The Lost Daughter

CHAPTER SEVEN.

We have to call in help when we pull back into the garage, texting Wyatt to come bring in bags and boxes with us since Weston apparently still isn't home from wherever they went this morning, though he tells us he will be soon.

We load it all into the elevator to make it easier for ourselves and then spread all the bags around in my closet, covering the floor and the island until there is hardly any space left to stand.

Wyatt immediately settles himself onto a fancy white ottoman when the last bag is placed, leaning back on his hands leisurely.

Wren looks like he's ready to dive back into it all and start sorting everything right away, cataloging everything and finding a place for it in his mind.

As I stand there, feeling slightly sticky and sweaty from the hot day and all the activity, I decide to divert him for as long as I can.

I peruse the bags quickly until I spot the delicate looking black one holding what I'm looking for, stepping over and around the maze in front of me until I reach it.

I pull it out, making the tissue paper crinkle as I do, and hold the bathing suit in my hands like a prize.

"Anyone up for a swim?" I ask, grinning back at Wyatt when he grins at me.

Wren looks less sure, but the two of us gang up on him until he says he'll go as well—on the condition that him and I will actually sort out the closet later. I agree instantly, in a hurry to cool off and see more of outside of the house, and shoo them both out of the room to change, telling them to meet me at the pool.

We bought a few bathing suits, but this one is my favorite. Black high waisted bottoms paired with a black and white striped top that I would have used as a crop top if I thought Wren would allow it. The few inches of skin around the bottom of my ribs that shows along with my legs made me feel confident in a way I've never really felt before today when I tried it on in the store.

I drop my navy sundress I was wearing into the laundry basket when I'm done and root around a bit more for the cover up I remember Wren picking out at one of the smaller, but no less affluent, boutiques and pull on the sheer white material. It hides almost nothing but it makes me feel more comfortable to feel the hem dangling at my thighs like another sort of dress as I walk around.

The only thing I bother to grab on my way out is a hair tie from my shoulder bag, slipping it on my wrist like a familiar bracelet.

I traverse the central staircases back to the kitchen, since it's the only route I really know that will probably lead me outside considering the glass back wall.

I decide to stop and get some water bottles out of the refrigerator to take when I hear someone's footsteps enter the kitchen and then stop.

My view is blocked by the door and I stand like that momentarily, waiting for them to announce their presence.

The longer the pause draws, the more I begin to realize it's probably not one of my brothers, and that there's almost no way my father or his business partner are back yet.

That leaves one other person I'd expect to be in this house.

I don't hear him shuffle or move and I stare resolutely at the condiment shelf, refusing to break first.

I don't know what it is about this boy that pushes at my buttons, but apparently he can do it before I even look at him, making me turn things into games I want to win.

The silence becomes uncomfortable but it's the cold bottles cradled between my arm and my body that make me snap first.

I shut the door, more firmly than I meant too, and spin around to where I heard the footsteps enter from, my hair flipping around dramatically with me.