Nate’s chest puffed with pride. “Glad you think so, because it’s the only sandwich I know how to make besides PB&J.”
“There’s a big gap between PB&J and focaccia pesto.”
“It’s about commitment. If you’re gonna go casual, you go all the way casual. If you’re gonna go fancy, you go focaccia and pesto.”
Kris’s laugh released some of the tension bunched in Nate’s chest. God, it was good to hear her laugh. It felt like an eternity since their banter this afternoon, before Roger showed up.
Only goes to prove how fast life can change in the blink of an eye.
