Page 55 of Three Stepbrothers Save Christmas

“I thought it was weird as well, especially as she was so cool about it. She told Verity that it made sense she would love the three of us as she has too big a heart for one man.

“Anyway, Trish asked Verity to go and get her a fresh jug of water, which left me alone with her, and she let something slip. She told me to watch Verity, and protect her as she’s in danger. She hinted that Henry is the one we need to protect her from. That he can’t control her forever and has no legal rights to her anyway.”

“What?” I nearly spill my drink as I sit forward so fast.

“That’s what I said. I was sure she was having an episode or whatever she has due to the brain damage, but she seemed so sure and when Verity returned, she changed the subject and carried on as normal.”

“So what? Is he not her biological father? Or not on the birth certificate? Could you not get more out of her?” I hiss before looking up at the stairs and checking for Verity again.

“I swear to God, that’s all she said. May be worth looking into in case he gives her a hard time when he finds out we are all in a relationship with his daughter.”

Ryan has a point; I’ve been wondering what to do about him finding out, as I have no doubt he will make her life difficult to the point she may rethink this whole thing. I finally have her; there’s no way I’m letting her go, especially because of him.

“Leave it with me; I’ll see what I can dig up. You’re right, though. It may be worth checking out.”

I excuse myself and walk up to my bedroom. Ryan was right; from the noise up here, I don’t think they will be out of that room any time soon. It surprises me, though, how much it doesn’t bother me. Sure, I wish it was me making her cry out like that. At the same time, this morning, that was me, so it’s not as if she’s choosing one of us over the others.

I walk into my room and see my laptop on the bed. Why am I working here when there is a perfectly good office downstairs? I hadn’t been using it out of respect for Henry, but fuck that. I have absolutely no respect left for that man after the way he has treated his daughter.

I grab my laptop and briefcase with my paperwork and stationery before heading to the office.

As I walk through the house, I realise there are hardly any photos on the walls. There are a few photos here and there of Verity, but nothing from the age of six. That was the age at which her mother started to fall ill. I’m guessing that was when there was no one to take the photos. The only pictures of Verity’s mum are in her room. I know that would be my mother’s doing as she wouldn’t want to look at her husband’s first wife. She is selfish like that.

I have always had a rough relationship with my mother and would prefer my father’s company over hers. Maybe it’s because she is so self-centred. I swear she wouldn’t have even had kids if my father hadn’t begged her for us. By the time Ethan arrived, she was done trying to parent, and he was brought up by me and the constant strings of nannies she hired. Not that any stuck around for long; she wanted them to be her personal slave, and they wouldn’t do it.

I was always surprised that she had married someone with a child, especially a widower who couldn’t palm the child off to the mother, but it turns out he didn’t need anyone to watch over her whenever he disappeared. He was happy to leave her alone, with no one but the cleaner and gardener to keep her company.

I walk up to the office door and find it locked. Why would Henry lock the door when only his daughter was in the house? Unless it’s locked from us using it. Unluckily for him, I have an expert lockpicker in the family. I’ll get Ethan on the case as soon as he graces us with his presence.

I head into the dining room and set up at the table. I’ve only been working for twenty minutes when the door opens, and Verity bounces in. Her hair is wet from what I’m guessing was a shower, and looking happy.

“Why are you working here?” she asks as she stops beside me.

“The office is locked. Any idea why?” I ask, not looking up from the spreadsheet in front of me.

“Dad always keeps it locked. There must be a key somewhere as the cleaner used to clean in there once a week.”

It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t seen the cleaner here in the three days since I arrived.

“When does the cleaner come?”

Verity shrugs and goes to walk away, but I reach out and take her hand, stopping her.

“Sweetheart, how can you not know when the cleaner comes? They haven’t been here in a few days. Are they on holiday?” I ask, frowning at the way she looks down at the floor and shakes her head. “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, tugging her towards me as I turn in my chair so she can sit on my lap. “Does a cleaner still come?” I ask, tipping her head back with a hooked finger under her chin to ensure she’s looking at me. When she shakes her head, little things start clicking into place.

“When did he fire them?”

“When I turned eighteen,” she answers quietly.

“Why don’t I know that?” I ask.

I remember seeing a cleaner when we first started visiting for the day or the odd overnight trip. I even asked Mum where they were on one visit a couple of years ago, and she said she asked them not to come when we were here as there were too many people in the house for her liking. It made sense, and I just accepted it. From the look on Verity’s face, I know exactly why I don’t know about the cleaner not coming around anymore.

“Was this one of the things you told to lie to us about, Sweetheart?”

Verity nods, and I see those tears back in her eyes. I hate that I’ve taken that smile away. I wrap my arms around her, giving her a big hug.

“I’m sorry I upset you; I didn’t mean to. Do you think you could tell us what’s been going on?” I ask, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

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