Page 19 of Best Kept Vows

Hendrix paused, looking uncomfortable, before finally saying, “Your wifeis here often.”

“Right, you said that.” I wanted details, but I would sound like a downright jerk for not knowing what my wife was doing. But then Hendrix had been with Dad for three years, and I doubted much escaped his attention. “It’s surprising to me since Dad never approved of her.”

Hendrix smiled warmly. “Well, he adores her now. She has lunch with him because he hates eating alone, and he gets sick and tired of eating with me. She plays cards with him—and lets him win. She reads those old Louis Lamour westerns to him.”

A knot formed in my throat. I’d known none of this. Lia had never mentioned it.

“She takes him outside to get fresh air,” he continued. “Your father laughs with her—I never see him laugh otherwise. Ada comes by with Lia sometimes, and those days, he’s giddy with excitement.”

My father adored my children. He struggled with Birdie, making his dislike for her clear, and calling her a waste of space to her face, but he had always treated Tristan and Ada like royalty.

“As you can see from my face, I didn’t know. Not about Lia or Ada,” I admitted.

“I figured,” he agreed with good humor. “Lia is an empathetic person, as you know,andshe has experience with someone who had a stroke.”

My wifewasempathetic, kind, generous. Here, I was, oblivious to my own family’s lives, wrapped up in myself and the company, while Lia, despite everything, quietly cared forthe man who’d made her feel unwanted and inadequate for years.

What the fuck was I doing hurting her by not giving back all that she gave me?

“Her grandfather had a stroke,” I recollected. “He lived with them until he passed.”

“She told me it taught her patience.”

He walked me out and then went back into the suite.

I stood outside, in the lavish hallway of my childhood home, and once again recognized how cold and sterile it was—staged like a model house. It was the antithesis of the home Lia had made for us.

Our place was warm and cozy—lived in. Whenever my parents came over, my mother would look down her nose at the table decorations being too simple or the art on the walls not being originals but rather quirky French café posters that Lia had framed.

Lia used to have problems with Mama’s disapproval in the early days, but I told her to ignore my mother, which she did at times, though she wasn’t always able to. I had tried to get my mother to stop criticizing Lia, but that got us nowhere. Now, I didn’t think anything my mother said registered with my wife, and she avoided talking to her. I tried to get them in the same space so they’d get along, but it was a losing battle.

As I stood looking at this house with no happy memories, I couldn’t remember why it was so important that my absent mother and loving wife got along.

CHAPTER 7

Ophelia

My heart fluttered wildly as I parked my Polestar in front of Savannah Lace, the Bluetooth still lit up with Ada and Tristan’s voices.

“You’ve got this, Mama,” Ada encouraged cheerfully.

“Yeah, they’d be crazy not to hire you,” Tristan chimed in from New York.

I laughed softly, trying to calm my nerves. “Thanks, sweethearts. I’ll call you right after, okay?”

“We’ll be waiting,” Ada promised.

After quick goodbyes, I stepped out of the car, the humid Savannah air wrapping around me like a damp towel. I picked up my pace, desperate to get inside, before my white blouse started looking like it had been through the spin cycle of a washing machine.

Savannah Lace occupied a restored historic building in the heart of downtown. Although I’d driven and walked byit many times, I’d never paid attention to its elegant structure of pale brick and vintage windows.

Walking inside was like stepping into a magazine spread—polished wood floors gleaming beneath exposed beams and chic modern furniture, effortlessly contrasting the classic southern architecture.

A redheaded woman at reception gave me a broad smile. “Welcome to Savannah Lace. How may I help you?”

I smiled uneasily, feeling gauche. “I’m here to meet Nina Davenport. My name is?—”

“Ophelia Boone, welcome. Sorry, you did say you prefer Lia.” The woman came around the desk and held out a hand. “I’m Rachel Burnside.”

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