Page 49 of Bound Hearts

“Ah, yes.” He is pleased she brought it up.

I roll my eyes, very well aware of the storythat’s coming. I could recite it myself.

“That was the Rothenburg family after they arrived in America from Prussia. The family's matriarch, Alexandria, was insistent that they shorten their name. As a good husband does, Maximilian agreed. They had money, but the only things of sentimental value they brought were a clock, their wedding rings, and a teddy bear for one of the children. Within three years, they started the business, and it went well. It was a family portrait in the hall that they took at a cousin’s wedding. There are a few from that day. They sent one back to Europe to Alexandria’s mother, as she never moved to the States. Alexandria insisted that every home has a family picture of all the generations. Our home is where you raise a family, and photos should reflect that. You know, Clara, Foster’s mother, was adamant that we wouldn’t name any of our children after relatives. The second, third, etcetera, weren’t for her. She felt everyone has their own personality.”

“Got it. Names not to be used,” Sutton notes. Then I realize it must be an odd sentence for my dad. “I mean, if Foster gets a dog or something. I’m a fan of dogs.”

Smacking my lips together, I feel we might derail soon. “Well, thanks for that short version of history.” I’m sarcastic. Poor Sutton for having listened to that.

“I haven’t even reached the part of how I met Foster’s mother. I think you will like this.”

Sutton looks between us with interest. “Do share.”

“I met Foster’s mother when she was my father’s secretary at Roth Real Estate. Also, met at the office as you could imagine.”

My brows furrow as I reflect on that. “Huh… why did that slip my mind?”

My dad’s smirk grows. “Because you are more like your old man than you think.”

“Ooh, Foster is following tradition,” Sutton teases me.

“And that’s important, Sutton. It goes along with how one must understand family loyalty and strong ethics.”

Shit, I need to divert, it’s getting too risky. “How has the stock market been treating you?” That will save us.

Sammy returns with the drinks, plus sets down a tray of cheeses and crackers. As he hands over our drinks, I notice Sutton eyeing the food to decide what might be edible or not. Something about some cheeses not being pregnancy-safe or something.

“Thank you,” my dad says briefly. “Stocks are great. The oil market took a hit, but I moved those stocks a while ago. I’m going to hold on to any IT stocks I have before selling. But enough about numbers. What are you two doing in your free time? You know, Sutton, my son never updates me on his love life. You must be special if you are the first.”

Sutton glances at me, looking touched. “Life throws us surprises. Least expected and all that. We bonded over our love of food. Also, I was unfortunate to be thrown into his work bubble when a colleague got ill. Foster enjoys tipping the power scale in his career.”

That makes my father proud. “He wants success on his terms.”

“I feel like I should join Sammy in the kitchen since you both are talking as though I’m not here.”

Sutton touches my thigh to assure me. “Has anything been bad yet? I think we’re singing your praises,” she teases me.

“Foster’s mother would love to see this. The number of times she would tell us how happy she would be to see her son in love is beyond countable.”

That’s true.

I do wonder what she would think now. She’d be over the moon, of that I’m certain. All of her life decisions, as crazy as they may have been, were to ensure I end up happy and not alone. It comes to me that Sutton and my mom would probably have hit it off. It’s a comfort.

The next hour, we talk more about Sutton coming from Everhope and stories of when I was in high school or college. Every time Sutton would laugh. She now has plenty of ammunition to tease me.

When we wrapped up the conversation, it was clear that my dad had given Sutton the stamp of approval. That’s good, as next time we meet, we’ll be sharing the big news.

As we close the front door behind us, I stop to find my brother walking up the front steps. Every inch of his facial expression is sly.

I wasn’t expecting to run into Patrick today.

“Well, well, well, did I miss a family gathering? Figured I would stop by to see Dad. Guess the memo didn’t reach me,” he says with a smug smirk as he runs his eyes up and down Sutton, who steps close to me and takes my hand.

“We’re just leaving.”

“And who might this beauty be?”

Ah hell. “Sutton, Patrick. Patrick, Sutton. My girlfriend.” Sutton smiles civilly, but it is more reserved than the one for my dad.