Amalie Berlin - Uncovering Her Secrets

And she was once again being selfish by thinking about how Marjorie’s imminent death affected her. Me, me, me.

Flowers. She should get flowers.

Or donuts.

Or both.

At least it was something to do, kept her from feeling helpless.

Half an hour later Dasha slipped into the bedroom and joined Bill, sitting by the bed, watching Marjorie sleep. She made her customary check of the equipment and room, making sure everything was as it should be, and then plopped onto the arm of his chair.

“He’s giving you a run for your money, eh?” Bill murmured.

“That obvious?” Dasha whispered back, not wanting to disturb Marjorie.

“The sigh gave it away.”

“Didn’t realize I’d sighed.” She slouched, dropping her bag onto the floor. “He just sort of dredges up everything again. I’d like to stick with the here and now, but it’s looking less and less likely that I’ll be able to do that.”

Bill winced. He knew everything Marjorie knew, and Marjorie knew it all. All the way down to her getting out before she’d ended up turning into her mother—devoted to a man she could never have.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t hit him. He kind of hit himself after we had some kind of showdown over my bag, though.” Yeah, that would help him not worry. Perfect. “I don’t know exactly how that happened, but he was joking around with me. I don’t know why he was. Maybe because of Jason.”

“Jason giving you trouble?” Bill’s frown didn’t express a lack of worry. Still not helping.

“Not exactly. He’s just worried about Preston causing trouble. And Preston kind of caught Jason talking about him.”

“Heaven help us. Did you get it sorted out?”

“I think so.” Dasha shrugged. She really wasn’t going to mention Nettle.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there to help with the situation,” Bill said.

“Don’t. It’s nothing you should apologize for. You’re right where you need to be.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s nothing you should have to get involved with anyway. My doing. All mine.” She thought for a moment and added, “And his father’s not helping. I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of them, but he said some things that makes me think they have a kind of feud.”

“The senior Monroe meddles,” Bill murmured. “We were surprised when you got the fellowship. Davis had arranged for it to go to Preston. All he had to do was show up that day.”

Dasha’s jaw dropped and her stomach curdled. “Why...you never said anything.”

“Would you have felt better?” Bill asked, leaning forward in the chair so he could hold her gaze better as they talked.

“No.” It didn’t really change anything. If anything, it would have made her less certain of Preston’s opportunities. “Probably worse.”

Bill nodded, not elaborating. They’d been protecting her. She still never expected that from anyone, even after the past years of being included in Marjorie and Bill’s lives, even with those she loved, she never expected protection.

“I think I need to stretch my legs.” He stood, and then gestured her to slide into the seat...and off the arm of his favorite chair. “Will you stay?”

She nodded, his revelation spinning in her head.

“Later I’m making my famous takeout,” he said as he wandered toward the door, talking to himself now more than her. “Mexican, I think. Feels like a taco kind of day.”

It felt more like a burrito day to her. Wrapped up, confined, lots of messy stuff hidden beneath a pretty, soft, white, flavorless case.

Why tell her now? To protect her? To give her extra fortitude she’d need to handle whatever Preston threw at her? Or maybe because he’d just known she was ready to hear it. How nice would it be for a relationship man to get her that way?

She’d have to let them know her better for that to happen.

Did Preston even know about the fellowship? Might explain why he thought that Davis was manipulating her into giving him the job.

Well, if he didn’t know, she couldn’t tell him. It didn’t matter, not really. She’d done what she’d done, and saying that he would have gotten it because of his father just sounded like a cop-out. She hadn’t known, she’d just assumed he’d get it because he was better than her. And then she’d consoled herself with the knowledge that he’d have tons of other opportunities, and she needed St. Vincent’s.

No good could come from telling him. Best case scenario, it would just give him something else to resent his father over.

“You’re frowning.”

Dasha looked up when she heard Marjorie’s voice, and then rose to go sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m practicing looking serious and formidable.”

“What are you really thinking?” Marjorie smiled.

“Thinking other less productive things.” Dasha smoothed the blankets down, tucking and tidying. “I got the invitation for the winter ball today. I’m thinking of getting something classy to wear in honor of the fancy-pants hotel where it’s held. You know, slit up to here and down to there, and covered in sequins. I’m thinking orange with lime-green accessories.”

“You should be thinking escorts and not trying to scandalize me with your fluorescent monstrosities,” Marjorie murmured.

She was smiling, though. Dasha would probably wear that hideously described dress if it would make Marjorie smile. “Hair teased out high enough for squirrels to nest in.”

“And a top hat.”

Dasha’s turn to laugh. “Hair teased into the shape of a top hat.”

“Enough foolishness now. How are you doing with Preston?”

“Oh, well...I really have no idea. Mercurial as ever. Evasive then charming. Antagonistic and then playful. I really have no idea. He’s still there and no one has filed any official complaints. At least, not that I know of.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Dasha.”

“He joked with me earlier. And I yelled at him a little bit.” That story lost something in translation.

“Why?”

“It was... I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure what happened.” Dasha waved a hand in the air, trying to get past the subject she suffered a lack of words on. “Don’t worry. I’m not giving up yet, and he might not go nuclear on me.”

“You need to figure it out, honey. Even if you don’t want to dwell on it,” Marjorie advised, and then in her soothing way followed on by addressing the needs of the other soul in her care. “Bill’s said no to outside nursing, but I want you to talk him into getting someone to come in here at night. He’s not sleeping like he should.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure it’s someone good.” Dasha leaned in and kissed Marjorie on the cheek, her throat suddenly thick enough to make her voice raspy. “Just until you’re well enough to look after him yourself.”

She had to hold on to the idea of a miraculous recovery.

CHAPTER THREE

FLOOR-TO-CEILING windows ran the entire length of Preston’s loft, which had been converted from a nineteenth-century third-floor warehouse in the heart of historic downtown Nashville—where much of Nashville’s night-life now was located.

The glow from neon signs and streetlights illuminated his apartment in soothing blues and greens, and unless he had to read something or stab himself in the eye with a needle Preston left the lights off. Even while working out on his climbing machine.

It also made him feel a little better, a salve to his ego, that the low lighting at least downplayed the pink flowers on the stupid gel mask he’d resorted to wearing. The woman at the pharmacy had claimed it soothed tired eyes, but so far he didn’t feel soothed. And neither did his eyes. He might as well have bought pantyhose, feminine hygiene products and something with wings—whatever those were.