Page 65 of Just This Once

I frowned down at her, suppressing a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I have kitten breath,” she said from behind her hand.

I grinned and pulled her hand from her face before planting a smacking kiss on her lips. “Can I feed you before you go?”

Her cheeks flushed before she glanced at the clock, noting the late morning hour. “I really need to get moving. You’re making a bum out of me.”

I stretched back in the bed, resting my hands behind my head as she sat up. “If you ask me, you worked overtime last night.”

My blood hummed just recalling how intensely satisfying it had been to watch her arch in pleasure as I worshiped her.

Emily stood, naked and unashamed, and flashed me a wicked smile over her shoulder. I stared at her bare ass as she confidently padded across the hardwoods and disappeared into the en suite bathroom. I closed my eyes and soaked in the moment, confident nothing could ruin a more perfect morning.

Well,my day was about to get absolutely shit on.

But damn if it wasn’t going to be worth it to see the look on my father’s face when I told him if he wanted to go toe to toe with the Remington County Historical Association, that was on him. I wouldn’t be stepping in to talk with Marilyn Martin or anyone else on his behalf. In fact, if the conversation went the way I was planning it to, I’d be lucky enough to withstand his wrath, and when he saw I was immovable in my stance, he’d cut me out completely.

Only difference was, I was now beyond caring. I didn’t need him or his influence to define me any longer.

When he wasn’t away on business, my father lived in a luxury condo on the dune-lined shores of Lake Michigan. It wasn’t long after my mother left for good that he’d transferred ownership of the King estate to his sister. We grew up in that house and endured the occasional visit from my father while Bug and the paid staff raised us the best they could.

When my father’s Porsche wasn’t parked outside his building, I headed down the winding roads toward the King estate. It was common for my father to be gone on business for long stretches of time, lining pockets with generous donations to seemingly charitable organizations. Organizations he undoubtedly had a hand in and received plenty of kickbacks in the form of tax breaks or favors he could carry in his pocket.

Wherever he was, Aunt Bug seemed to be able to keep tabs on him, and I had a lifetime of issues to unload on him.

My family estate loomed large on the horizon as I pulled my car onto the long, winding driveway. The grand mansion, a testament to the King family’s wealth and pride, seemed to glare down at me with the same haughtiness my father often did. As I parked, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the confrontation I had postponed for far too long.

The ornate oak front door creaked as it opened, its hinges complaining against the weight of time and echoing through the silence of the house. The air inside was thick with the scent of polished wood and old money. I glanced around and knew the house remembered every argument, every broken plate thrown against the wall in anger, every unfulfilled promise.

Heading toward the study, I braced myself for the clash with my father, where I expected to find him drowning his arrogance in a glass of whiskey. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a room cloaked in shadows. A figure hunched behind themahogany desk, cigar smoke stale in the air. The tension in the room heightened as I prepared to speak, but the figure remained silent.

As I stood there, ready to unleash the words I had rehearsed for years, the figure rose, making me stop in surprise. In the dim light, Aunt Bug’s face emerged, her usually composed demeanor replaced with an air of anxiety.

Aunt Bug jolted when she saw me. “Whip,” she stammered, her voice trembling like autumn leaves in the coastal wind. She laughed and placed a hand over her chest. “You scared me.”

I took a step forward, sensing that something was off about her. “What’s going on, Bug? Are you all right?”

She flicked a strand of silver hair from her face and laughed again. “Of course I’m all right. You startled me, that’s all.”

“I was looking for Dad. Have you seen him?”

Her eyes ticked toward the door at my back, as if she were afraid of prying ears in her own home. “Work took him into the city. He should be back in town in a few days.”

My lips formed a hard line. I’d wanted to confront my father, but his unsurprising absence took the wind from my sails. I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled, letting my shoulders sag.

When I opened my eyes, Bug was wringing her hands. I searched her eyes. “What’s going on?”

After a beat, she gestured with her chin. “I found something in the basement, something I think you should see. Follow me.”

Descending the staircase at the back of the house, the polished wood groaned beneath our footsteps. The air in the lower levels was damp and musty, filled with the scent of long-forgotten memories. Bug led me to a dim corner, where an old, dusty box sat neglected.

She opened it tentatively, revealing a mix of mementos—faded photographs, a well-worn denim jacket, and a haphazardstack of papers. Among the stack of papers were official documents that turned my curiosity into a knot of anxiety.

“Bug, what is all this?” I asked, my gaze fixed on the official-looking papers.

Bug hesitated, her eyes avoiding mine. “I was looking for old baby pictures to bring to Sylvie when I came across this box. I didn’t know what was inside, so I opened it and found all of this.”

I reached in and picked up a small plastic rectangle and turned it over. She would have been in her early sixties now, but smiling back at me was my mother frozen in time—light-brown eyes sparkling, her blonde hair styled in loose waves. The resemblance to my sister Sylvie was striking and a sucker punch. She was exactly how I had remembered her before she was gone.

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