Feels Like Home. Beth Andrews
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saw as Diane’s meddling.
She’d brought Matt back, reminded him what it was like to be a part of his family after spending so many years on his own. To be accepted and wanted and welcomed by them. To be a part of his heritage.
It’d been easier with Brady. Her middle son had been so lost. Hurting too much, drinking to numb the pain. Wrapped up in his isolation. She’d given him the choice of either accepting help or moving off the Diamond Dust. Though she wasn’t foolish or arrogant enough to believe her ultimatum had been the impetus Brady needed to turn his life around, she’d take her victories wherever she could get them.
Life was too short not to.
“HELLO, MS. DELISLE,” a woman said in a voice heavily laced with the deep South, when Yvonne answered her cell phone that afternoon. “Your father would like to speak with you. Please hold.” Must be her dad’s new assistant.
There was a soft click, then classical music floated through the speaker—Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song,” if she wasn’t mistaken. Yvonne tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear and picked up two of her suitcases. She carried them down a short hallway, past the tiny kitchen where she’d dumped her work binders, folders, inspiration boards and laptop on the table, to the bedroom at the back of the cottage.
Her temporary home sat deep in the woods, a good mile from the Sheppards’ main house. It was small and sparsely furnished, but she didn’t need much. As long as it had a bed, a closet, a shower and a TV with working cable, she’d be fine.
In the bedroom, she hefted the bags onto the double bed. She was staying whether Aidan liked it or not. Though she’d been tempted to give in to his demands, she hadn’t. Hadn’t given up her own wants to please him.
Not like she used to.
Her movements brisk, she flipped the lid of the larger case open. And he’d been so…shocked. As if the idea of her having the brains—or the backbone—to stand up for herself had never occurred to him.
Arrogant, stubborn man.
After another click on the phone, she heard her father’s deep, commanding voice. “Yvonne. Hello.”
“Hello, Daddy.” She picked up a pile of neatly folded underwear and carried it to the tall dresser next to the window. She could easily picture her father, the chairman of Delisle Enterprises, sitting behind his antique desk, the sun shining through the large window of his high-rise office. He’d be in one of his dark designer suits, the Windsor knot of his tie perfect, his light hair flecked with gray. “How are you?”
“I’d be better if I didn’t have to listen to your mother complain that she hasn’t heard from you in three days.”
Of course. Yvonne should’ve known that Elaine Winston Delisle’s next move would be to have her husband step in.
Yvonne put the underwear in the top drawer, then went back for more. “I’ll be sure to call her today.”
“See that you do. You know how she worries.”
Yes, her mother certainly did that. But he did his fair share, as well. An only child, Yvonne bore the brunt of those worries, the bulk of their love and the weight of their expectations.
And though she loved them, could she really be blamed for escaping to Charleston after her divorce? Oh, she’d tried returning to Savannah, tried to go back to playing the part of dutiful daughter, had even become engaged to the man they’d handpicked for her. Until she’d realized that what she needed even more than her parents’ approval was some freedom so she could finally just be herself.
“Now that I’ve delivered your mother’s message,” he continued, “how’s my favorite girl?”
Not even the warmth and concerned note in her father’s voice could shove Aidan’s words from her head.
Daddy’s little princess.
“I’m fine,” she said, more sharply than necessary. She pressed her lips together. When she spoke again, her tone was carefully modulated. “Everything’s fine, Daddy. Really.”
And damn Aidan for making her feel as if she should be ashamed of her upbringing.
“I still think taking that job at that winery is a mistake,” her father said.
“I appreciate your concern, I really do, but it’s too late for objections.” She dropped her bras onto the dresser. “I’m already here.” And since she could practically hear his disapproval humming over the phone line, she added, “Besides, Joelle asked me to take on this assignment.” Of course, Yvonne had been more than thrilled to accept when Joelle, the owner of World Class Weddings, had told her Diane had asked for her specifically. “And I signed a contract. You wouldn’t want me to break it, would you?”
“When I taught you the importance of keeping your word, I didn’t mean at the expense of your pride.”
She smiled. “I still have my pride. This is just business.” It wasn’t as if she was crawling back to Aidan, begging him to give her a second chance. She was there on her terms.
“I hope you’re right,” Richard groused. “But promise me you’ll be careful. And that this business will remain just business.”
“I promise.” An easy enough pledge to make, considering the way Aidan had looked at her earlier. The only personal feelings that man had for her were contempt and anger. A lump formed in her throat and she cleared it away. “Try not to worry.”
“Of course I worry. You’re my little girl.”
With a small eye roll, she set a white bra in the drawer, followed by a beige one. His “little girl” was a thirty-one-year-old divorcée with a thriving career and, she realized with a frown, an extensive collection of beige bras.
“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” she said as kindly as she could.
“I know that. You’re a Delisle, aren’t you? I just don’t want to see that bastard hurt you again.”
She’d been the one to walk away from her marriage, but her father insisted on blaming Aidan for their divorce. Her mother, on the other hand, believed Yvonne had been a fool to leave a handsome, successful, intelligent man who’d done his best to take care of her.
Yvonne had learned early on it was futile to argue with either of them.
Besides, she couldn’t honestly say either one was completely wrong.
“No one’s going to get hurt.” Least of all her. Not again. “I’m so sorry, Daddy, but I have a meeting to get to. I’ll call Mother later today, okay? Bye, now. Love you.”
She shut off her phone before he could respond.
Not exactly the mature, responsible or brave way of handling a difficult conversation, but an effective one nonetheless. For the time being, anyway.
And she wasn’t lying, exactly, about her meeting. She just hadn’t mentioned it wasn’t for another half hour, that’s all.
She lined up her bras in a neat row and shut the drawer. Someone knocked on the front door. Even as she stilled, her hand on the drawer handle, her pulse picked up. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Then again, why would she be? Only one person knew she was here already.
She leaped for her purse on the bed, digging through it as she hurried into the bathroom. She touched up her lipstick, rubbed her lips together in lieu of blotting with a tissue, then ran her fingers through her hair before rushing down the hall and into the foyer.
More knocks—these rapid and impatient sounding.
“Coming,” she called, slipping her right foot back into one of the black pumps she’d toed off after she’d brought the last of her luggage inside. With one hand on the wall for balance, she put on the left shoe. “Just a moment.”
She straightened and swept back