Page 22 of Provoked

“Margot has mob connections?” My eyebrows shoot up. That really doesn’t fit the profile I know of her and I’m certainly not a fan.

Fred shrugs. “Maybe she’s looking to make new ones. Or maybe she’s just there to strike it rich. Not knowing is not good news.”

Got it. “You want anything besides grilled cheeseand soup? I could add some ham, or maybe you want some of the leftover fried chicken?”

Fred smiles kindly. “That’s okay, kid. I had a late lunch, so soup and a sandwich will do me.”

“Okay, give me ten minutes and then we can eat with Justin and you can fill him in?”

Fred nods. “I’ll go wash up. Let me carry the tray up so the boss doesn’t chew me out first thing.”

We share a look of commiseration.

Justin is surprisingly quiet, chewing thoughtfully while Fred debriefs.

“Nevermind, we’ll simply put the announcement in the Times and it will spread quickly enough,” he finally says calmly before drinking his soup from the mug.

I stare at him in astonishment. “You can’t just waltz in and hand a paper to the receptionist, Justin. The Times is either for the extraordinarily well-connected or people that will make them look like that’s not the case.” I suppose my disdain for the archaic announcement section shows based on the twitch of Justin’s lips.

“What makes you think I’m not that well-connected, my darling wife?” he asks dryly. Even Fred chokes slightly on that one.

I groan. “I mean, I’d rather waltz onto one of the morning shows. And you should know me well enough to know how unlikely that is.”

Justin purses his lips in amusement. “The thing is, Ingrid, the Times wedding section was made for things like this. The morning shows, as charming as your appearance would be, would be hard pressed to come up for a reason to explain our presence. Nobody in Iowa gives a fuck about what Justin Wilde gets up to.”

I pout in annoyance. They might if they’d ever met him. “Well, won’t you be flooded with a ton of questions by your wide circle of acquaintances who have never even met me?”

He shakes his head with a tired smile. “If I am, I will simply inform them that no way was I letting anyone else catch even a glimpse of you until my claim was well and truly secured.”

I blush at the possessive glance he casts down over my body. I could almost imagine that he’s had feelings for me for years. But we all know that’s not true.

Fred stands and shuffles towards the bedroom door. “Night, folks. I’m going to check the locks and turn in. Try to keep the noise down.” He chuckles to himself as he leaves. I nibble at my sandwich to hide my embarrassment. Fred is just teasing, but it’s… uncomfortable, I guess. Particularly given Justin’s recent sudden change in attitude.

I cover up the new awkwardness between us with the mundane. Taking his plate and mug, I see him struggling to get out of the bed. I frown. He’s been insisting on being mobile enough to use the bathroom on his own. And I can understand how important that is to a man with his pride. But…

“Shouldn’t Fred be helping you?” I ask softly. Justin cuts me a glare.

“I can manage. Where you can be helpful is remembering you agreed to be back in this bed tonight, so I don’t have to come looking for you. That’s what’s going to help most with my recovery.” He shuffles into the bathroom and shuts the door.

I stand there, dishes in hand, and ponder all the variables. Finally, with a sigh, I leave and take the dishes downstairs to the kitchen. Fred has already cleared away all the others, stacking them neatly in the dishwasher. So I add the few in my hand and start the machine.

The house is still with both men tucked away upstairs. It shouldn’t bother me because I’d planned all along to occupy this place all by myself. But somehow I’ve gotten used to thenoise and bustle of other people over the last few weeks. It’s disconcerting now, being down here on the main floor alone. I flip off all the lights and stand in the living room looking out the window. The sunset is just starting, but the sun has long ago disappeared behind the distant mountains.

I still haven’t heard a peep from Rose or Aiden. I know births can take a while, especially the first one, so I don’t want to be the person interrupting for news. But I’m anxious all the same. Tomorrow. If I haven’t heard anything from her tomorrow, I’ll send a text message.

When the last of the color fades from the sky, I consider my options before I can’t drag out bedtime any longer. I could read, but I’m feeling too distracted to concentrate. I could go upstairs and work on some designs. I certainly should. But I work best when I’m in a contemplative, imaginative state and right now I’m too wound up. But then I guess these days I can financially afford to take an extended vacation if I want to.

I grimace, remembering that this is why I wasn’t eager for the money in the first place. Oh, I love the security of it, but that also comes with plenty of excuses. I want to have something to show for my time on this earth. Something only I could create that adds some beauty and light to the world. Something a bank balance by itself can hardly do. Once Justin is well and we’ve decided on our future relationship, I will redevote myself to design. I pinky swear with myself, which probably doesn’t count. But it ought to.

I could always go to bed early and force Justin to watch kitten videos with me. Or maybe guinea pigs on parade is more his style? I grin evilly at the thought and decide he can handle at least one cute animal video before bed. Assuming he’s awake for that, anyway.

The boxes stacked against the wall catch my eye as I turn to leave. Maybe I should at least open one box.

Fired up with renewed purpose, I turn the lights back onfull and head to the kitchen to find a pair of scissors. Slicing the blade through the packing tape, I feel like I’ve been blessed with a truck full of mystery packages. There could be anything in there. But since I don’t even have any clear memories of objects I cherish, I’m not too worried about being blindsided with emotion.

Particularly when I carefully pull the tissue paper away from an extremely ugly cup and saucer. It’s fancy enough, there’s lots of gold banding. But along with that are these swirly loops and dots in black and green. I flip it over and check the mark. Oh. Definitely expensive. If I ever saw these, I don’t remember them. I sigh when the layer below in the box reveals a matching bread plate. I’ll bet half the boxes in here are this pattern — service for twenty or more.

Eyeing the box with suspicion, I check one more item off to the side, yep an egg cup in the same design. I carefully fold the lid close and move the entire box over near the window. I’m not unpacking it all just to have to repack it to donate to charity. Although it might be more like dumping on charity because it is seriously ugly.

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