Page 83 of Everything We Left Unsaid

“Yes, we had a nanny. She was wonderful. Always treated us like her own and took care of us when Mom wasn’t around or was working. Don’t get me wrong, our mother spent a lot of time with us growing up, but having an extra set of hands was a huge help.”

I open the door to my old room and usher them inside. Abby walks to my dresser and takes in all my awards and trophies.

“Athletic and smart,” she quips, quirking a brow. “That’s so hot,” she adds playfully.

“I’ll show you hot,” I tease, pulling her body flush against mine and capturing her lips in a steamy kiss.

“Tiss!” Chloe demands from the floor. I release Abby and pick her up, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“You’re a jealous little thing, aren’t you?” I tease. She nods her head yes like she knows what that means, and it makes me laugh. “Let’s go downstairs,” I offer, wrapping my arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Dinner should almost be ready.”

We enter the dining room just as Marta is setting the table. “Hey, Marta. Something smells good.”

“Jacob!” she croons with a faint, lingering Russian accent, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s so good to see you.” She hugs me like a grandmother would, pulling me into her soft embrace. Her salt and pepper hair rests on the back of her head in a tight bun, and her soft blue eyes glimmer with affection. She’s been with us since I was a child, and I love her like family.

“This is my girlfriend, Abby, and our daughter, Chloe.” I introduce my girls, but when I look at Abby, her expression confuses me. She seems surprised but pleased, and I realize what I just did. Without even thinking about it, I called her my girlfriend. We haven’t really talked about what we are or what labels to give each other, but that’s what she is. That, and so much more.

“My goodness, Jacob. I didn’t realize you were serious with anybody, and I certainly didn’t know you had a beautiful baby girl!” Marta exclaims as Abby steps forward for introductions. We make small talk as Marta finishes up, and then I slip into the kitchen to grab the highchair and slide it up to the table. Abby and I take the seats on either side of Chloe just as my parents enter the room.

“How was the tour? I trust you found your room to your liking,” my mother inquires, her sharp gaze focused on Abby as she unfolds her cloth napkin and smooths it over her lap. Abby follows her lead, imitating the action. She’s trying so hard to fit in, to prove that she belongs here and knows how to live this life.

“Yes, thank you. My room is lovely,” Abby praises. “You have a beautiful home.” Marta slips into the room holding two steaming plates, one of her helpers following with two more.

“What would Miss Chloe like for dinner?” Marta asks, leaning in close.

Abby glances at her plate before answering, “She can have what we’re having.”

“Very well then. I’ll be right back with her plate.” She returns shortly with a smaller version of our plates with roast chicken, risotto, and sautéed vegetables. “If she doesn’t like that, I can whip up something else for her,” she adds in a low voice only Abby and I can hear.

“Thank you,” I respond gratefully. My mother rarely let her make anything else for us if we didn’t like what she served. That was, until Peyton got sick. Before that, we ate what was on our plate or we got fruit. Those were our only two choices. Once Peyton started treatments, she lost her appetite and ultimately quite a bit of weight, so Mom would let her ask for anything she was willing to eat and Marta cooked it. She slowly became more lenient with the rest of us as she realized there were bigger fish to fry than expanding the palates of the next generation.

An awkward silence descends upon the dinner table, the only sound the clinking of silverware on china. Finally, Dad clears his throat. “So, Abby, tell us about your parents.” Abby pales, her hand freezing on its way to her mouth. His question is innocent. We’ve never discussed Abby’s family dynamics, and now I wish I’d made the time to talk to my parents about it.

She sets her fork down and takes a drink of water, swallowing hard. I suspect she’s stalling, not ready for this conversation, and I can’t say I blame her. “We lost my father in a coal mining accident when I was ten,” she begins. I want to save her from the rest and tell her she doesn’t have to talk about this, but she opens her mouth to continue before I can say anything. “My mother is estranged from the rest of our family. I haven’t seen her in several years.”

“Oh,” my father replies, blinking away his surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he offers sincerely. I glance at my mother, and aside from an almost imperceptible furrow in her brow, her features remain impassive. The subject is quickly dropped, and we finish our meal with only superficial small talk peppering the silence.

I slip into Abby’s room after everyone else has gone to bed. Peeking into the nursery, I check on Chloe before sliding the door closed. Earlier this evening, I showed Abby how to use the video monitor so we can keep an eye on our daughter at all times through the night. It’s perched on the nightstand next to Abby’s head when I slide between the sheets. I don’t intend on waking her, even though it’s been two weeks and I want nothing more than to sink into her inviting warmth, but she’s exhausted so I pull her against my chest to hold her while she sleeps.

I’m starting to doze off when I feel the soft palm of her hand press against my chest. She lets out a little groan and my cock stirs. It had finally started to soften as I fell asleep, but is now back in full force.

“Jacob,” she breathes, her voice husky with sleep. She tilts her face up, groggily taking me in. “Are you really here or am I dreaming?”

“No, baby, you’re not dreaming. I’m here.”

“Mmm, you smell so good.” She breathes me in, nuzzling my neck, and I feel myself twitch against her thigh. She moans again and presses her body against mine. I’m rock hard, my hard-on digging into her belly.

“Do you want me?” she asks, wrapping her fingers around my length.

I hiss in a breath between my teeth. Fuck, yeah, I want her. “What do you think?” I ask in her ear, a growl in my voice.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she taunts, stroking her hand up and down. I don’t know where this is coming from, but I love this side of her.

“Yes, I want you,” I grind out. “So fucking much.” I push her onto her back and cover her body with mine, grinding my pelvis against hers. She moans against my mouth as I dive in with my tongue, licking and tasting. “Fuck, I love that sound,” I confess.

Pulling the straps of her camisole down her arms, I feather kisses over her shoulder and across her collarbone. My mouth moves lower and lower, pushing her top down with my teeth and exposing her breasts. She moans and arches her back when I take a dusky peak into my mouth. My tongue teases the sensitive tip as my hand slides down the flat plane of her stomach, dipping into her panties. Gasping, she bucks her hips when my fingers meet her slick flesh. I sink into her, her mouth and her body both welcoming me in.

I find her clit and rub furious circles over it while my other fingers thrust inside her. Her back bows, eyes squeezed shut as her climax peaks, and then she crashes. Her legs shake and she lets out a deep, guttural moan, her inner walls clamping down on my fingers.

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