Page 134 of The Fiancée Farce
She had tried to tell her that in the store, but if her words wouldn’t cut it, she’d have to try something else. Take a risk.
“Katherine,” she said, distant, already several steps ahead. Planning. “Thanks. But I, uh, I think I need to make a call.”
“I’ll get out of your hair,” she said, standing. “And Tansy? Don’t worry about Scylla. I’m going to turn them down.”
Her jaw dropped. “But you were so adamant—”
“Some things are more important than money.” Katherine shrugged. “I’ll be honest—I’m never going to feel the attachment to this store that you do. But I can see how much it matters to you, and the last thing I want is to take something away from you that you care about so dearly.” She smiled. “Of course, as soon as you have the funds to purchase...”
Tansy laughed. “IfI ever have the funds to purchase. You’ll be the first to know.”
“Before I go, one last thing.” Katherine reached inside her pocket. “I should’ve given you these a long time ago.”
From her pocket, Katherine withdrew two slim white gold bands, one smaller, thinner than the other. Tansy’s breath caught, heart clawing up her throat. “Are those—”
“Your parents’ wedding rings.” Katherine nodded. “I found them in your father’s safe when you were away at college. I wanted to give them to you, but...” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was difficult to part with any piece of him I could find, even pieces that were never mine. Whatever happens, they’re yours to do with whatever you’d like.”
Tansy extended a shaking hand, allowing Katherine to drop the rings from her palm into Tansy’s. She closed her fingers around the cool metal that quickly warmed against her skin. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Katherine said, smiling. “Go make that call.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gemma waspissed.
Pissed. Ha. Pissed in every sense of the word.
“I’m right pissed.” She snorted, her impression of Teddy’s accent just as deplorable as it had always been. He always laughed when she tried that, mocking her for jumping dialects, RP to Geordie to Yorkshire in one sentence.
Whatever half of that even meant.
She tipped the bottle of scotch she’d pilfered from Brooks’s bar up to her lips, the burn barely registering. Her mouth felt funny. Lips were sorta numb.Numb.That was a funny word. Silentb. Nobody saidnum-ba, which, hey, that sounded kinda British-ish.
“Gemma?” The back door opened and Brooks stepped out onto the deck wearing a navy velvet bathrobe that revealed entirely too much chest hair. Too muchthigh. “What are you still doing here? I thought you went home.”
“Tried.” She shrugged. “Didn’t work.”
“It didn’t work?” Brooks shut the door behind him and frowned. “Did you get lost?”
“That’s absurd. Of course I didn’t get lost.” She scoffed, and that made her lips tingle. “Your car has GPS.”
His brows flew to his hairline. “When did you take my car?”
“Whoops?”
Brooks waved the point aside. “What are you doing on my deck at this hour?”
Well, she needed to think about that. She’d fallen asleep in his guest room only to wake up at two-something and—right. That was it. “I got thirsty.”
His eyes flitted to the bottle in her hand. “I can see that. I mean, why aren’t you at home raiding your own liquor cabinet?”
“I don’t have a liquor cabinet. We have a liquor shelf.” That sounded funny. “Liquor shelf.Lick her shelf. Ha.”
Brooks rolled his eyes. “Why aren’t you at home?”
Home.
She had no home.
