Page 142 of Waiting For A Girl Like You
No, thank you? Had she just saidno thank youto the terrorist? She silently blamed Simone for instilling good manners in her, and thinking of Simone again made Jamison burst into tears instantly.
Not wanting Michael to hear her sobbing, she entered the shower. The water pelting her from the various showerheads made enough noiseto cover the sound. She had never felt so helpless. Never. She wanted to pay attention and had tried to notice the details so she could tell Liam later, but there were too many moving parts working against her.
She nearly collapsed when she thought of Liam coming here. Her mind was starting to clear, and now running wild, showing her all the horrible things these people would do to him.
“No, no, no.” She scrubbed her skin raw, her bottom lip trembling. “I won’t let it happen.”
Getting control of herself, she finished cleaning up and got out. From the choices of clothing available, she picked an oversized T-shirt—clearly one of Michael’s—and a pair of women’s sweatpants to wear. Leaving her feet bare, she noted the pair of women’s tennis shoes at the bottom of the closet. They looked like they would fit, and if she had the chance to run, she would need them.
Back in the bedroom, she found more lamps ablaze, revealing further details about the room. In the corner, close to the reading nook, there was a table with chairs for two where Michael stood waiting. He had also changed, wearing dark sweatpants and a T-shirt similar to the one she had on.
“Come and eat.”
Warily, she took the offered chair, eyeballing the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. “Do you always wear a weapon in your own home?”
He took the seat across from her. “No, I do not.”
That was it. No elaboration. No explanation. He just started eating, so she did the same. The soup had reached a decent temperature, and she paced herself, even though she was starving.
The silence dragged. Needing to distract herself, Jamison peered past him to the rows of books on the shelves. She expected war memoirs or thrillers, but was surprised when she recognized row after row of romances.
“She liked to read,” Michael said, his eyes still on his soup. “Rom-coms. After a long day with patients and dealing with her family, she always needed something light.”
Jamison set her spoon down. “Did you live here with her?”
“No.”
“But you built this for her.”
Michael’s green and brown eyes ticked upward to meet hers. “We designed it together. She loved her childhood home. When we talked about settling down, we started sketching out this place. I had the plans drawn up in 2018 after we found this area. In fact, I proposed to her here when we signed the papers to purchase the land.” He glanced at the balcony windows. “Right out there, on the edge of the lake.”
His mouth curved slightly at the memory, softening his features. Michael Sinclair was already handsome, but like this, it was quite a shocking difference.
“She didn’t know I’d had the plans completed when she died,” he went on. “Didn’t know I was already working with contractors to bring it to life. Down the hall, there’s a huge library. Her library. I filled it with every romantic comedy book I could find. After I saw the one at Haven, I even considered adding a conservatory.”
Ice trickled through her bloodstream. “You were at Haven House before the night you tried to take me?”
The easy smile on Michael’s lips slid into a thin line. “I’ve walked those trails for years and watched your family for just as long. Sometimes with Cecilia. Sometimes without her. I kept trying to figure out what made you all so special. What did you have that she thought was worth protecting?”
“Did you ever find the answer?”
“No.” He returned to his food. “None of you were worth her.”
Now she was getting somewhere. “Is that why you joined Zanmi? Because you blame us for CeCe’s death?”
“Cecilia.” Michael clenched his jaw as he stared at his soup. “Her name was Cecilia.”
Jamison shifted gears. She wouldn’t get anywhere with him if she acted contradictory. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember her. The only name I know is CeCe.”
“She remembered you,” he said quietly. “She remembered every single one of you, even after everyone forgot her.”
Forgot her?
CeCe Miller?
That was a comment she couldn’t let slide.
“Simone didn’t forget her. Neither did Annabeth. I may not remember Cecilia, but they do. They mourn her. We all do. I don’t thinkany of us knows how to exist without the weight of grief sitting heavy on our shoulders. Mourning is our thing, and mourning CeCe is at the forefront,” she said, her voice rising as her anger snapped. “You know, maybe instead of lurking outside Haven House and kidnapping people, you should have introduced yourself like a normal damn person. Simone would’ve welcomed you. She would’ve asked about CeCe until your ears bled. And she would’ve shown you the photos. They hang everywhere now. We don’t have many, but each one Liam found hangs proudly in the main hall and library.”
