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Paisley moans. “You two are seriously troubled.”
“It’s not snoring. It’s a relaxed form of lady-like breathing,” Mrs. Bachman states, dabbing her lips with her napkin, putting the matter to bed. “Which brings up sleeping arrangements.”
A knot forms in my stomach. Me sitting on my bed. Paisley in my arms.
Mrs. Bachman looks right at me. “I want you two in the same room. Eyes and ears on her every moment.”
“Same room! That’s a bit much.” Is Paisley—blushing? Her cheeks go pink and she looks to her father. “Dad?”
Bronson’s face loses a little color as he stares at a space on the wall. “I want you safe, but Paige—that might be over the top.” His eyes find mine, giving me a look that sends a chill through me.
His wife gives him a look, their eyes meeting. “It’s the only way to be sure she’s safe.” She holds his gaze a moment longer.
Whatever he sees there makes him nod. “I agree with your mother. We can’t be too careful.”
What if the real danger is inside the bedroom with your precious daughter? It reminds me of those old slasher movies. The call is coming from inside the house.
The real danger to Paisley.
Is me.
I’ve got to quit.
Beg them to have someone else take her. I run through my list of men. All dependable. But there’s a prickle across the back of my neck. Just the idea of anyone other than me being responsible for her safety makes me uneasy.
Then I’ll just have to behave.
But where is that fine line between teaching her discipline and taking advantage, and have I already crossed it?
“Okay, so you’ll fly out of our NYC airport tomorrow after brunch. You’ve got your plans laid out for the two-week trip, which, by the way, you still haven’t told me where you’re going?—”
“Can’t a girl have a few secrets?” Paisley says with a light laugh.
“Sure,” Mrs. Bachman says. “Then once you’re there we’ll give Kate a few weeks to settle in before we come to visit and plan the wedding.”
“If.” Bronson puts a hand up in the air. “If Katie wants to move forward with the engagement, then you and your friends will go to plan the wedding.”
“Of course! Of course.” Mrs. Bachman puts her hand over Paisley’s. “This is all contingent on your decision, sweetheart.”
Paisley, looking slightly overwhelmed, nods. “I know… Hey, Mom, I wanted to go see the Hamlet house tonight. I haven’t seen it since it’s been finished.”
“Oh my God, yes! Let’s! The roman shades are up but we can go over the choices for the curtains. Oh, and the rug in the living room. I’m not sure if it’s as fluffy as you’re going to want.” Mrs. Bachman continues to list decor they need to investigate.
Paisley glances at her dad. She and Bronson share a look.
He clears his throat. “Paige. Sweetheart. I think Katie might want to go alone. Last night was a long night. She might need a moment alone to catch her breath.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Bachman shakes her head, her sleek bob brushing her shoulders. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
“Mom—”
She holds out a hand, “No. No. I totally get it. Have Paolo take you, though. Can’t be too careful after those rogue gunshots last night.”
At the mention of gunshots, Paisley kicks me under the table, giving me a pointed look.
“I won’t be long, Mom,” she says. “I just want like an hour of quiet time to walk around and take it all in. You are such an amazing mom. I can’t believe you and Charlie did the whole house for me.”
“Sweetheart.” Mrs. Bachman leans over, placing a kiss on Paisley’s cheek. “It was our pleasure.”
