Game of the Stepbrothers: Billionaire Stepbrothers Romance (2 Wicked Stepbrothers, 1 Innocent Girl Book 4) by Stephanie Brother Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Brother
adventures in kindergarten.
For such a small child, she sure talks a lot. I wonder who she got that from.
Coming downstairs, we're greeted by the smell of bacon and pancakes and my baby jumps out of my arms, running towards her Daddy excitedly. She clutches his legs, unable to reach further up, and he scoops her up in his arms to help him cook.
I come up behind them, hugging them both close. Blane turns his head and presses an affectionate kiss against my lips.
"Almost done," he tells me with a wide smile, and I love the fact that his once perpetual scowl is now a thing of the past. He's stepped down as the head of the company, leaving it in the capable hands of a family friend. These days, we're all about spending time together, always trying for another bundle of joy to keep our baby girl happy.
We sit down to breakfast and I tuck into my food with gusto.
My girl chatters as Blane and I exchange loving glances, feeling connected over the love we share for our child. But then, she asks a question that stops me in my tracks.
"Why did you give me my name, Mommy?" my baby wonders out loud.
I look at Blane, glued to the spot and unable to respond.
Because how are you supposed to tell your 2-year old she's named after the woman her uncle killed in cold blood? What on Earth am I supposed to do now?
Thankfully, Blane is there to save me, just like he always does.
"Marissa was a girl who isn't with us anymore," Blane explains patiently to our baby. "And we wanted to name you after her, to make sure we had another Marissa in the world. Once day, when you're a little bit bigger, we will tell you all about her."
That seems to please our daughter and she chatters for a while longer before disappearing into the living room to play with the Golden Retriever puppy we just got.
Blane reaches for my hand across the table, squeezing it to check if I'm okay. I offer him a brave smile, though I'm feeling nothing like my expression.
"Alright?" he asks worriedly, and I find it in myself to nod. I get up from the table abruptly and give him an apologetic smile.
"I just have to sort something out," I say quickly. "I'll be right back."
I can see the confusion in his eyes, but also understanding. He gives me a soft nod as I leave the room, heading upstairs.
It's been a long time since I've been in the attic, and when I pull down the stairs that lead up there, I struggle and inhale so much dust I nearly choke to it. Climbing it slowly, I finally make my way to the neglected storey.
It's warm from all the windows in the roof, but the room is a huge ghost town. Everything is covered in dusty white sheets to protect our possessions from decay. But I know exactly what I'm here for as I step towards the easel in the middle of the room. It's the only thing not covered in a sheet.
It's the one thing I fear most in the world these days, but it's also a fear I know I need to face.
It's one of Aiden's works, a portrait of me.
Grotesque and disgusting, it shows my body ravaged with knives and wounds, bleeding, decaying, while my eyes bore into the viewer, asking for help. In the bottom of the painting, there is an outline of another face, a mouth grinning wide like a Cheshire cat.
I look at it for a long time, and it surprised me that I'm not even scared of it. I've always feared it being in the house, and dreaded going up here for fear of seeing it.
I finger my scar, which has faded due to special creams and potions, as well as a surgery I had to remove it. It's still there, and if I slide my fingers over it, I can make out the words Aiden carved in my skin.
I'm not done.
"Except, now you are," I say out loud sadly, realizing this is finally my time to say goodbye to the past. Slowly, I reach for the canvas and turn it the other way around, moving the easel into the corner of the room. I pick a sheet from the ground and softly drape it over the easel, erasing my nightmare to existence.
I stand there for a while, until I can finally feel
For such a small child, she sure talks a lot. I wonder who she got that from.
Coming downstairs, we're greeted by the smell of bacon and pancakes and my baby jumps out of my arms, running towards her Daddy excitedly. She clutches his legs, unable to reach further up, and he scoops her up in his arms to help him cook.
I come up behind them, hugging them both close. Blane turns his head and presses an affectionate kiss against my lips.
"Almost done," he tells me with a wide smile, and I love the fact that his once perpetual scowl is now a thing of the past. He's stepped down as the head of the company, leaving it in the capable hands of a family friend. These days, we're all about spending time together, always trying for another bundle of joy to keep our baby girl happy.
We sit down to breakfast and I tuck into my food with gusto.
My girl chatters as Blane and I exchange loving glances, feeling connected over the love we share for our child. But then, she asks a question that stops me in my tracks.
"Why did you give me my name, Mommy?" my baby wonders out loud.
I look at Blane, glued to the spot and unable to respond.
Because how are you supposed to tell your 2-year old she's named after the woman her uncle killed in cold blood? What on Earth am I supposed to do now?
Thankfully, Blane is there to save me, just like he always does.
"Marissa was a girl who isn't with us anymore," Blane explains patiently to our baby. "And we wanted to name you after her, to make sure we had another Marissa in the world. Once day, when you're a little bit bigger, we will tell you all about her."
That seems to please our daughter and she chatters for a while longer before disappearing into the living room to play with the Golden Retriever puppy we just got.
Blane reaches for my hand across the table, squeezing it to check if I'm okay. I offer him a brave smile, though I'm feeling nothing like my expression.
"Alright?" he asks worriedly, and I find it in myself to nod. I get up from the table abruptly and give him an apologetic smile.
"I just have to sort something out," I say quickly. "I'll be right back."
I can see the confusion in his eyes, but also understanding. He gives me a soft nod as I leave the room, heading upstairs.
It's been a long time since I've been in the attic, and when I pull down the stairs that lead up there, I struggle and inhale so much dust I nearly choke to it. Climbing it slowly, I finally make my way to the neglected storey.
It's warm from all the windows in the roof, but the room is a huge ghost town. Everything is covered in dusty white sheets to protect our possessions from decay. But I know exactly what I'm here for as I step towards the easel in the middle of the room. It's the only thing not covered in a sheet.
It's the one thing I fear most in the world these days, but it's also a fear I know I need to face.
It's one of Aiden's works, a portrait of me.
Grotesque and disgusting, it shows my body ravaged with knives and wounds, bleeding, decaying, while my eyes bore into the viewer, asking for help. In the bottom of the painting, there is an outline of another face, a mouth grinning wide like a Cheshire cat.
I look at it for a long time, and it surprised me that I'm not even scared of it. I've always feared it being in the house, and dreaded going up here for fear of seeing it.
I finger my scar, which has faded due to special creams and potions, as well as a surgery I had to remove it. It's still there, and if I slide my fingers over it, I can make out the words Aiden carved in my skin.
I'm not done.
"Except, now you are," I say out loud sadly, realizing this is finally my time to say goodbye to the past. Slowly, I reach for the canvas and turn it the other way around, moving the easel into the corner of the room. I pick a sheet from the ground and softly drape it over the easel, erasing my nightmare to existence.
I stand there for a while, until I can finally feel
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