Unmasked by Ingrid Weaver Read Free Book Online Page B

the haze of emotion that had driven her had burned out within minutes, the echoes of what she’d said had lingered like the acrid, smoky aftertaste from yesterday’s fire.
    Given his own circumstances, he’d shown incredible restraint. That was something new—the boy she’d known had been as open with his feelings as she used to be. Still, the compassion in his gaze hadn’t changed.
    Neither had that uncanny ability he possessed to see straight through her.
    She stopped beside the bay window that arched outward from the corner of the room and smoothed her palm along the plush window seat. Would Jackson be able to feel this velvet? Would he be able to enjoy the simple pleasure of fern leaves sliding through his fingers?
    Truthfully she couldn’t imagine Jackson Bailey as anything but a doctor. She’d resented his choice when he’d made it because she’d had a different vision for their future. With theidealistic—and stubbornly blinkered—thinking of youth, she’d dreamed of following in the footsteps of the parents she’d idolized. Because of that, she’d hoped someday to run this hotel with Jackson and raise their own family where she had grown up. For a while it had seemed her wish would come true.
    But then Jackson had won a scholarship that had allowed him to pursue his own dream. He’d been right to do it. It hadn’t been ambition that had driven him to become a surgeon, it had been a genuine need to make a difference. Rather than devoting himself to only one family, he’d saved the lives of countless others.
    And so Jackson had made practicing medicine his life, just as Charlotte had made the hotel hers. They had gone their separate ways, yet after two decades apart, somehow they had arrived at the same point. They both were facing the possibility of losing the very things they’d dedicated their lives to….
    The very things they’d chosen over each other.
    It was ironic that they would meet again now. If there was such a thing as fate, it must have a twisted sense of humor.
    “Auntie Charlotte!”
    She turned toward the door in time to see a small figure barrel through. She shook off her dark mood, her mouth moving into the first genuine smile she’d felt for hours. “Daisy Rose,” she said, holding out her arms. “How’s my favorite niece?”
    Daisy Rose raced across the gleaming floor, her long curly hair streaming behind her like red pennants. She skidded the last few feet before she collided with Charlotte’s legs, then clasped her arms around her aunt’s knees and leaned back. “I’ve got wings.”
    “Well, of course you do,” Charlotte said, stroking her niece’s hair back from her face. “You’re our little angel.”
    “No, real wings.” She wiggled her shoulders. “Look!”
    Charlotte leaned over to check. Sure enough, a pair of wings fashioned from wire and white tulle hung crookedly from Daisy’s shoulders. “They’re lovely!”
    “Watch me fly.” She bounced on her toes, craning her neck in order to peer over her shoulder. “See?”
    The wire-and-tulle contraption flapped and wobbled sideways. Charlotte carefully adjusted it back into place. “That’s wonderful.”
    “I’m a fairy.” She spun away from Charlotte, waving the stick in her hand. A gold-painted foam star tipped the end. “This is my wand, just like in the stories.”
    “Yes, chère . Just like the fairy tales.”
    She skipped back across the floor. “Mommy, look, I’m casting a spell.”
    Charlotte returned her gaze to the doorway. Sylvie Marchand entered the room in a dramatic billow of tie-dyed magenta silk. The resemblance between mother and daughter was unmistakable—they both had the same red hair as well as the same irrepressible zest. Sylvie paused only long enough to straighten Daisy’s wings again, then swept over to Charlotte. “We’re still working on the rest of the costume, but she couldn’t wait to show you.”
    “It’s going to be lovely,” Charlotte said.
    “She’s