Unedited.
Author's Note: This chapter contains heavy subject matter. Plus it's long. Be aware.
Chapter Twelve
Before:
Page
So good with people. I leaned against the wall, just outside the formal dining room, and watched Grady interact. I don't think he said much. He listened to new people to get a sense of who they were, what they really wanted. He constantly and silently questioned everyone's motives.
It had to be exhausting. Not that he'd ever admit to it. But it explained why he stuck to the band's company or mine and the kids. He didn't have to wonder with us.
Sterling stood to his right, keeping an eye on things. Or maybe just being entertained by it all. While people saw Grady Sinclair the rock star, Sterling saw him like I did: tall, obnoxious normal person. Impressing him wasn't on her to-do list. Reiss stood next to her looking bored as ever. He wasn't so good with crowds but he came to keep her company. He wasn't impressed by glitz and glamour, money or fame. He used to be but like most people, he grew up.
Pieces of my life squished together.
Grady wasn't as open as he used to be. The difference startled me. He used to joke around with complete strangers, have loud boisterous conversations. Now, he hid behind a professional and standoffish demeanor. Even with the band. Sometimes even with me. It took a bit to wear him down, crack him open. I don't know if time was responsible for the change or Cate.
I hoped never to meet that woman.
Sterling spotted me and waved before leaning in to whisper to Grady. He dipped down to hear her better and then his head turned so he could see...
The second he spotted me, I knew.
I needed to do this. For him. And for me.
I inclined my head, letting him know he needed to come to me.
He excused himself from the conversation and headed over. Several waiters passed with hors d'oeuvres before he managed to reach me.
"Everything ok?" he asked.
I took his hand and squeezed. "It will be."
His brow crinkled with worry. "Page—"
"Come with me."
He followed as I led him down hallway after hallway and up a flight of stairs. When I reached the right door, I paused. "They're my family," I blurted before turning to look up at him.
His eyes were steadfast as he replied, "I know."
"More than the parents who gave birth to me."
"I know," he repeated. "They're good people."
"They only want what's best for me."
"As any good parents should."
I nodded, glad he understood, and opened the door we stood in front of. Technically there were two doors, done in the french style, but the second was only used when they brought in the Christmas tree.
I toke us in a few steps and stopped. "The familial living room," I told him.
"So, not the formal?" he joked.
I smiled and dropped my eyes to my feet. "They only let close family in here."
The room was a good size. Not too small to feel claustrophobic, not too big to feel impersonal. The twelve foot Christmas tree stood off in the corner, a good distance from the roaring fire. Stockings were hung, one for each family member, including myself and the kids. Garland, wreaths, lights, the room was given the Christmas treatment each year.
