One of the part-time Chiara workers, Sam Wyman, drops us off at the bottom of the front steps. He was kind enough to pick us up from the airport and bring us home.
“You two go get settled. I’ll get your bags.”
“Are you sure, Sam?” Tag asks.
He nods, his smile genuine. “I’m sure. Go on, now.”
Tag startles a squeak out of me when he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me up the steps. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Carrying you over the threshold.”
“I’m pretty sure the steps aren’t part of the threshold.”
“I’m hedging my bets,” he responds, bending to push open the heavy front door. “Besides, I like any excuse to have you in my arms.”
He carries me through the door then kicks it shut behind us and stands, holding me, in the foyer. “Welcome home, Mrs. Barton.”
His eyes flash with a happy affection that warms me all the way to my toes. My heart soars with hope and optimism. Maybe this can work. Maybe this can really, really work.
“Why thank you, Mr. Barton, my handsome husband,” I reply, batting my eyelashes at him.
His smile slowly fades to a gentle curve of his lips. “Say it again,” he requests quietly.
“Mr. Barton, my handsome husband,” I repeat obediently.
“Says my beautiful wife,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine in a sweetly chaste kiss that shoots all the way into my soul.
“Let me look at you two,” comes Stella’s voice from the dining room doorway. She must’ve been waiting for us.
Tag turns toward her and starts to set me on my feet, but she stops him, bringing her praying hands to her mouth. I can plainly see the tears in her eyes. “Don’t put her down yet. I want to remember this.”
He doesn’t move a muscle, just stands still for his mother. She stares at us, trying to control her tears, for at least two minutes. Content to remain in Tag’s arms forever if need be, I let my head rest on his shoulder. In a featherlight touch, he brushes his lips over my hair. The gesture is intimate and familiar and achingly tender. And it brings a smile to my mouth that I wouldn’t even begin to know how to fight. The pleasure comes from somewhere deep inside me, a place where all the hopes I’ve carried since I was a little girl have lived quietly dormant all these years. Once I was old enough to see what my family expected of me, all my wistful dreams shriveled up and slept.
“You’re happy, aren’t you?” she asks softly, her eyes silently pleading.
“I am,” Tag replies, his words rumbling through his chest and into my ear.
She closes her eyes in relief, and when she opens them again, they are fixed on me. “You, too?”
I don’t hold back. I raise my head and I let my happiness shine from my face. “Very much so.”
At that, she rushes toward us as much as her ailing body will allow and pulls on Tag’s arm until he bends enough that we are both within kissing distance. She presses her lips to both of my cheeks then to both of Tag’s, her powdery lilac scent enveloping us in a cocoon of maternal love.
“Be good to each other, babies,” she warns mildly, just before my phone rings from my pocket to interrupt.
Tag sets me on my feet and I dig out my cell. “It’s probably my parents,” I explain, checking the screen to see whose call I missed.
“Talk to them,” Tag says, giving me a quick peck on my forehead. “I’ll catch Mom up and then meet you upstairs. I’ll bring our bags up in a few.”
I nod, hitting Dad’s number and heading for his office. He answers on the first ring. “Hey, Dad, we’re back. I just wanted—”
“Are you alone?” he interjects, his voice dripping with restrained urgency.
“Yes, why?”
“Weatherly, I have to tell you something, but you have to promise me that you won’t let on like you know just yet. I need to talk to Donald and see what our options are.”
Donald? Donald is Dad’s lawyer.
“Talk to Donald? About what?” There’s a pause that really isn’t all that long, probably, but my father’s behavior has managed to marinate the seconds in trepidation. “Dad, what is it?”
“We had an investigator look into Tag. Just as a precaution.”
My heart sinks. I can feel it thumping in the pit of my stomach, stirring up enough dread to make me queasy.
“And?”
“One of the first things that he found was a tie to a shell corporation. The same corporation that tried to buy Chiara.” I say nothing. My mind is spinning too fast for me to respond to him right away. “We refused, of course, but he must’ve hired someone who knew his way around business holdings because he somehow managed to discover that neither me or my company holds the majority of the interest in Chiara.”