Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
What I wouldn’t give to meet the woman who gave my husband life. I know she’d be immensely proud of the man he’s become.
The last several years have been a magical blur. After I finished my nursing degree, I followed August to Portland, where he took a coveted job at a tech startup with one of his college friends. I finished my BSN out there, while he worked crazy hours to get his side project off the ground—an innovative app and software suite called Jogger Safe. When he branched off on his own, he had the freedom to work from anywhere in the world.
We spent a year traveling the country trying to figure out where we wanted to place our roots. A week in Savannah. A long weekend in Austin. A holiday in Chicago. We finally settled on Charleston after falling in love with its historic charm, agreeable winters, and sweet Southern drawls. It was the perfect place to settle in and kick off the rest of our life together. And while we thought about placing roots in our hometown, we decided it was better to leave the past alone and start fresh.
Besides, I don’t think August would ever want to see his family home again. It only makes him think of his father, who rots away in a prison cell forty miles from there, and Gannon, who ran off with Cassandra after the trial—until they blazed through Gannon’s bank account and she left him high and dry for some other rich asshole.
AJ kicks again, and my lips curl into a slow smile.
I haven’t met him yet, but something tells me he’s going to be intense like his daddy. All Monreaux men are intense in their own ways, I’ve come to learn. I told August he needs to think of it as a super power; that he needs to rein it in, control it, and use it to his advantage.
A car horn honks, and I glance up to find August’s SUV inching into the driveway. A second later, my parents climb out of the passenger seats. It takes me a second to get out of the swing, but I head down the front steps and meet them halfway.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Mom wraps her arms around me.
She looks good. The pink has returned to her cheeks and her eyes are brighter than ever. Ever since they won that settlement, their financial worries have ceased and they’re no longer stressing, waiting for the bottom to drop out again. With Vincent behind bars, my father has been at his current job for five years—a record for him.
Life is truly good.
“Come in, come in. I can’t wait to show you guys around,” I tell them.
Dad gives me a side hug and helps me up the steps, and Mama gets the door. August follows with their luggage, wheeling it to the guest room upstairs.
Someday I hope to have little ones in every single bedroom. I told August I want a whole house of Monreauxs, and he laughed, but I meant it. I want to have all the babies with him. I want all of the laughter, all of the memories, all of the good and the bad, too.
My parents settle in and meet us in the hallway for a tour.
“So it was built in 1817.” I claps my hands like a proper tour guide. “By General Leopold Renoir, for his wife and five children.”
I point out the terra cotta chimney pots, original ornamental plaster details, and two hundred year old marble mantels.
“Back then, the men and women had separate drawing rooms,” I say when we get to the first level. “And this house has two kitchens, a main kitchen and a prep space—because back then that’s where the house staff prepared the meals and washed the dishes.”
My mother oohs and aahs over every intricate detail, her gaze poring over every corner of every room as if she might miss something. Meanwhile, my father makes a beeline for a window overlooking our back yard. It’s small. Maybe a third of an acre worth of space, but it’s enough for a swing set. A pergola. Room for children to run around.
“You’re going to need a vegetable garden,” Dad says to August.
August smiles and nods. I don’t think he’s ever watered a plant in his life, but he humors my father nonetheless.
“This is a beautiful home, sweetheart.” Mom rests her head on my shoulder. “And so filled with love already.”
“It truly is.”