Page 18 of A Bond Beyond Blood

I smirked.“You thought I wouldn’t have one?”

She flinched and I felt the movement against my chest.

“There are a lot of things about me you may have assumed incorrectly.”

Jacqueline’s shoulders rose and fell on a deep sigh, then she snuggled closer to me, stretching her arm around my waist and tightening her fingers into the hem of my t-shirt.“Thank you for being here.”

I nodded, then kissed the top of her head.“Tell me about him.”

“He loved this time of year...Especially Christmas.”

I grimaced.Enduring the holidays must have been brutal last year.

This year, too, obviously, but I was here now.I could help.

As she began telling me stories of her childhood and all the ways Franco Fiorino made December a magical time of year for his children, my gaze flicked around her room.

The decorations, what few there were, spoke nothing of a twenty-year-old woman’s life.

No pictures with girlfriends or posters of favorite bands...nothing to indicate what kind of music she listened to, or movies she enjoyed watching.No books.

Even though Jacqueline wasn’t especiallygirly—I hadn’t expected pink flowers and lace—the more I surveyed my surroundings, the more this room didn’t feel like her at all.

The few pictures displayed on the wall told someone else’s story.Had I settled us in someone else’s bedroom?

I scanned the photographs, focusing on the one closest to me.Three children, two boys and one small girl with mischief in her eyes, the image yellowed by age and the stain of tobacco smoke that still lingered in the air an entire year after the man’s death.Another photo displayed higher on the wall showed a man and his bride, a striking woman who bore a profound resemblance to the one in my arms.

Jacqueline’s mom, I realized.

Though there were unmistakable touches of her, from body sprays and makeup strewn about the top of the dresser, to her clothes spilling out of the closet, nothing could hide the fact that this was Franco’s room.

The sheets and comforter smelled like Jacqueline, but how much of this was hers—and how much was left over from her father?

How could she heal when she was surrounded by the absence of him?

Chapter Seven

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