How to Rattle an Undead Couple - Hailey Edwards Page 0,10
spelled to fit the wearer,” Cruz added from behind his husband. “It will fit you now, and it will fit you after the baby is born.” He took Neely’s hand and held it tight, like that support was all that kept him talking. “No woman should feel her top priority after childbirth is weight loss.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” More tears threatened. “Thank you.”
“Mom struggled with low self-esteem after I was born.” He cleared his throat. “She was on and off diets, so many I can’t remember them all, which meant I was too. She grew as obsessed with my weight as she was with her own, pushed me to exercise and count calories from the time I could add and subtract.”
“And then he went and married an accountant,” Neely teased him, but Cruz’s face had gone blank.
“Oh, Cruz.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Cruz said softly. “She would have relearned how to love herself, but my father…”
“It’s all right,” Neely murmured, petting Cruz’s chest. “You don’t have to say another word.”
The couple had practiced for this moment, he realized, and it symbolized both their earnest offer of help for Grier, should she need help battling postpartum depression, or other personal demons, and the lancing of an old wound for Cruz. For such a private man, the words had cost him, but they hadn’t diminished his glow, a lightness usually absent in him.
“Thank you for trusting us with this,” Grier said gently. “I’ll take what you’ve said to heart.”
With a tight nod, Cruz let Neely guide him into a corner for a lingering embrace.
“Okay, folks. Listen up, please.” Lethe clapped her hands. “It’s been a great party, you’ve been a great crowd, but Momma is pooped. The door is that way. You can see yourselves out.”
Rearing back, Neely slapped a hand over his eyes then dragged it down to his chin. “Oh, sweet Lord.”
“This way, ladies.” Cruz stepped into the breach, and Neely looked ready to marry him all over again from sheer gratitude. “Thank you all for coming.”
“That’s what I said,” Lethe protested to Hood. “You heard me, right?”
“Yes, dear.” He kissed her temple. “I heard you loud and clear.” He chuckled. “We all did.”
As alpha, Lethe was used to barking orders and having them obeyed. Social niceties, Society pleasantries in general, stumped her. She had no patience for them. Linus could sympathize. He was a patient man, and the ceremony of it grated on him at times. Particularly when he had less frivolous things on his mind.
Mother, what have you gotten yourself into this time?
The woman was a polarizing figure for certain, but she had led the Society through its recent tribulations with an iron fist. This attack on her, at her home, was not one he had anticipated given that success.
Forcing himself to focus on the moment, he returned his attention to Grier.
For the most part, she did an admirable job of hiding her snickers behind breathing in her expensive new gear. He wasn’t fooled by the fresh tears rolling down her face. These were from laughter. Maud had raised her to thumb her nose at the trappings of the High Society lifestyle, and she had embraced those early lessons with gusto.
With her title of Dame Woolworth, she had no choice but to play the role of Society darling at formal events. But when she was on her own time, or on the clock as potentate, she shucked all the formalities and ceremony in favor of downhome manners and Southern charm.
Linus admired her for it, wished he could emulate it, but he was a product of his raising too. He was stiff as starched linen, and he knew it. Grier humanized him. Unbent him. Wrinkled him. And he never felt more himself than when she gave him permission to be just that. If he never cracked another smile, she would still love him, and that…humbled him.
Once the room cleared of everyone but family and the driver, Woolly shut all the doors and windows and reactivated her strongest wards.
“All right.” Lethe glanced between him and Grier. “Who wants to fess up?”
“Mother is missing,” Linus said, removing the mask that had kept him steady all evening. “We can’t afford to involve the sentinels, not even the Elite, at this juncture. I’m asking for volunteers to help us locate her.”
“I don’t know how much help we’ll be,” Neely started, “but Cruz and I will do whatever we can.”
An indulgent smile from Cruz confirmed he would do