Page 7 of My Orc Contract Husband
Nodding, I pushed aside the memory of what my father’sbodyguardswere capable of, and focused instead on the joyful reminisces. “Sometimes, when she was getting ready to go out, or if she was just in a good mood, she’d let me go into her closet and play dress up. I loved this one pair of sparkly gold heels she had—they were impossible to walk in! And Ibeggedher to let me hold that purse and pose in front of her big mirrors!”
My aunt laughed at the image, right along with me, and I tamped down on the little voice in the back of my head that whispered,She was training you to grow up and be like her.
“Oh, what a lovely memory,” Aunt Sharon announced, wiping her eyes. Over the years, we’d found comfort in sharing stories that could make us laugh—but tears were still a guarantee. “She never lost her sense of fun.”
That was the truth.
My mother and her sister had been raised in an upper-middle class family determined to do even better for them; they’d both gone to the best colleges, made the right connections, and joined the right country clubs. My mother, as the oldest, had made her parents proud bymarrying an up-and-coming real-estate investor, then standing at his side as he jumped to tycoon status.
By the time my mom died—a cancer she’d refused to acknowledge until it was too late—my father and his partner had made their millions. Her funeral had been epic…Dad threw a party for all his business associates.
I’d been in high school at the time, and the whole thing was still a blur to me. Black silk and glittering diamonds, false tears and fake hugs.
If Aunt Sharon hadn’t been there at my side, clinging to me, holding me up, I don’t think I would have made it through. It was only afterward that I realized her grief had been the only true emotion there. That realization had been the start of my quiet rebellion.
Sharon’s family might have thought her choice of careers was only a step above poverty, but that was when I began to realize that the compassion it took to be a social worker was worth more than my father’s millions.
“Dear, whatdoesyour shirt say?”
My aunt’s question jerked me from my reverie, and I glanced down at myself. “What?”
“Your shirt. I’ve been staring at your boobs, trying to figure it out. Don’t judge me.”
I snorted and crossed my arms over the acronym blazoned across my comfy T-shirt.
“I’m not judging you.”
“ThenIwon’t judge you for not wearing a bra. What does it mean?”
I was definitely blushing now. “It’s just a bookish thing, Aunt Sharon, don’t worry about it.”
“Well, now I’mdefinitelycurious. You only go that pink when we’re talking about something naughty. S-T-F-U-A-T-T-D…what’s next? Move your arm.Stufu-atted?”
“God,” I groaned, mortified, and whirled about, plunking my glass on the counter and reaching for the fridge. “I’m never wearing this again.”
“I’m just saying, clearly you chose the shirt for a reason?—”
“I got it at a romance convention, Aunt Sharon! I’m never wearing it in front of you again!” I yelled from inside the fridge, hoping the cool air would hide my blush.
“Ah, so itisnaughty. Stufuat? Stufuatted?”
Hearing my aunt try to sound outSTFUATTDLAGGwas enough to chase away any erotic imaginings I might have been having about Tarkhan earlier.
When I backed out of the refrigerator holding the cheese platter I’d made up earlier, my aunt was chuckling, and I frowned at her. “You did that on purpose.”
“Of course I did. Put it here.” She tapped the counter in front of her with a bright pink fingernail. “You were looking maudlin.Oooh, brie!”
Seeing her attack the cheese plate made me smile, and I settled in beside her. “The lasagna has another twenty-seven minutes, so have at it. Can’t have you starving.”
“Or becoming drunk!” Aunt Sharon waved her wineglass. “We need something in our stomachs. Eat up.”
Well, I wasn’t going to turn down brie. “Did you see Riven’s text?” I asked, spreading a cracker with the creamy cheese. “I got it after my shower.”
“I heard my phone ding, but I didn’t read it. You know it’s a miracle I even know where the damn thing is.”
I knew my cousin forced her mother to keep her phone on max volume, and even then, Aunt Sharon barely remembered to check her phone. So I wasn’t surprised.
“The closer called out, so she picked up that shift. She said she doubted she’d make it before you went home, but I should send some lasagna home for her.”
