TRADING MY EX FOR HIS STEP BROTHER

TRYING TO MAKE AMENDS

CHAPTER 17: TRYING TO MAKE AMENDS

KIMBERLY:

I couldn't help but feel frustrated.

My head was filled with thoughts of things that could go wrong if I continued to fight with Damien. I wasn't really going to let this marriage spiral into a battlefield just days after it began. I already had Barbra breathing fire down my neck.

And Roland could be back anytime. Who knows what games he might want to play?

If Damien joined that list... God, I’d be fighting a war I couldn’t win.

I sighed in frustration and rubbed my forehead. "No," I whispered to myself. "I’m not going to lose this."

I thought about everything Grandma Evelyn had said to me last night. One of which was that I had as much right as Barbra in the Carter's family.

“You have to stand your ground in this family, Kimberly.” But I have to use wisdom. After all, Barbra was still my step mother-in-law.

So I made up my mind. I was going to make Damien breakfast. Something thoughtful.

That's my own little way of saying, ‘I'm not here to fight.’

I tossed the blanket aside, and jumped out of bed. I headed to the kitchen, hoping I could avoid Barbra’s drama this morning.

By the time I got downstairs, the sun had begun to shine through the long curtains in the hallway. I stepped into the kitchen and was relieved to find one of the maids, Cynthia, wiping the marble countertops.

"Good morning, Cynthia."

She looked up, surprised. "Good morning, ma’am. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Yes, actually. I want to make breakfast for my husband. Could you please get me eggs, fresh tomatoes, onions, some green peppers, and goat sausage from the store? I want to make tomato goat sausage omelette with toasted sourdough."

Her face faltered. "Oh… I’m so sorry, ma’am, but Mrs. Barbra gave strict instructions not to allow anyone access to the supply store unless she approves."

I blinked. "What? Even me?"

She hesitated, then gave me a helpless shrug.

I clenched my fists. Of course. Of course Barbra would pull a stunt like this. I took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"That’s alright, Cynthia. I’ll handle it."

"I’m sorry," she said again, looking genuinely apologetic.

"Don’t be. This isn’t your fault."

I went back upstairs to my room, grabbed my purse and car keys and drove to Harvey’s Groceries on Elmwood Street. I’d gone there twice with my mother.

The place smelled like baked bread and fresh oranges. I picked out six eggs, two plump tomatoes, one red and one green pepper, a bunch of fresh parsley, and a pack of seasoned goat sausage. I paid quickly and drove back.

By the time I returned to the mansion, my arms full of groceries, I walked up to the kitchen door—and froze.

It was locked.

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered, jiggling the handle.

There were no maids in sight. No movement. Nothing.

For a moment, I stared at the door, and felt like crashing my feet into it. My chest heaved in anger.

Should I go to Grandma Evelyn?

No. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m yet. The last thing I wanted was to bother her with Barbra’s petty games. That would only make me look weak.

I looked down at my grocery bag, sighed, and dropped everything at the dining table. If I decide to confront Barbra, I won't be able to finish making the breakfast in time.

So I got back in the car and drove off.

I drove two blocks down to The Morning Table, a small brunch spot on Laurel Avenue. I ordered their signature breakfast box—scrambled eggs with smoked sausage, sourdough toast, and a side of fruit and yogurt. I added a fresh-squeezed orange juice to the order and made sure it was packed neatly in their navy-and-gold boxes.

By the time I arrived at Carter Enterprises on Lennox Drive, it was a quarter past nine. The building towered over me like a giant keeping secrets. I stepped inside, my heart pounding.

The receptionist didn't bother to look up as she said, "Good morning. How may I help you?"

I hesitated. "I’m here to see Damien Carter."

She frowned. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. But I have something important to deliver to him. We're family."

She blinked. "Oh. I… I didn’t know you're related to him."

I guessed Damien was keeping his marriage a secret. He doesn't even wear a ring.

I gave her a tight smile. "Well, now you do. Can you tell him I’m here?"

She picked up the phone but paused. "Actually, he already left for breakfast about twenty minutes ago."

I blinked. "He did?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Of course. Of course he did.

"It’s fine. I’ll wait."

I moved to the seating area and placed the food on the glass coffee table. My phone buzzed in my purse, but I ignored it. I sat back, crossed my legs, and waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

And then I heard the click of polished shoes against marble.

I looked up, and my heart sank.

Damien walked in, dressed in a charcoal grey suit, his face unreadable as always.

But he wasn’t alone.

My heart dropped into my stomach.