The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(45)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my heart aching, too full, too confused.

I expect a canned response along the lines of “when you’re a parent, you’ll understand,” but all he says is, “I’m sorry, Candace. So very sorry for hurting you.”

I think of all my failed relationships, the years spent running from commitment, and most recently from my feelings for Sebastian. The meaningless sex, my broken picker that seemed stuck on asshole. And finally, the bitter irony of digging myself into a hole of anxiety and depression over… what? A single overheard conversation? A lesson in maturity I was too young to understand, that which proves the inherent, messy, humanness of life?

Because I understand now. That life is messy and painful and lovely, and all of those facts together are what make it both perfect and quintessentially human.

My father’s quiet voice pulls me from my existential spiral. “Please don’t let this affect your choice about Sebastian. You both deserve happiness. Frankly, I can’t imagine two people more suited to each other. Except maybe Alex and Thea.”

I give him a watery smile, which he returns.

Does what I’ve learned undo the pain of the past? No. Not for either of us. But I do feel… cleaner.

Lighter.

I wipe my face a final time. “For the record, if I’m destined to go out like Mom, I’m chaining Sebastian to the bedpost. I’ll borrow rope from Alex.”

He winces. “What do you kids say these days? T-M-I? Too much information, right?”

I nod, laughing, then find I can’t stop. A few moments later, my father’s bemusement turns to mirth, and eventually our laughter fades to smiles.

“Can I stay a while?” I ask, nodding toward the television. “Watch some videos with you?”

He blinks hard, clearing his throat. “Of course. How about the ones from that last summer?”

My heart pulses with the old, familiar ache, but it’s less potent than usual. A wound without poison, one that even now is healing. There will always be a scar, but a scar alone is oddly comforting.

Scars mean a life has been lived.

I nod, grinning. “There’s a lot of shirtless-Sebastian running around in those, right?”

My father groans. “TMI, Candace!”





30





cancer free.

Such small words. Such heavy, monumental, life-changing words. It takes three weeks after my doctor delivers the news for the truth of it to fully sink in. And as it does, the last chain weighing on my heart breaks.

I’m free.

“I want kids,” I blurt, silencing the conversation at the table where Sebastian and I are having a mellow New Year’s Eve dinner with Nona and my dad.

Sebastian’s fork hangs suspended halfway to his mouth. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “Shouldn’t we get married first?”

Avoiding his eyes, I shrug and tear a dinner roll in half. It’s too late to take the words back—not that I want to. But I realize my timing could have been better. A little more private.

Oh well. We’ve never been great at following the rules, anyway. Since Thanksgiving, we’ve been attached at the hip like lusty teens, taking advantage of Sebastian’s current hiatus and making up for lost time. We’ve given Nona her house back and moved into one of the guest suites upstairs—far away from my dad’s room.

We haven’t talked about the next steps, where we’ll live, what I want to do for a vocation. But neither of us are in a hurry. For the first time in our respective lives, we’ve slowed down. Way, way down. No more running from the past or each other. We’re living in the moment and appreciating every day.

Some of it is uncomfortable—exposing layers of ourselves to each other that no one has ever seen—and some of it is indescribably beautiful—falling asleep and waking up in each other’s arms, taking long walks, having quiet dinners with the family, and simply being happy.

Some of it, too, is disastrous. Like when we caught a case of the Idiots and decided to live out our fantasy role-play in the woods. In the middle of the night. In winter. In Massachusetts. In the freaking snow. No matter what you might be imagining, it wasn’t sexy. But at least (a few days and hot baths later) it was funny.

Thanking a cancer scare for my newfound zeal for life is the last thing I want to do, but for better or worse, it’s the truth. The small lump in my breast was a fibroadenoma, a non-cancerous tumor that’s not all that uncommon, though my doctor recommended removing it anyway. It was a simple outpatient procedure, the recovery not long, but the whole process was a stark reminder that I remain genetically at risk.

Vera flew back out from L.A. with Alex and Thea, and Charles and Deacon returned as well. The waiting room was packed, just like Vera had said it would be. My brothers were especially affected, sober and attentive and trying hard to hide their worry. Deacon took it the hardest, even sharing with me on previously taboo topics like his desire to have a family. After assuring him that he’d find his happily ever after, I privately wished luck to whatever future woman found herself in his crosshairs.

Sebastian’s voice brings me back to the present. “We can talk about this later. There’s no rush.” I realize he’s misinterpreted my silence for regret, which makes me smile.

I look at him, at his beautiful face, and words tumble out with my breath. “To be honest, Bast, I don’t care if we get married.”