Page 90 of His Pretty Little Duet

He sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes meeting mine, whirling with severity. “My brothers are here, sweet girl. They must have found out I came out here and took it upon themselves to join me. Such is their nature.” When he presses his warm hand to my cheek, I rub into it, nuzzling, loving the gentle attentiveness. His voice drops when he says, “And my niece and nephew will probably be here too. Will you be okay with seeing them?”

A little ache moves through my chest, but it’s not intense, just a meek reminder. I shake my head in his palm. “I’ll be fine," I say. "I’ve never really been around children before, but my tastes are pretty similar to a kid’s, ya know?” He smiles, watching my filter-less mouth roll. “Cakes. Cartoons. Pizza. Unicorns. Butterflies... I'll stop."

With a charming grin, he stands up, his hand dropping from my cheek, the warmth missing immediately, and any distance between us right now reminds me of loss. Then he disappears through the bedroom door. His absence brings waves of nervousness. Will he tell them who I am? Do they already know? How many brothers does he have? I know they are like 'the District Kardashians,' but I sure as hell hope their wives don't behave like them. On the wave of nervousness, outright anxiety follows.

What if they don't like me? Will it hurt seeing his niece? A baby? What if they take one look at me and laugh at the ridiculous couple we make?

Clay

I swipemy hand across my bare abdominals, feeling the muscles twitch and pulse, still loosening from that mouthfucking my little deer performed. She sucked the sin out of me and then asked,“Will you ever belong to me?”

Fucksake.

That, and her“I love you, Clay,”have me twitching and animalistic. Possessive. Volatile, and not me at all.

Not careful.

Not fucking neutral.

Knotting my brows, I stride meaningfully to find my family and assess the situation before she wanders out here and into a full-blown Butcher gathering.

Passing the kitchen, I see Julia preparing a platter of fruit and filling carafes of bubbly orange liquid.

Please, make yourselves at home.

Mussing my dark hair with my fingers, I wander, barely dressed, towards the rear sliding doors. Already in view through the glass panelling is my four-year-old niece throwing a bucket of water on Bronson and Shoshanna’s Staffy, Crixus, who iscompletely covered in mud, probably from the dam half a kilometre down the hill.

He brought the fucking dog?

He can’t leave a single member of his family out for even a moment. Hovering near, Max and Bronson watch young Kelly spill more suds on the grass than on the bouncing Crixus.

Bronson, of fucking course, is also drenched from his dark-brown hair to soggy boots, his black shirt and jeans dripping from being submerged. I’d guess he dove in to drag their unruly Staffy from the muddy depths. That dog is free-range... just like Bronson.

I sigh my annoyance, approaching the alfresco, catching sight of the four women in the wooden gazebo to the left. Apparently, it’s a fucking family affair. Further waves of frustration billow through me.

As I pull the sliding door open, Bronson’s eyes meet mine. “Hello, darling. You slept in. Oh, no—" Bronson laughs, not caring that I’m clearly not pleased by his presence. “Look out, big brother looks cranky.”

“Uncle Clay! I’m washing Crixus!” Kelly shrieks over to me, her squeaky little voice vibrating with excitement as the Staffy bounds around with energy rivalling her own. “He was trying to catch the fish in the water down the hill.”

I find a smile for my niece. “Throw some of those suds on your uncle Bronson while you’re at it, sweetheart.”

“It’s not our fault we have to force ourselves on you, you grumpy prick.” Xander’s voice finds me before I twist to see him lighting the barbeque on the porch while my half-brother Konnor unwraps sheets of bacon.

He’s not lying. I’ve taken more on than any other Don to keep this scene, this concept of family normalcy for my brothers and their partners, their children. For the past twelve months, since Jimmy’s death, I have kept our business running with minimaldisturbance to their otherwise normal existence. Only bringing them in on the Dustin issue, Bron in on the incident with my little deer—aButcherissue.

This legacy is my right and burden.

Konnor tips his chin. “Sweet pad, Clay.”

I nod politely at him, before muttering to Xander, “I would have appreciated a text." I stroll across the lawn to the gazebo, smoothing my frown into a polite smile for the women in my family. The absence of Aurora in this moment is tangible; she would have been among them, offering greetings and conversation, smoothing the path for me to follow suit. But my wife is where she belongs, where she really desires to be, managing our business while I manage mine.

I don'tneedto worry.

Although, I do.

I've not made even two steps in their direction before Cassidy’s large black and taupe Bernese Mountain Dog appears behind her chair, approaching me at a stalking pace.

Fucking crazy animal.

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