A wall of gloomy portraits distracted him from thoughts of his family, and he didn’t hear Adelaide until she placed cups, plates, and utensils on the low coffee table with soft clinking noises.
Cranking his head toward her, he watched her set their places. She hesitated over the second one every time, as if reminding herself to put out two of everything instead of one. It led him to believe she ate in here often, and alone. That wasn’t the only thing he noticed about her.
“Nice shoes.” He should have kept his mouth shut, but part of him wanted her to know he had marked her earlier attire. It opened a door for her to explain them, but she locked it instead. “You like frogs?”
“Love them.” She waved him over and took the food to begin plating it. “They’re adorable.”
She stuck out one leg and rotated her ankle, showing off the plush tree frog house slipper. The top of her foot was red with creases from the bootlaces, but he refrained from mentioning them. She would tell him if it was any of his business. Until they got married, she was free to play dress-up with other men. It’s not like he could ding her when his thoughts drifted back to Savannah every time he let himself slip.
Forgive me, Grier. Goddess knows you deserve better.
Damn it.
Even his own mind refused to cut him a break, not that he had earned one.
“You okay?” Adelaide paused. “You look like you’re hurting. Headache?”
Heartache, but he couldn’t tell her that. “I skipped lunch.”
“I’ll grab you some ibuprofen.” She passed him a glass of tea. “Drink that. The caffeine will help.”
Head cocked, he watched her dash into the kitchen, heard her too. So, her change of shoes wasn’t to blame for her earlier stealth. Now that was interesting. Not many people could sneak up on him, but she had with no problem. Silent appeared to be her default, as if she had to remind herself to make noise.
The suspicion blossoming in his gut wilted when she opened a cabinet, and he spotted the rows upon rows of medicine bottles that must have belonged to her little sister. Adelaide, he decided, taught herself to be quiet for Hadley’s sake. Or, depending on how long their father had been an alcoholic, for her own.
Thanks to Boaz’s mother disowning his little sister, he had lost Amelie in name but not in the flesh. He could see her, talk to her, hold her. Amelie might not be a Pritchard anymore, but she was still alive. Adelaide had lost her sister and her mother, and he felt like an ass for admitting that it had made her all the more appealing. More vulnerable. Easier to mold into the shape he required of her.
Amelie couldn’t be a Pritchard again, that ship had sailed, but she could become a Whitaker. She might not be his sister legally, thanks to the disinheritance, but she could become his sister-in-law if the muleheaded imp took advantage of the opportunity he had arranged and stepped into the deceased Hadley Whitaker’s shoes.
Adelaide ought to have kicked his ass from here to the moon for asking her to turn her misfortune to his advantage, but she was as desperate as him. Neither of them could look too close at the other for fear their golden ticket might start flaking and reveal the tarnish underneath.
Arm braced on the cabinet door, Adelaide hung her head and sucked in a deep breath, girding her loins for dealing with him. A problem most women were happy to have. He liked her better for the glimpses of her struggle. That she was fighting to make the best of their situation, the same as him, meant something. What, he couldn’t say, but something.
Glancing away, he gave her privacy, and noted a gleaming pair of keys tossed in a decorative bowl on one of the side tables next to the couch. Unless he was mistaken, and a gearhead like him never was when it came to cars, that was the Ferrari logo on the fob. The dull set beneath it must belong to the dinged-up sedan she drove to their meeting, which was parked in the driveway.
The car that must belong to the keys was so far outside her reach financially, she would have had more luck touching the moon. So, who gave it to her? Where did she stash it? Why was she hiding it from him? And what else might she be keeping from him?
“Here you go.”
Caught snooping, Boaz bristled like a spooked cat. Damn but the woman was quiet as a wraith. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She touched his shoulder, but there was nothing sexual in the press of her fingers. It was more of a guiding hand, urging his attention toward the food and away from the keys. “So…Keanu?”
Intrigued by her mysteries, he searched Adelaide’s face for more than the exhaustion that plagued her, but he found no clues. “Only if you promise not to spoil the movie for me.”
“I’m a talker.” She winced. “I talk through them, over them, and after them.”
“Can two people with differing movie ethics coexist without killing one another?”
“Put a TV in the bedroom if you need your own.” She shrugged. “This one is mine. My TV, my rules.”
The forty-inch flat screen was pristine but dated. Clearly Adelaide took care of what was hers.
Encouraging as far as revelations go, but it made that damn noose of obligation cinch tighter. He didn’t need a caretaker. He needed…
Grinding his teeth, he clamped down on that useless line of thought.
This wasn’t about his needs. Otherwise, he would be sitting on a couch in Woolworth House, stealing kisses—or trying to—from Grier. This was about family, about keeping his word, and about being the man Adelaide deserved.
“Bedroom?” He took a seat on the sofa beside her. “I figured you would move to Savannah with me.”
“Oh. Yeah. I plan on it.” Her voice softened. “I wasn’t thinking there for a minute.”
As the eldest daughter, she had inherited the title of Matron Whitaker. Had their finances not suffered, she would have brought a man into her family, into her house, and given him her last name. Instead, she had agreed to give up that title in favor of becoming Matron Pritchard. Losing her identity had to hurt, but his hands were tied. That was one line in their marriage contract he would not strike.
“You’re welcome to stay here, as long as you can handle your duties remotely.” He hadn’t meant to make the offer, but her expression begged him for some glimmer of hope he provided on reflex. “My parents are in good health, and there’s my little brother to consider too. We’ve got a packed house.” He tucked into his meal. “That doesn’t mean I can’t make room for you, and your dad, but you’ve got options.”
“Dad won’t leave this house.” She toyed with her food, pushing it across her plate. “As much as I’ll miss him, I won’t miss it. I’m looking forward to a fresh start, away from all the memories.”
“There’s no rush,” he assured her. “We can take this as slow as you like.”
“I appreciate that.” Her timid smile told him she was still trying, and he couldn’t ask for more than that. “I could use more time for Dad to adjust to the idea of me leaving, though. I’ll need to set up housekeeping too, since I won’t be around to clean or cook for him.”
“I’ll make it happen.” He didn’t imagine the relief in her expression, or the quick spark of temper behind her eyes for letting someone else shoulder a burden that was hers. “You can pick the housekeeper, and I’ll vet them.”