Page 67 of Love Like Lightning

I make it as far as the front door. I start to close it behind me when there’s resistance. It’s Gia, of course, and she looks absolutely wrecked. She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, one wrong move away from making it bleed, and her eyes are wide and glassy.

“You knew.” I actually laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation. Of course my parents didn’t want to tell me something this big. I’m sure they didn’t think I could handle it, so why would Gia think any differently? And of course I had to go and get involved with a woman who clearly doesn’t even care enough to be honest with me. “There was no way you didn’t know who I was and who my parents were.”

The accusation burns my tongue as I let it fly. She grimaces but stays quiet. Looking at me with sad eyes, she takes a step closer, then thinks better of it and takes a step back.

“Henry, you have to understand…”

I wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. Her request for understanding drifts between us, aimless and paper thin. I see red, my vision blurring at the edges for a moment before I can wrangle my emotions enough to speak.

“Understand what?” I bite out, thankful for the chill in the air. Without it, the simmering rage rushing through me would be likely to burn me to ash.

“Henry…”

“What? Seriously, Gia, what do I need to understand? You’re not saying anything.”

I watch as she struggles to find her words, and something in me snaps. Shaking my head, I turn away from her. “I have to go.” Flying down the stairs, I take long strides toward my truck.

“Wait!”

Gia runs down the steps but stops a few steps away, giving me some space. It’s a wise decision.

“We should really talk.”

“I can’t—Gia, I won’t talk about this right now.” My tone leaves little room for argument, and without another word, I get into my truck and leave. She didn’t want to talk when I clearly needed to for her own reasons, so I’m not going to talk now.

28

Gianna

I don’t bother going back inside. Frankly, I want nothing to do with the trainwreck of a conversation going on in there. I really like Gina and Marc, but I don’t understand why they did this the way they did.

Instead, I make my way back to the porch and sit on the steps. Minutes go by, and the cold seeps through my body, chilling me to the core. Eventually, the door creaks open behind me. I resist the instinct to turn and look because I don’t know what I’ll say if it’s one of their other kids.

The daughter was more than a little bit upset that Cam and I were there. And Ian seemed pretty pissed at me specifically.

“Hey, we should probably go.” Cam sits down next to me, and I can feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“Yeah, probably,” I agree, but make no move to go. The weight of the night and the repercussions of my own actions settle around me, and suddenly I’m sinking into a vat of cement. I’m so tired.

“This is probably the worst reception we’ve ever had,” Cam whispers. He sounds upset.

“Family businesses. They can be messy.” My words sound hollow even to my own ears, and even though Cam is technically my boss, I can’t muster up anything more.

He grunts, sounding more like his usual grumpy self, and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get outta here. I don’t want to cross paths with Princess Wright again tonight.”

The comment about the daughter being a princess throws me. Cam usually doesn’t talk about our clients like that. Maybe she said something after I left to encourage the nickname. More than likely, she did.

We’re both quiet on the drive back to the bed and breakfast, Cam steaming visibly, and me quietly berating myself for every single decision I’ve made since landing back in Ever Lake.

He snags a close parking spot right out front and when he cuts the engine, silence grows around us.

“I should have told him.” I let out a sigh that’s been building for what feels like twelve hours. “Would you have? Told him?” I glance over at Cam, but he’s looking out the window.

“Gia, I’ll be honest. I simply wouldn’t have gotten into this kind of situation with a client.”

Helpful.

“Client's son,” I correct him, knowing he won’t let it fly.

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