Page 24 of The Right Wrong Promise

No way am I walking in on family breakfast time before I’m ready to face the day. Plus, my cami and tap-pants pjs don’t scream family-friendly.

Sticking my head out of the room, I make a dash for the bathroom across the hall and lock the door behind me.

It hasn’t changed much since childhood, everything’s charmingly old-fashioned and in good shape. The bathrooms might be a decent selling point for the house later.

They’re not bad, even with the shower sputtering with disuse before it stays on hot. By the time I emerge, I feel like I’ve had a spa routine.

I tie my wet hair back and head down, carefully running my hand along the railing.

The first thing I notice is that it doesn’t try to throw me to an early death today.

Huh.

Actually, it’s weirdly sturdy, not bending at all.

I give it a good push to test it, just like I did yesterday. It doesn’t budge.

I grit my teeth, noticing the gap torn out of the railing is gone too. There’s fresh, unstained wood there, smooth and nailed into place.

So.

Mr. Saintly Dadzilla thinks he can sneak around behind my back to play fix it after I point-blank forbid it.

I ignore the tiny spark of relief that no one’s at risk of falling anymore.

There’s no denying he solved this problem faster than anyone else, but—

Ugh.

I take a few seconds to swallow my pride before I face them.

The kitchen is bright and cheery, barely used since the last big renovation. It’s the main room PopPop made a point to update over a decade ago.

Unlike the bathroom, it’s sleek and modernish. U-shaped marble counters around a huge family table with a hint of Tuscan colors, the style in vogue well over a decade ago.

The twins are busy hauling plates of food to the table, enough to feed a small army, and there are four places laid out.

Four?

Oh, boy.

My stomach lurches.

I don’t let myself think about what that means.

The way our family mealtimes at home always came with some agenda in my parents’ house, especially as Ethan and I got older.

“Hi.” The boy looks up cheerfully. “I’m Dan, remember?” He points at his sister. “That’s Sophie. You saved her yesterday.”

I laugh and shake my head.

“I do remember. And that’s a little dramatic, kiddo, but thanks.”

Unable to help myself, my eyes flick from their smiling faces to where Kane huddles over the stove. By the looks of it, he’s wrapping up his feast prep.

He’s dressed casually in a hoodie that might be a size too small. The fabric stretches across those massive shoulders, and when Dan mentions me saving Sophie’s life, he sends the kid an annoyed glance.

Guess he still doesn’t like me.