Page 133 of Daddy By Design

No.

No, absolutely not.

I patted my pocket for my phone and pulled it out. With shaking fingers, I checked my period tracker app. “Seven weeks...”

The breeze fluttered my hair and another few pages turned until I read her echoing sentiment of disbelief.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Dahlia!” I pounded on the wall and then put my shoulder into it. It still didn’t fucking budge.

My heart slammed in time with each slap of my hand. “Are you all right in there?”

Finally, I heard her voice.

“I’m fine.” It was quieter. Not the excited voice from before.

“Are you sure?” I flicked the latch again and nothing. Frustration lit me up and I dug my fingers into the crevices on either side of the doorway. My nails ripped, but it didn’t matter.

I just needed to get to her.

I thudded my head against the wood. “I can’t believe I let you go in there.”

Suddenly, the doorway slid open. I shoved it wide until the hinges groaned with stress. She stood on the other side with a book clutched to her chest.“I’m okay.”

I rushed forward and cupped her face, pushing her hair back. “Are you sure?” I crushed her to me with an arm around her shoulders and the other at her waist, as I glanced down into the room. It was eerily silent from the last time I’d been inside.

No flying books.

No angry wind.

Just beams of sunshine from the stained-glass ceiling creating a kaleidoscope of colors across the floor and the dark bookcases. Dust motes rolled through the shafts of light, but otherwise, it was achingly still.

Dahlia’s peach and honey scent filled my head and eased my racing heart.

She didn’t hug me back, which finally knocked some sense into me. “Hey.” I stepped back from her and cupped her face again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What?” She seemed to be in a trance.Or at least distracted as fuck, because I didn’t want to think about trances and ghosts or I’d freak out.

“Are you okay?” I repeated. The edges of the room fuzzed as my adrenaline spiked again. She sure as hell didn’t seem okay. “What happened?”

“I…” Finally, she seemed to snap out of it and met my gaze. “Harriette talked to me.”

I must not have heard her right.

“Through a book again.”

“Again? How?” I was lost, but beyond that, I was more worried she’d had an episode. She was far too attached to the story of Harriette. Maybe even more than she was obsessed with the house.

She hugged a soft leather-bound book against her chest. “It was strange and... wow.”

“She talked? Let’s get you out of here first. Then you can tell me.”

She shook her head. “Not like that. It was so weird. She kept showing me books on the bookcase to pull out.”

I frowned.

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