Say You Will (24 page)

They decided Bea should read the will out loud.

Their mum sat on the floor, next to Rosalind and Summer, who still looked shell-shocked. “Have some of the rye,” Rosalind suggested as Bea opened the legal document.

“I don’t drink much,” she said, but she sipped a tiny bit, coughing discreetly.

Rosalind looked at Portia, who rolled her eyes.

“There’s a lot of legal stuff in here, which I’m going to skip,” Bea announced. “The end is where he wrote to us, and it outlines how he’s dividing the estate, so I’ll just start there.”

No one disagreed, though Viola sighed in her sleep from where she was passed out on the floor.

Bea shook her head, lowering the papers and reaching her hand out. “I need some whiskey first.”

“That doesn’t bode well,” Rosalind said, handing it over.

Her sister took a hefty gulp and dabbed her mouth with her fingers. Then she took a deep breath and began to read.

I always wanted a son to carry on the Summerhill heritage and title. I didn’t get one, and I regret that.

The title will, of course, go to the next in line, even though he’s an American and, clearly, unworthy. I can do nothing about this.

I’ve always adhered to the Summerhill family motto: Honour and Family. Therefore, I will divide the rest of the estate in this way. What is left includes the South Street house and all the possessions within.

In respect to honour, half the estate will be given to Jacqueline Summerhill, Countess of Amberlin. She has done the title credit, and deserves acknowledgment in such.

In respect to family, the other half will be awarded to Tabitha Welles, the woman I’ve loved all these years.

Bea lowered the papers, fury in her eyes. “If he weren’t dead, I’d kill him.”

“Acknowledgment,” her mother repeated, her head high. In her eyes, there was a disturbing light.

Rosalind took her hand. “Mum?”

Her mother squeezed her palm, but her gaze was far off. Rosalind wondered if maybe she was murdering Reginald Summerhill, too. “That’s rather concise, isn’t it?” Jacqueline said in a clipped voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Summer said, sounding miserable.

Jacqueline faced her, her expression fierce. “You will not take any of this on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Summer said immediately, visibly quailing.

Their mother stood up and looked at all of them. “None of you will take this on. I mean for us to continue as a family, Reginald be damned. If you have objections, I’ll hear them now,” she said, looking pointedly at Portia.

Portia’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

“Good.” Jacqueline turned to Summer. “Welcome to the family. For better or worse, you’re a Summerhill now.”

Chapter Thirty-two

It’d been a week since Joe had stopped by her desk to harass her.

Biting her lip, Em looked down the hall at his office. He knew. Somehow, he knew she’d gone out with Ben and washed his hands of her.

Her throat closed with the acrid taste of regret. Leaning over, she reached into her bottom drawer and pulled out her collage, spreading it on her desk.

The last time she’d had it out, she’d realized the man she’d pinned to it looked like Joe. She hadn’t looked at it since. She hadn’t replaced the man with a picture of someone who looked like Ben, either.

And she wasn’t going to.

A week wasn’t very long, but it’d never taken her very long to make life decisions. Some things were evident, like the fact that she’d royally bollocksed things with Joe.

Was it too late to fix things?

She looked down the hall and then back at her collage. Turning to her computer, she opened up the company website, printed the picture of Joe from the roster, and cut it out in the shape of a heart. She glued it to the top, and then she stapled it for good measure.

There. She studied her handiwork, already feeling better. Now she just had to do something to get him back.

She knew what that was, too.

Determined, she went to Summer’s office. Her friend was turned around, staring out the window. Em knocked on the open door. “Summer? Are you busy?”

She whirled around in her chair. “Of course not. Come in.”

Em stepped inside and closed the door. She frowned as she really looked at the other woman. “You look different.”

“At least you didn’t say I look awful.” Summer put a hand on the colorful scarf she’d been wearing all the time lately. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even want to think about any of it. I’ve been doing too much of that, and it’s making me tired.” She smiled wryly. Then she gestured to her. “You look like you’re on a mission. Have you come to your senses about Joe?”

She winced. “Was it that obvious?”

“Only if you have eyes.”

“Point made.” Em nodded. “So are you willing to help? I need to go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Her friend perked up. “What sort of shopping?”

“Lingerie.” She pursed her lips. “And I need cake. Something utterly decadent and irresistible.”

Summer lifted her purse from the floor. “I like the way you think.”

“Hopefully Joe will, too.” She felt a moment of uncertainty and fear.

“Lingerie, cake, and you? If he doesn’t think that’s a trifecta of happiness, he’s not the right one for you.”

“He’s the right one,” she said, positive about that one thing.

Summer slipped her arms through hers. “Then let’s bring him to his knees.”

Em armed herself to the teeth.

She shifted in her seat at the reception, pulling her sweater up to her chin, as though the people leaving work could see what she had on underneath. They couldn’t—she knew this—but it didn’t stop her from feeling wicked.

Sexy.

Powerful.

Summer stopped at her desk, bundled up and ready to go home. “Ready for this, Em?”

“Yes.” She glanced at the closed door of Joe’s office.

Her friend lowered her voice. “I saw his assistant leave. Go attack.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Here I go.”

“Good luck.” Summer winked at her and went to the elevator.

Em stood, tugging her skirt down to cover the naughtiness underneath. Picking up the box from the bakery, she marched resolutely to Joe’s door and knocked.

“Come in,” came a distracted rumble from inside.

Taking another breath, she let herself in and locked the door behind her.

He sat behind his desk, typing furiously on his keyboard. He had papers all over and a half-full bottle of sparkling water. His suit coat was hanging on the back of his chair, his sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was loosened, revealing a tantalizing patch of skin.

She wanted to kiss him there. She wanted the privilege of kissing him there whenever she wanted.

“I thought you were leaving for the day, Joan.”

Em stepped forward. “I’m not Joan.”

His head popped up, his face instantly a mask.

She swallowed her nerves and forced herself to walk up to him. “My father died in a gutter with his shoes missing, and my mother sold herself to the highest bidder on a nightly basis.”

Joe’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned back.

“As a kid, when I heard the door to the house open, I’d run into a closet to hide, not wanting to see what my mum and those men were doing, but I could still hear.”

“Bloody hell, Em.” He started to get up.

She held her hand up. “No, I need to tell you so you understand. It’s just, I’ve never told anyone. Saying it out loud makes me sick.”

He nodded and sat back, still ready to pounce to her rescue.

The realization made it easier for her to breathe. That was what she wanted—someone who’d rise to protect her even when she didn’t need it.

The knot she’d carried in the pit of her stomach all these years loosened, and she sighed in relief. She headed to his desk. “Sometimes there was money, but usually it went to alcohol and drugs. I had to come by food and clothing creatively. I swore I’d never do that to my children. I’d never be like my mum. I’d have two children who’d grow up safe and happy.

“I had a vision of the man I wanted, of course.” She stood beside him and began unbuttoning her sweater. “I wanted someone nice, who wouldn’t whore around on me. Someone average.”

“Like Ben,” Joe said.

“Like Ben.” She shrugged out of her sweater and quickly unhooked her skirt and let it fall to her feet. She’d taken off her blouse earlier, and she only had on the underwear Summer had helped her pick out.

His eyes roved over her, the way she’d intended, the way Summer and the saleslady had assured her they would.

Clearing her throat, she touched the black and cream garter belt attached to the stocking. “The last thing I ever wanted was to become my mum. I thought if I found someone like Ben it’d help me from becoming a floozy. But there was you, and you made me feel like being wild.”

Joe looked into her eyes, compassion for her in his gaze. “Em.”

“But I was wrong. I’m not my mother.” She sat on top of his desk, putting her feet on either side of his chair. “I’m not going to do the things she did, and I can treat myself a little without feeling like I’ll go off the deep end. And you knew this about me. You woke up the senses I’ve shut off. You knew
me
, even when I didn’t quite know myself.”

He ran his hands along her legs, up to wear her thigh was bared by the edge of the silk, rolling his chair closer. “I don’t want a fling, Em.”

Shaking her head, she framed his face with her hands. “We’re forever.”

He cupped her chin. “I don’t need the fancy lingerie. I only want you.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I love it, actually.” His gaze roamed down her body. “It’s criminal how you hide yourself behind your bland clothing, but if this is what I have to look forward to, then I’m a lucky man.”

She glanced down at the black bustier. It propped her up like cream puffs on a platter. “Mum liked to wear red. I’ve never worn it, and I’m not sure that I ever can.”

“Red is obvious.” Joe bent his head to her neck and inhaled, his hands gripping her hips.

“I brought cake,” she said as she lowered her mouth to his.

Their lips touched as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t eat dessert,” he reminded her, the words soft between kisses.

“Maybe a little dessert can’t hurt.” She nuzzled his neck and nibbled him in that spot that she was claiming forever. “Maybe you’ll help me indulge.”

“Forever, love.” He gathered her onto his lap and held her close. “Forever.”

Chapter Thirty-three

“I’ve had an epiphany,” Summer said as she glided into the South Street kitchen.

Rosalind looked up from reading emails on her phone. “That having sisters is a pain in the ass? Because I could have told you that.”

Summer kissed Fran on the cheek and sat across from her. “I was out shopping with my friend Em.”

“Tell me you didn’t buy black,” Rosalind said, setting her phone aside.

“I didn’t.” Based on the hint of blush that crept up her neck, there was more to that story than she was saying. “But that’s not what I came to tell you. It’s that you can’t let love pass you by. You have to go for who you want.”

She knew Summer meant well, but still. “I don’t want Nick.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “Is that how you’re going to be?”

Fran set a plate of cookies on the table between them. “We all know that’s utter shite, lamb.”

She crossed her arms, ready to defend herself.

But Portia walked in, sighing when she saw Summer. “You’re here again? Maybe you should just move in.”

“You think so?” Summer said, looking surprised.

Smiling brilliantly, Fran pulled out two more cups for tea. “That’s a wonderful idea. Summer’s entitled to half the house. This way, we don’t have to sell the house, and you’ll get to know all of us, Summer. How clever you are, Portia!”

By the look on her sister’s face, she hadn’t meant to be that clever. Portia had been wary of Summer, more than any of the rest of them had been. But Rosalind supposed that made sense, since Portia had always felt more insecure than the rest of them.

Fran set the teacups in front of Summer and Portia. “There you go, loves. Gigi isn’t up yet?”

“Beauty sleep,” Rosalind and Portia said at the same time.

“So back to you and Nick,” Summer began.

Rosalind groaned. “What does this matter to you? It shouldn’t be that important.”

“But it is.” She placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “If it weren’t for me, you and Nick would be together.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can, and because I love both of you, I’m going to fix it.”

Rosalind blinked at her.

Summer seemed just as shocked by her statement, but then her chin went up in the Summerhill way they all had. “I love you, and I’m not letting you ruin all chances for happiness this way.”

“Isn’t it a little dramatic to say I’ll never be happy without Nick?” As she said it, her heart panged, agreeing with Summer.

“Is it?”

Portia cleared her throat. “I know I’m not involved in this conversation, and as much as it pains me, I have to side with Summer. I’ve seen you look at Nick. You love him.”

She hugged herself tight. “I—”

“For goodness sakes, Rosie.” Fran threw her hands in the air. “Have you learned nothing from your parents?”

“Maybe the reason I’m being cautious is because of my parents,” she retorted.

“You’re not being cautious. You’re being scared.” Fran propped her hands on her hips and glared at her. “You can’t tell me you didn’t picture yourself in a wedding dress, walking down an aisle toward that young man.”

She firmed her lips. Then she shook her head. “Damn it. How could you tell?”

“Because you’ve been my lamb all your life.” Fran took Rosalind’s face in both her hands. “This is the time to dig your heels in, but to win him, not to push him away.”

Summer leaned in. “And Portia and I are going to help you.”

“We are?” Portia said.