The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

hotel and having you for dinner.” She kept her face as straight as she could manage.

He stopped in the middle of the pavement, forcing the crowd to flow around them. “I’ll get a taxi right now.” His smile was pure hedonism.

“Scarlett?”

Scarlett froze at the sound of her mother’s voice, her grip tightening on Jameson’s hand as she turned slowly to face her.

She wasn’t alone. Scarlett’s father stood at her side, looking as shocked as Scarlett felt for all of a heartbeat before he managed to school his features into the stone she knew so well.

“Jameson, these are my parents, Nigel and Margaret, but I’m sure they’d rather you call them Baron and Lady Wright.” Finally, she had a real use for all the comportment lessons she’d been forced into.

…

“Sir.” Jameson stepped forward, offering his hand to Nigel but losing Scarlett’s in the process. So this was the infamous father his wife and her sister had such mixed feelings about. He was dressed in a neatly pressed suit, his pepper and silver hair slicked back with minimal fuss.

Her father looked at Jameson’s hand, then brought his gaze back up. “You’re the Yank.”

“I’m American, yes.” Jameson bristled but managed a smile as he lowered his hand, taking Scarlett’s again. He couldn’t imagine having this kind of rift with his own parents, and if he could ease the tension, he would. It’s the least his mother would expect from him. “Ma’am, your daughters speak very highly of you.”

Scarlett squeezed his fingers at his lie.

Margaret had the same dark hair and piercing blue eyes as her daughters. In fact, the resemblance was so close that he couldn’t shake the feeling he was getting a glimpse at what Scarlett would look like in thirty years. Scarlett wouldn’t have that cold, firm set to her mouth, though. His wife was far too warm for that.

“You’re…going to have a child,” her mother said quietly, her eyes round as they locked on Scarlett’s stomach.

The irrational impulse to stand in front of his wife was instant.

“We are,” Scarlett said, her voice firm and chin high. He’d always been in awe of her self-control, but this was an all-time high. “I understand you convinced Constance to throw her life away?” She asked the question with the same tone she’d used to request he pass the milk this morning.

Jameson blinked, realizing he’d entered an entirely different arena of warfare where he wasn’t the expert—his wife was.

“Constance’s choices are her own,” Margaret said just as politely.

“Is it a boy?” Nigel asked, staring at Scarlett with a spark of something in his eyes that looked a little too close to desperation for Jameson’s comfort.

“I could hardly know, as I am still pregnant.” Scarlett tilted her head. “And if he is, that is none of your business.”

This was the strangest family he’d ever encountered…and somehow he was a part of it.

Scarlett turned her attention back to her mother. “Constance’s choices are her own, but you took advantage of her broken heart. You and I both know what he’ll do to her. You willingly sent a lamb to the slaughter, and I will do everything in my power to convince her not to go through with it.”

As shots across the bow went, that one was a direct hit.

“As far as I’m concerned, you made the choice for her when you refused him,” her mother replied unemotionally.

And that one was an entire bombing raid.

Scarlett’s sharp intake of breath was enough for him to know her mother’s words had found their mark.

“It was nice to meet you both, but we’re going to go now,” Jameson said, tipping his hat.

“If that’s a boy, he can be my heir,” Nigel blurted.

Every muscle in Jameson’s body tensed, preparing for the fight. “If our baby is a boy, he’s our son,” he said.

“He’s not your anything,” Scarlett said to her father through gritted teeth, her hand rising protectively over their child.

“If Constance doesn’t marry Wadsworth—as you are hell-bent on stopping it,” her father mused with a scheming gleam in his eyes, “and you have the only heir, the line is clear. If she does marry him, and they have children, that’s a different matter.”

“Unbelievable.” Scarlett shook her head. “I’ll sign over my claim right now. Here, in the middle of the street. I don’t want it.”

Nigel’s gaze flickered between Scarlett and him, then narrowed on Scarlett. “What are you going to do when your Yank gets himself killed?”

Scarlett’s spine stiffened.

Jameson couldn’t argue against the possibility. The life expectancy of a pilot wasn’t years, or even months. The odds weren’t exactly in his favor, especially at the rate the 71st was flying missions. Since getting issued Spitfires a few weeks ago, they were one of the top squadrons for enemy kills.

He was one battle away from making ace…or crashing.

“You’ll have a baby to support on a widow’s stipend, since I’m assuming you no longer wear the uniform or have income of your own.”

“She’ll be fine,” Jameson interjected. Changing his will already made sure Scarlett would inherit what land was his if he didn’t make it home, but he wasn’t telling her parents that.

“When that happens, you’ll come home.” Her father ignored Jameson entirely. “Think about it. You have no real skill. Can you honestly say you’d go to the factories? What would you do with your child?”

“Nigel,” Margaret chastised softly.

“You’ll come home. And not for you—you’d rather starve than give us the pleasure. But for your child?”

The color ran from Scarlett’s face.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Jameson turned his back on her parents, cutting directly in front of them instead of letting Scarlett’s hand go.

“She doesn’t even have a country!” Nigel called after them.

“She’ll be American soon enough!” Jameson said over his shoulder as they walked away.

Scarlett held her head high as Jameson stepped into the street, hailing a taxi. A black car pulled to the curb, and Jameson opened the door, ushering Scarlett in first. Rage raced through his veins, hot and thick.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“The U.S. Embassy,” Jameson replied.

“What?” Scarlett twisted