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“What about me?” Rory sounded offended.
“Get over here.” I flicked my head.
He left Patrick’s side and came to mine. I wrapped him and his sister up. “I love you both, very much.” This overwhelming feeling came over me.This is the thing. This is what you came here for. You’re home.I hugged them tighter, never wanting to let them, or the feeling, go.
Neither of them said they loved me back, and that was okay. It was good of them not to trust me so fully yet. How could I expect them to, after the person they should have been able to trust the most had used and betrayed them?
“Oh, this makes me so happy.” Mom wriggled her way into our group hug.
I caught Patrick’s eye.
“I love you,” he mouthed.
“I know,” I mouthed back.
Charlotte peeked her head in, gleaming at the scene. “You have visitors,” she happily announced.
“Nana and Pops,” Bridgette and Rory said as they left my arms. Before they exited the kitchen, Rory turned around. “You’re the best stepmommy dearest around.”
Those might be the sweetest words I had ever heard. I would treasure them forever.
“Are you ready to meet my parents?” Patrick held out his hand to me.
I let out a deep breath. I felt like I was passing one test, just to start taking another. “Do we get to stop under the mistletoe?” I had been hanging that stuff up everywhere I could.
“Definitely,” he crooned.
I placed my hand in his. “Let’s go, Santa Baby.”
“THEY HATE ME,” I MOUTHEDto Patrick as we hauled his parents’ designer luggage up the stairs. Rory and Bridgette were showing them the way to the George and Daisy room.
“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head.
They totally hated me. I knew we’d kissed too long under that dang mistletoe in the hallway. I’m pretty sure they heard him groan and saw me grab his butt. It was not the impression I wanted to make in front of my future in-laws. Sure, they were nice enough to everyone else. Ophelia and Marcus had even warmly hugged my parents. But for me, it was quick handshakes that came with massive scrutiny as they looked down their perfect noses at me. I wasn’t sure if they indulged in plastic surgery or if they were just insanely elegant and gorgeous for people in their seventies. Think if Jane Seymour and Pierce Brosnan got married and then showed up to your house and they both hated you.
And here I thought all I had to worry about was a deranged journalist. Patrick had assured me his parents would love me. He lied.
“How have you been? We’ve missed you,” Ophelia asked her grandchildren, her lyrical voice echoing in the stairwell.
“We love it here,” Bridgette replied. “Izzy’s the best.”
Ophelia turned and looked at me, not reserving judgment—she was full on judging me. “How wonderful,” she said, but the same aqua eyes Patrick had inherited said,we shall see.
“We have dance parties every night in the ballroom. You can show us how it’s done tonight, Pops.” Rory patted Marcus’s back.
Marcus laughed.
“Dance parties? What kind of dance parties?” Ophelia’s cynicism came shining through.
“It’s just a tradition we started with my nephew before bedtime. We slide across the ballroom floor in our socks, and then we dance to a couple of songs,” I said, in my please-love-me voice.
Ophelia stopped on the top step, pressing her lips together, her long brown hair shimmering. That couldn’t be natural. I bet her long camel coat cost more than half my wardrobe. She was a queen, and I had the feeling she viewed me as a peasant.
“You have to see our tree, Nana,” Bridgette gushed. “It’s the best. Izzy and Mimi helped us make all the ornaments.”
“Mimi?” Ophelia raised her brow. “You’ve all gotten very cozy here, I see.”
“Isabelle’s family has been very welcoming.” Patrick smiled at me.
