Kept Bride (The Secret Bride #2) - Alta Hensley Page 0,6
get us some security just in case,” she says as if it’s just as simple as that to make any threat of Papa Rich go away.
“If that makes you feel better,” he agrees as he reaches for my hand and holds it in his.
We take off into the air, and my belly drops and then flips. A cold sweat covers me, and I instantly want off the plane. I want to go home. I want the schoolhouse. I want my books. I want… I want the way it was.
I lean as close to Christopher’s ear as I can and whisper, “I don’t feel very good.”
He quickly leans forward to the shelf of drinks and opens a can of soda. “Here, drink this. It’s ginger ale and should help. Just close your eyes and take some deep breaths.”
I take a sip and do exactly as he says, and I do start to feel better as the plane evens out.
“And now what?” Mrs. Davenport continues.
“Ember will be staying with me in New York. We have a lot to figure out and what the future has in store, but she’ll be comfortable in my apartment and—”
“I sold your apartment and everything in it,” Mrs. Davenport blurts. “I thought you were dead. You know how fast real estate goes in the city, and… I thought you were dead.”
“Shit,” Christopher says, leans his head against the headrest, and closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I understand. Like you said. You thought I was dead.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Davenport says in a cheerier voice than she has used before. “My townhouse has plenty of room for you. And considering all you’ve been through, I don’t think you should be alone anyway. Your old room is still set up, and Ms. Evans will love having someone to cook for again, since I rarely seem to be home anymore with all the recent social engagements I’ve been busy with.”
“We,” Christopher says, looking at me with a reassuring smile, “would like that for now. At least until I find us a place to live.”
Mrs. Davenport looks at me, back to Christopher, and then back at me. “Ember, do you not have any other family or friends? I’m sure they will be wanting to see you as soon as they can.”
“No,” I state softly. “My mother is dead, and Papa Rich… well… he was all I had.”
A woman who stood by the door as we entered emerged from behind a curtain carrying a tray of sandwiches and bags of potato chips. “When you boarded, I know you said you were hungry. We don’t have a lot on the plane,” she begins, “but I do have these.” She pulls out a table that comes from the shelf of drinks, and it serves as a centerpiece between Christopher and me and his mother. She places the food on the table, and Mrs. Davenport waves her away. She then walks away before any of us can say anything to her.
“So, you want Ember to stay with us?” Mrs. Davenport asks with a look on her face that seems as if she’s tasted something bad.
“Mother,” Christopher snaps. Then in a calmer voice, he adds, “I told you. She’s my wife. So, yes, she’ll be staying with me… with us.”
“Well, she isn’t exactly your wife. Not legally. I’m sure there was no marriage license, and even if there was, you were married under duress. This isn’t legal or binding in the slightest. No one would blame you for thinking it wasn’t. I’m sure Father Antonio wouldn’t blame you one bit, and I seriously doubt we would even have to go forward with an annulment.”
“Mom,” Christopher says in a tone that rings of warning. “We can discuss this further later. But right now, my wife and I need to eat. We need to process. We need to not talk about what happened while we were there. I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise I will answer them soon. But for now, we need some peace. Please.”
3
Ember
Somehow, I manage to fall asleep using Christopher’s shoulder as a pillow. I had tried to eat some, but my stomach and nerves wouldn’t allow it. But sleep at least came, although it doesn’t last for long.
I can hear Christopher and his mother talking as I go in and out of consciousness. He’s telling her the story from the minute he was hit upside the head and shackled in the cellar, the deaths of the poor people trying to help