Read Online Deeply, Desperately by Heather Webber - Free Book Online

radio. There was a heated conversation about the Patriots' quarterback and his off-the-field relationships.
    I nibbled the corner of my lip. "What if Aiden and Em's decision could be helped along?"
    We slowed to a stop at a red light. "Helped how?"
    I hedged.
    "Uva?"
    "With, let's say, with a little investigative work. As in investigating whether a certain someone due to be married soon might be dabbling on the side."
    With a sly smile, he said, "Emerson? I'm shocked."
    He teased with good reason. Em was the most straitlaced, monogamous person I knew. It had to be killing her to have feelings for Aiden.
    "Marisol and I are going to follow Joseph."
    He let out a low whistle. "Very dangerous."
    I had a feeling he'd say that. "I know."
    Because if we found anything, how were we going to explain to Em? And if we didn't say anything, how could we let her marry a slimeball?
    Either way, I knew there was no stopping Marisol. I was along for the ride, whether I liked it or not.
    We turned from Essex onto Charles. Walkers looked frozen stiff as they marched along, briefcases in hand.
    "Is Dad already at work?" I asked, wanting to talk to him as soon as I arrived.
    Raphael shook his head as the car inched along in traffic. "Took the morning off."
    "Oh?" That was unusual, especially this time of year. "Late night?"
    "Quite."
    I rubbed a finger along the console. "Do you know who he went out with?"
    "Uh-uh-uh, Uva. My lips are sealed."
    I sighed. Though Raphael loved me like a daughter, his first loyalty was to my father.
    "I'm just asking because he seemed a little stressedout last night. As far as you know, everything is okay with him, right?"
    "As far as I know."
    "And you'd know."
    "Uva."
    "I'm just worried."
    "Nothing to worry about."
    Only I
was
worried. Worried about Dad's stress levels, his health, and why he'd added Preston to Dovie's guest list. It didn't make sense.
    The car crept along. I turned down the radio. "Can I ask you a question?"
    "Always."
    I shifted in my seat, looked at him. "Do you know anyone named Oliver McCutchan? Cutter?"
    I shocked him--I could tell by the way he snapped his head to look at me.
    In a blink, gone was the surprise, replaced by his usual tranquil mask. "The artist?"
    "That would be him. Why did you look so taken aback?"
    Smoothly, he said, "I didn't know you knew him. He paints fine art. Usually portraits of famous sports figures. His most recent works include Red Sox players."
    Ah. Raphael wasn't one to follow the art scene, but he knew the Red Sox in and out. "I don't know him. I know
of
him. Have you ever met him?"
    "No."
    "Has my father?"
    "Why all the questions, Uva?"
    I explained about the invitation. "I see."
    "And Dad was the one who asked they both be invited."
    "I see."
    "I thought you might know why since you know everything about Dad."
    "I wouldn't go that far."
    "Well?"
    "What?"
    "Do you know why Dad invited them?"
    He turned up the radio. "Sorry."
    When he didn't say anything more, I suspected he was holding back.
    He double-parked along Beacon. "Will you need a ride back to the wharf later today?"
    "I think Sean is bringing me home."
    "If you need me, call."
    I leaned over the console, gave him a kiss on his furry cheek. "I will. And if you think of anything you may have
forgotten
"--I stressed the word--"then call me."
    Inside the Porcupine, Maggie was straightening tablecloths as I walked by. She looked up and I waved. From experience I knew Raphael would find a parking spot, then double back to share a cup of coffee with Maggie and help her around the restaurant.
    How long before it became a full-time job? How long before he walked away from my father for Maggie?
    I couldn't imagine that day would come.
    And didn't know what I'd do if it did.

7
    I dragged myself up the stairs to Sean's office. Better just to get the questions over with and get on with the day. There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why a woman was answering Sean's phone. Perfectly.