Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

I gaped at Emery.

She did not look like a billionaire.

She did not act like a billionaire.

Not that I would know how they acted because until now, I’d never met one!

Seeing we understood, she flushed. “I was very privileged and until that point, not a very nice kid. I didn’t know any different. We lived on an estate in upstate New York. We had staff that did everything for us, and I was spoiled. When they died, my grandmother took over their shares in the company. A board runs it with a chairman, CEO, et cetera, so my grandmother had her own ventures in real estate. She was …” Emery paused, her eyes lowering to the floor, and mine narrowed at the way she seemed to wring her hands. “Very strict. Yes, she was very strict.”

“What happened?” Bailey asked quietly, engrossed. “To your grandmother.”

“Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin unexpectedly blasted out of my purse, and we all jumped about a foot.

Jess cut me a dirty look, and I bit back nervous laughter. “I’m sorry.” Turning to Emery, I lost the smirk. “I really am.” Fumbling through my bag, I intended to switch off my phone so we could get back to Emery’s story, but the caller ID said it was my dad.

Two months ago, when Michael Sullivan had shown up at Emery’s, I realized his appearance had been no coincidence.

The only person in my family who knew I lived in Hartwell was my dad.

When I called him to ask about Michael, he told me that Michael was going through a separation from his wife and Dad had suggested he take a vacation in Hartwell by himself. He didn’t mention to Michael I happened to live there, and he didn’t tell me Michael was on his way to obliterate my week. I knew what my dad had hoped that vacation would accomplish.

What he hadn’t counted on was Michael giving his marriage another shot by going on a romantic vacation with his wife. It wasn’t shocking to learn Michael was married. Of course, he was. He was a catch. However, it had been excruciatingly painful.

Suffice it to say I was pretty mad at my dad.

And I loved my dad.

I adored my father.

He was the only one in my family who truly understood me and I talked to him every other day. Yet since Michael’s appearance in Hartwell, things between us had been awkward. So awkward, in fact, that I’d been toying with the idea of going home to Boston to settle the slight discord between us. I hadn’t been back to Boston in nine years so that’s how much I cared about my relationship with my father.

When my dad called, I answered.

Always.

“Sorry, guys, I need to take this.” I hit the green button on my phone. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“Hey, Bluebell.”

Usually, the sound of my dad’s husky voice and his thick Boston accent was one of my favorite sounds in the world. I’d lost my Bostonian accent somewhere along the years and talking to Dad always reminded me of home.

Today, however, I tensed. Not at the nickname. My dad had been calling me Bluebell since I was a toddler because my eyes were that exact shade of blue. My brothers and sisters all had my mom’s hazel eyes. I was the only one with my dad’s eye color and his dimple.

Yeah, so it wasn’t the nickname that caused my heart to skip a beat. It was my dad’s tone. A million scenarios ran through my head. “Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine. But I have something to tell you, and I hate that I’m telling you this over the phone.”

Trepidation froze me to the chair. “Dad …?”

The girls’ quiet murmur of chatter petered out as their worried gazes followed me.

“I know you’re a grown-up and you’ll handle this just fine but … um … well, Bluebell, your mom and I are getting a divorce. She moved out last week.”

If it was possible, I thought my heart might have stopped. “Dad?”

I didn’t understand.

My relationship with my mother was in tatters, but no matter what was thrown at Sorcha and Cian McGuire, they handled it together. How could they possibly be getting a divorce?