It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1) (20 page)

“Beth, my family is going to love you.”

I offer him a smile, but inside, I’m screaming,
What the hell were you thinking agreeing to this?

Marshall turns the knob, and we enter the foyer onto a large wool rug. The room feels surprisingly warm, even with the high ceilings and tile floors. A dramatic, eye-catching oil-rubbed bronze chandelier with glass crystals hangs above our heads. The sand-colored wall along a monstrous set of stairs is littered with family photos I can’t wait to have a peek at.

“They’re here,” calls out an older, equally handsome version of Marshall with salt-and-pepper hair as he comes into the foyer. His smooth stride reminds me of Marshall’s, as does his posture that practically bellows self-confidence, a confidence that rarely wavers and makes most everyone clamber at a chance for their friendship.

Before Marshall can even introduce me, the two little blond girls from the picture hung on Marshall’s staircase—only they now appear to be a few years older—run out and latch themselves to his legs. His face lights up just like in the picture.

“Hey, it’s Bob and George,” Marshall says, causing the two girls to giggle uncontrollably.

“Marshall, you know that’s not our names,” says the older one.

“Yeah, Uncle Marshall,” squeals the other.

He bends down and grabs them up in a hug. “I’ve missed my beautiful girls.”

Both girls wrap their arms around his neck, and he stands.

I nearly laugh at myself as I recall the first time I’d heard him say those words and how totally wrong I was about him.

“I have someone I want you to meet, girls. This is Elizabeth.” He comes to stand before me, and the girls nuzzle into his neck. “Beth, this is Emma and Kayla, Aubrey’s girls.”

The older one, who must be Emma, looks up at him with a sour expression. “I thought you said her name was Elizabeth?”

Marshall laughs. “Well, it is, but I call her Beth.”

“You can call me Elizabeth or Beth. Some people even call me Liz or Lizzie.”

Both girls look mildly stunned. “Boy, you have a lot of names,” Kayla chimes in.

“Take your pick. You can call me any one of them, or even Bob or George if you really want.” I wink and grin at Marshall, who is beaming. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of father this man would be. I do my best to hide the awe I’m feeling.

Both girls giggle as Marshall sets them down, and I know I have scored a few points by the way all three of them smile at me.

“I’ll call you Lizzie,” says Emma.

“Me too,” Kayla eagerly adds.

“Beth, this is my father, Kenneth.”

“Please call me Ken.” He extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth.”

I grab his hand firmly in respect. Nothing is worse than a limp handshake. I would rather have someone hurt my hand than put a dead fish in it. I get the sense Ken approves of the firm shake as well.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ken.”

I wore my hair down so I could cover up the faint bruising and cut that still exist along my hairline. My lip had thankfully healed fast, and any trace of it was easily covered with makeup, but I still can’t help but worry they may notice. What would they think of me? Will they compare me to his deceased wife, Sarah? Had they loved her like their own? Could they possibly ever love me?

Before I know it, a cluster of family members round the corner to meet me: Aubrey, Eva, his brothers-in-law, Maureen, and Eva’s little boy, Dustin. They welcome me with open arms, the way my family would have, and it feels immediately comfortable, like Marshall made me feel on our first date and every date since.

After introductions, Marshall leads me around for a tour of what he tells me was his childhood home since he was five. After his dad and Maureen had married, they’d bought the house together—a mansion compared to my childhood home. I try to look at all the pictures along the stairway as I pass, but Marshall’s hand on my back has us moving swiftly. I don’t see many of them—wedding pictures, baby pictures, and school pictures from what I can tell—but as fast as we move past, I can’t even look to see if any pictures of him and Sarah are in the mix. I can’t help but be curious about how she looked and what she was like. I’m only human.

After our tour of bedrooms, most of which appear to have been turned more into rooms for the grandkids, we head into the kitchen. The kitchen opens up into the living room and dining room, where dinner is ready and on display on the most perfectly set table I’ve ever seen. Layers of summer-colored linen tablecloths are set out in a staggered design. The table’s centerpiece is a decorative greenhouse filled with three candles and laced with a variety of red, green, purple, and orange flowers. Cloth napkins are wrapped in raffia at each place setting, and a nametag written in lovely calligraphy on a paper flower is tied, also in raffia, to the stem of each wine glass.

I do my best to not let the shock and awe show on my face as I take my place between Marshall and Eva. Dustin is on Eva’s lap and grabbing everything on the table he can get his hands on. He must be about two, I’d guess.

Marshall’s stepmom went all out to have us for dinner. Is all the fuss for my benefit, or is this just how they do things around here?

I’m startled as Aubrey speaks up. “So, Elizabeth, Marshall tells us you’re an interior designer.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Our mother here was all worried about how the house looks. As you can see, she had nothing to worry about,” Eva says while continuing her wrestling match with Dustin, who now has a roll in one hand and a spoon in the other, ready to dig in to his soup.

“This house, this table,” I say, motioning to the centerpiece, “are absolutely stunning. I could learn a thing or two from you, Maureen.”

Marshall places a hand on my thigh and leans in closer. “Beth here has fabulous taste.”

Marshall’s sisters gag playfully.

“What? I wasn’t implying that it was
me
she has good taste in, but she did kind of get that one right.” He laughs.

“Jury is still out on that one,” I say with a smile.

“Wow, Marshall. Looks like you’ve met your match with this one,” Ken adds before sipping his wine.

“I most certainly have.” Marshall’s hand squeezes my thigh. It’s more of an endearing gesture than a sexual one, but it turns me on as much as if he’d just rubbed the warmth beneath the zipper of my jeans. I’m temporarily speechless and blushing for his whole family to see.

“Marshall also told us that your family is really close and that you’re a twin.” Maureen’s eyes sparkle as she speaks. She is a stunning woman with her flawless skin, pale brown eyes, and rich chestnut-brown hair. This family seems very intrigued by the fact that my family is close.

“Well, Maureen, it seems that you’re at an advantage. Marshall hasn’t given me much insight into your family.” I shoot him a sideways glance, knowing I’m totally throwing him under the bus. “Yes, my family is pretty close. It appears this family is quite close as well.”

Ken beams as he speaks. “Well, it wasn’t always so, but yes, we have come a long way, and I have much pride in our family.”

I can’t help but notice that Aubrey has looked at her phone for the second time since we sat down, her brow furrowing each time. I do my best to bring my attention to my dinner instead.

I take a few bites of my salad, hoping Ken will go on, but I am not going to be nosy. I can only hope Marshall will feel he can talk freely with me. He had been adamant about the past being the past, at least as far as relationships are concerned, and I can’t help but wonder what this family has been through.

Clearly, Marshall and his sisters learned to cook from his stepmom, because every bite of food these women prepared is sinfully delicious. We started with a cold cucumber soup, which was a first for me and I find I love, followed by steak bites with a spicy cream sauce, eggplant primavera and amazing sourdough bread with garlic butter. Marshall’s passion for a good drink no doubt comes from his dad. He mixes us a few of the best and most unique martinis. The first one is pink with hints of coconut and lime, complete with a cherry on a cocktail spear. The second one is served with our dessert—an espresso martini. Dessert is a decadent tiramisu with decorative ribbons of dark chocolate on top; it just might be the best dessert I’ve ever had.

The backyard is landscaped to perfection: stone patio, flagstone pathway, colorful plush patio furniture in burnt orange, manicured hedges, and even a small waterfall running into a pond with a small footbridge. The bridge leads to a lower level of grass, where the guys are setting up the fireworks display. Nearby, neighbors are positioning chairs and blankets in their backyards, getting ready for the show. They apparently know something I don’t. Marshall must have left out how big a deal his family’s fireworks are.

Marshall went to go prepare the fireworks with the guys, leaving me with his sisters, while Maureen has taken the kiddos to go chat with some of the neighbors. I take a seat on one of the blankets that were laid out in the grass along with a few oversized pillows. Eva and Aubrey have a seat on the blanket next to mine.

“This firework show must be a pretty big deal,” I offer, to start our conversation.

Eva replies, “Yeah, the boys take their fireworks pretty seriously.”

Aubrey once again looks down at her phone before she changes her position from seated to lying on her side resting her head on her hand while her other hand twirls the fringe of the blanket. Is this woman always so attached to her phone?

I look away from Aubrey, who seems less than present, and over at Eva. “Marshall sure loves those kids.”

“He sure does. And they all just adore him.” Eva says.

“We need some tunes,” says Aubrey as she pops up to her feet and heads to the house. I wonder if Aubrey’s apparent fidgetiness is normal behavior. She seems miles away from the polite, put-together beautiful woman I’d met at the hotel.

Eva looks back at Aubrey before she speaks. “Marshall makes sure that the two weeks he takes them every summer are unforgettable, and believe me, they don’t forget any of it. I think he’s still trying to make up for everything that happened.”

Eva looks at me and quickly realizes this is news to me. “Oh no. Marshall didn’t tell you? It must be part of his whole ‘the past is the past and should stay there’ theory.”

The sting of betrayal gnaws at my throat. What things has he kept from me? Do I even know anything about his history other than the fact that he lost his wife?

“Um, no he didn’t. He hasn’t shared much with me apparently. What happened?” I don’t even care that I’m being nosey—I just need to know more. I hope his dear sister doesn’t hold back.

“Aubrey has had some rough times, and, well… I’ve already said too much. You will need to ask Marshall about that mess.”

I turn my eyes out to the field where the guys are setting up for the fireworks show. It’s getting dark, but I can still see them. I watch as he pats his dad on the back, then turns toward me, giving me one of his sexy smiles. I don’t feel like smiling at this moment, but I paint one on, thankful for our distance.

Aubrey comes back with the speaker blaring, and I’m grateful to not have to talk for a little bit, while I process this news. Marshall told me I could ask him anything I wanted, but how on earth would I have known what questions to ask him? How can he think his past isn’t important—just something to forget? Is it the pain he is hiding from? Aren’t I doing the same thing by keeping my fears from him and using him as my escape from reality? What I’m doing might just be worse than keeping the past in the past.

When it’s time for the fireworks to begin, Maureen and the kids come back. Dustin hops onto Eva’s lap, and, much to my surprise, the girls take a seat by me. Aubrey has once again disappeared into the house. I find it strange that she doesn’t choose to stay here and be by her daughters, and I can tell by the looks on Maureen’s and Eva’s faces that they don’t approve, either.

The fireworks are seriously just as good as any I’ve seen in Duluth. The Rodericks must have some pretty impressive contacts to get a permit for this big a display. Every color imaginable lights up the night sky. The girls are so thrilled every time they see purple, so we turn it into a color game—with blue we frown, which turned into a giggle every time; with yellow we would clap; with green we had to rub the grass; with pink we stuck out our tongues, which also turned to laughter; and purple was a dance. I was having fun, but frequently when the fireworks lit off, I could see Marshall illuminated by the brilliant display and the fear of losing him would surface. I can’t help but feel that the two of us are dooming any possible future while we protect ourselves from the things that hurt us most. The topics we have both been avoiding need to be addressed, and soon, or we just may lose any chance we have for a future together.

Once the fireworks are over we grab up all the blankets to head inside. The guys are only minutes behind us. When Marshall comes in, he slips in behind me as I stand by the kitchen counter. “So,” he whispers in my ear, “was that the best fireworks display you’ve ever seen or what?”

Should I tease him or let him have this one? I decide on the former, “Mm, I’ve seen better; it was alright.”

“Well, pretty lady, we have a sea of fans that would dispute that, I reckon. Them’s fightin’ words.” Not sure what made him decide to go all Western movie on me, but it certainly makes me smile. “We’re legend in these here parts.”

I’m dying to see the face that goes with that voice, so I turn to look at him, then give him the best damsel-in-distress voice I can. “You ain’t gunna challenge me to a duel now,”—I place the back of my hand to my forehead—“are you, mister?”

He gives me one of his sinfully sexy smiles. But before he gets a chance to respond, a voice arrests our attention. “Aubrey, why the hell didn’t you tell me about this? How long has he been calling you?” Rich is following after Aubrey as they both enter the kitchen from the hall. Aubrey keeps walking and doesn’t answer.

Rich stops and looks over at Marshall and says, “Jett.” I look up at Marshall; his nostrils are flared and he looks livid. All from one word. I look over my shoulder only to see his father with the very same expression.

I turn back to look at Marshall. He shakes his head no, trying to shake off what he’s just heard. “Marshall, what’s going on?”

He takes in a deep breath. “Beth, can you give me and my family just a minute alone, please?” What? I begin to panic; he’s shutting me out?

He looks down at me, and for a moment I think he plans to fill me in. “Please, Beth. I just need a few minutes.” I want to tell him how I know he has kept his past from me and that he can trust me with anything. His past is important—it has made him who he is—but now is not the time. I turn to head out the front door to give them some space.

Five long minutes later a rough-looking Marshall comes blasting out the door. I reach out to him, but he dodges my grip. “Let’s get out of here,” he mutters softly, even though his demeanor is screaming.

Our drive back to his place reminds me of the first night we went out; his eyes once again face forward like he’s in a trance, his knuckles are pale white, and the air is thick with pain—only this time I fear he might have cracked. Marshall just may have hit his breaking point. Threatening tears sting my eyes, as the suffering radiates off of him. Losing his wife must have been so hard, but that clearly isn’t the extent of it. I get the feeling that the
mess
Eva spoke of isn’t only Aubrey’s mess.

We pull into Marshall’s garage, he closes the garage door behind us, and as I reach for the door handle he speaks, “I just wanted it to all be over. I should have done more to protect her.” He leans forward on the steering wheel with his elbows, locking his fingers on the top of his head. I wait a few moments, unsure if he will go on.

“What did you want to be over, Marshall?”

He shakes his head, “That goddamn piece-of-shit made her believe he would kill me.”

His statement catches me off guard—my chest deflates as though the wind was kicked out of me.

He continues, “I knew I should have just paid him off… hell no, I should have strangled the life out of him is what I should have done.”

Kind, patient Marshall just threated to take a life. What the hell is going on? I stare straight ahead, searching for my first question.

I jump as he takes my hand from spinning my ring. “Oh shit, Beth, I’m sorry.” He looks at me with torment-flushed face and anguished eyes. “Let’s go inside and talk,” he says before stepping out of the truck. I’ve never seen Marshall as anything but kindhearted, passionate, and confident, but I can’t help but wonder if there is a second side of Marshall. Situations beyond our control can make people do crazy things sometimes, but I still can’t see him ever being violent.

We walk up the two steps from the garage and into his kitchen. I have a seat on the tall chair next to the island while Marshall heads over to the bar area at the furthest end of the kitchen. I wonder if it’s liquid courage or a mask for the pain he’s after—maybe both.

“I’m going to have an absinthe drip; would you like one or can I get you a glass of wine?”

I could use the chance for the little extra focus that Marshall told me absinthe was once believed to bring. “Sure, I will try one.”

I watch as he takes two absinthe glasses from the cabinet and pours the olive-colored liquid into each glass. Taking a slotted spoon from the drawer, he places it over one of the glasses before he adds two sugar cubes to the spoon, then places it under the slow drip of water coming from the absinthe fountain—a much smaller version of the one at Blackwater Lounge.

His uncharacteristically hunched shoulders move up and down with his heavy breath while each water droplet rains slowly over the sweet cubes. On the second one he omits the sugar and goes straight to the water.

He sets the glass of cloudy liquid before me—lighter in color than his. As the first sip of sugary licorice coats my throat, I decide to hold off on another sip until I know what I’m dealing with. Maybe I won’t like what I hear and decide to leave.

“Who is threatening to kill you?” I blurt, eager to send flying daggers out into the universe at whoever would threaten the man I’m in love with.

“Sarah’s brother, Aubrey’s ex-husband, my perfect nieces’ biological father, the scum of the earth.”

I run what he said through my brain a second and third time.

“You mean to tell me that Aubrey was married to Sarah’s brother?” He must be waiting for me to process this since he doesn’t go on. “And Rich isn’t Emma and Kayla’s dad?”

“Rich is very much those girls’ daddy, just not biologically. Way better father than that greedy snake could’ve ever been.” He grits his teeth before taking a generous sip of his drink.

“And yes, Aubrey was married to Sarah’s brother. She met Jett when she was off at college in Duluth. Jett and Aubrey threw some great parties at the house they rented. I wasn’t quite twenty-one at the time, so the bar scene was out of the question. Parker and I would come to Duluth most weekends, which is how I got to know Sarah.

The parties stopped once they got married, and ten months after that, Emma was born. That following year was when I married Sarah and we made Minneapolis our home.” He takes another sip of his drink and clears his throat. Seconds slip by, and his obvious reluctance has him back at his drink for another sip.

I shift impatiently in my chair and absentmindedly pick up my glass and swallow my second sip.

“I thought I knew Jett. I thought my sister was in good hands, but after the unexpected death of their father we soon found out what Jett’s true colors were. Their father had been sitting on more money than any of them knew. Not all honestly earned money, I’d guess. The sizable life insurance policy and 401k went to their mother, while his savings was willed evenly to Jett, Sarah, and their sister, Jada.”

“Once Jett got the taste of money, he started staying out late, leaving a very pregnant Aubrey at home to care for Emma on her own, which I didn’t know until later or I would have dragged Aubrey back to Minneapolis. Not long after Kayla was born, Aubrey’s regular phone calls to her family stopped. She just quit answering her phone. A few times Jett had answered and said she was asleep, or that he had insisted she get out for a walk, or just that she said she would call back.”

He tips back his head to pour down the last drops of liquid the glass had to give.

“I’m having another—you want any?” I look over at my glass, ready to give him a “can’t you see it’s full” kind of expression, but cringe as I notice the glass is near empty. Well, too late for driving to be an option. I down my last sip and hand him my glass. He pours our drinks, then takes his seat next to me. A small part of me wants so badly to reach out and place my hand on that strong jaw, kiss that magic set of lips, and somehow make him forget his pain, even if only for a minute, but I need to know the depths of his pain before we can move on. I need to know if this past he has kept me in the dark about is more than we can weather.

“Our family had had enough of Jett’s excuses, so we finally took a family trip to Duluth to see what was going on, only I’d never expected to see what I saw when I got there.” Scrubbing his hands over his face, he groans, without a doubt dreading reliving the history he is about to reveal.

“Jett took off on Aubrey and the girls. He took his inheritance money, their only car, most of the furniture, the TV, her cell phone, and he even took her wedding ring, telling her he was going to go get it cleaned. When we showed up, Aubrey was extremely malnourished, beyond overly tired and emotionally vacant. She looked to be near death. She was suffering from postpartum depression, and he just abandoned her. She’d neglected herself, but somehow had still managed to care for every one of her children’s needs over the course of two weeks since Jett had left.”

I reach over to touch his hand. “I can see why you all got so upset by the mention of his name.”

“I wish I could say it ends there, but it doesn’t.” He gets up to refill his glass, only this time he doesn’t ask me; he just takes my half-empty glass and tops it off. He keeps up this pace, we will both pass out before he finishes his story.

“There are two good things that came from that sorry ass—no, make that three—Emma, Kayla, and the other is an easy divorce. She got the kids, and he got to keep all his money.”

As he mentions the girls’ names, his eyes visibly soften, and I can see the tension in his neck relax a bit. I love how crazy he is about those girls. I can hardly blame him; all it took was one night of the fireworks game for me to fall head over heels for those precious little blondies. A surge of regret hits me as I realize the way we had left tonight, I never got to say good-bye. I hope that they are tucked away and unaffected by the obvious venom in the eyes of their family tonight.

“Being as stubborn as she is, Aubrey refused to leave Duluth. Wanted to make it on her own, although she wasn’t alone long; she married Rich a year later. For two years we didn’t hear from Jett, but as soon as he caught wind that his sister was near death in the hospital, he took it upon himself to visit her when none of us were around. Sarah was on a ventilator and couldn’t speak when he visited. He tried to convince her to sign her inheritance over to him, telling her that the money should stay in the family, that he had planned on giving it to his girls because he felt so sorry for what he’d done. That prick even went so far as to actually take her hand and try to make her sign. Little did he know—she would get better and fill us all in on his corrupt attempt.”

“And now he’s back at it again, trying to use Aubrey to get to me. I knew something was up—she’s been acting strange for some time now. That was why I had to stay at Aubrey’s that day we were supposed to spend together. It was almost like she had slipped back into that numb state she was in when Jett left, only I couldn’t get anything out of her. Dammit, I wish she would have told me, before he started telling her that if she doesn’t talk me into giving him Sarah’s share of the money, he will kill me.”

Someone is threatening to kill him; how can he not be freaking out, calling the police or hiding?

My heart races, fearing for his life. “You’re going to give him the money, right? What if he comes here for you?” I have a sudden need to look around the room. “What if he’s here already?”

“Calm down, Beth,” he stands and grabs my face, making me look up at him. “Just breathe,” he says calmly.

“The girls! What if he goes after the girls to get to you?” my shrill voice bounces off the walls of the kitchen.

“Beth, calm down. It won’t be me that Jett is looking for. Aubrey turned herself into his target when she told him that I don’t have the money, that I gave it to her.”