A Different Blue(155)

slept.





Chapter Twenty-Eight





When I awoke the next morning, Wilson was already up, showered and clean-shaven, but his eyes

were tired, and I wondered if holding me all night had taken a toll. And I was a little

embarrassed that I had been rebuffed, as tender as his refusal had been. He didn't act awkward

or uncomfortable, so I pushed away my hurt feelings and rushed through a shower and a quick

breakfast so we could make our flight home. I was preoccupied and quiet, Wilson was

introspective and morose, and by the time we dragged ourselves through the doors of Pemberley,

we were both in need of our separate corners, the weight of the last twenty-four hours hovering

like a black cloud. Wilson carried my duffle bag to my apartment and paused before heading to

his own.

“Blue. I know you're exhausted. I'm absolutely knackered, and I'm not the one who's had their

world turned upside down over and over again over the last few months. But you need to see this

through to the end,” he entreated.

“I know, Wilson.”

“Would you like me to call her? It might make it easier to take the next step.”

“Is that weak?” I asked, really wanting to let him but not wanting to do the easy thing if it

meant I was a wimp.

“It's delegation, luv. It's ensuring it gets done without tying yourself up in knots.”

“Then, yes. Please. And I'll be ready whenever she is.”





It turned out Stella Aguilar was tougher than I because she was ready immediately. So Wilson and

I headed for St. George, Utah, the very next morning in Wilson's Subaru. We had both had a solid

twelve hours of sleep in our own beds . . . separately, which concerned me a little, mostly

because I didn't know what to make of it. Wilson was a completely different kind of guy than I

was used to. He was a gentleman in a world of Masons and Colbys. And I was very afraid that the

fact that I wasn't much of a lady was going to be a problem.

“Tell me what it's like,” I pleaded, my thoughts narrowed on the task that lay ahead .

“What what's like?” Wilson replied, his eyes on the road.

“Meeting your birth parents for the first time. What did you say? Tiffa said you did it on your

own. You are obviously braver than I am. I don't think I could do this alone.”

“The circumstances are completely different, Blue. Don't ever believe you aren't brave. You are

the toughest bird I know, and that, luv, is a compliment. I was eighteen when I met my birth

parents. My mum had maintained contact with them throughout the years so that someday I could.

She thought there might come a time when it might be important to me. My dad was against it. He

thought it was unnecessary, and he was certain it would be distracting. I was one semester away

from graduating, and I had been burying myself in school, which was very like me, I have to

confess. I'd managed to fit four years of school into two-and-a-half, keeping to a schedule my

father and I had mapped out. My father was an incredibly driven man, and I thought being a man

meant being just like him. But it was semester break, and I was restless and irritable, and

frankly, I was a powder keg, waiting to explode. So I flew to England and stayed with Alice. And

I looked up the folks,” Wilson finished glibly, as if it had been no big deal. “My mum and I