Page 50 of Finding the One (River Rain #7)

With that, there was no way to hold them back.

I burst into tears.

“Oh, honey,” Marlo said through them.

Which only made me cry harder.

So much harder, I bent double and shoved my face between my knees.

“Get it out,” she cooed.

I shot back in my chair and declared, “I hate my mother.”

God.

Why did that feel so good to say?

“Honey,” she whispered in my ear.

“Why couldn’t Dad meet you thirty-five years ago?”

“Well, beautiful girl, I was only thirteen so that might have been a bit problematic.”

I barked out a laugh, the second one in our conversation that was surprisingly genuine.

“Talk to me now,” she urged.

“I…can’t. It’s too fresh. But…” I hesitated, then went for it. “Can we have a girls’ date when I get home?”

She did not hesitate.

“Of course. And if I have to chain Ned in the dungeon of this mausoleum to keep him from fawning all over you because he’s worried about you, I will.”

I was laughing again about her calling Dad’s house a mausoleum.

It was beautiful.

But it was sterile.

I hoped she did something about that. Finally made Dad’s house a home.

“I mean,” she continued, “I don’t know if there is a dungeon. But I’ll find it if I have to.”

“I would…” I cleared my throat. “That would be awesome. Not the dungeon part. Just the girls’ time part.”

“It’s a date. So, are you going to be okay until then?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Pretty liar,” she murmured. “I’m a phone call away, okay?”

“Okay. And Marlo, lie to Dad and tell him I’m fine. Please? Tell him he doesn’t have to worry. Hearts mend, right?”

“They do, my sweet. It takes time, but I promise, they do.”

It took Dad decades.

But he did it.

“I’m glad he has you, and I swear that isn’t selfish, because I’m glad I have you too,” I said.

“That isn’t selfish. A woman falls in love with a man who has children, she falls in love with a family. And I knew when you walked into the restaurant wearing that fabulous outfit, I’d fallen for you.”

Damn.

I was crying again.

Because she was amazing.

Because I was so, so happy Dad had found her.

And because Dair picked that outfit.

“I’m not helping,” she remarked.

“Oh, you are,” I sniffled.

“Good. Chin up, Blake. You’ve got this until you get home,” she bid. “And then we’ll have you.”

We’ll have you .

She was just the best .

“Thank you, Marlo, and I mean that. Thank you .”

“My pleasure, honey.”

We rang off, and I sat there sniveling and weeping in the pretty morning room that was one of the few totally feminine common rooms in the house, a room I wasn’t sure Dair had ever stepped into (which was why I was in it).

I was pulling myself together, my thoughts on finding some tissue, when my phone went again.

I looked down at it.

It was a number not programmed into my phone.

But since I’d contacted three auction houses two days before, and I was expecting callbacks, I took it.

I wiped my eyes, sniffled again, and answered.

“Hello?”

“Blake. Balfour,” Bally grunted.

I blinked at the priceless antique carpet in front of me.

“Bally?”

“Davi’s been buzzing in my ear,” he stated.

Uh-oh.

“Bally, I think?—”

“I have apologies to make to you for my behavior with Helena but now is not the time. Now is the time to admit I inadvertently shared some information with my son that it seems took your relationship on a wrong turn.”

So Bally was the one who told Dair about the photo.

I’d been wondering about that (or, to be honest about it, almost obsessed by it along with my heartbreak).

“Please take no offense”—or, please do —“when I say I’m not talking to you about this.”

“Aye, we are, lass, considering my daughter tells me my son is a wreck.”

I sat very still.

“You must understand that Signe—” he began.

That pulled me out of my stupor.

“Trust me, I very much understand about Signe,” I snapped.

“I was looking out for him when I told him what I told him about you.”

“And you did your fatherly duty well,” I returned. “You saved him from being tied to another crap individual.”

“Sorry?”

Oh no.

He didn’t get that.

“What I’m saying is, this is for the best, Bally. For Dair. For all of us. What you did with Mum. Who I am. Dair will come to that realization eventually.”

My son is a wreck .

My son is a wreck .

A wreck .

How could a broken heart beat so fast?

“Who you are?” he asked.

“I explained myself to Dair,” I retorted. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel I need to explain myself to you. It says a good deal you’re trying to look out for him like this, but please, lose my number.”

“Blake—”

I hung up on him, and although I didn’t block Dair, I had no problem blocking his father.

My son is a wreck .

A wreck .

I looked to my phone and even checked it.

I hadn’t had a call or text from Dair since last night.

He was coming to the realization he’d dodged a bullet.

Good for him.

God!

“I’m not going to fucking cry again,” I bit out as I pushed up from the chair.

I stomped to my room where I changed from my slippers to my Jimmy Choo, knit, pearly, lace up sneakers.

I then stomped down to the kitchen to tell Christine I was going for a walk.

She lit up. “Breath of fresh air, even in this mist, will do you a world of good, me darlin’.”

And yes.

I’d been holed up in the house since I got back to it.

Therefore, I resumed my stomping, this time to the mudroom where I tugged on Mum’s Max Mara poncho style raincoat (which was sublime, and totally not going on the auction block).

And I headed outside, through the gardens, to the fields beyond, in my state, not oblivious to the dense fog, but instead, welcoming it.

Cathy and Heathcliff never got together.

And now I understood perfectly why he brooded on those moors.