Page 39 of Bartered Innocence

I clear my throat. “Anything you want, Isabelle. I’ll get it for you.”

Sadness deepens on her face and I look at Deirdre for any type of understanding of what’s upsetting her.

Shutting the doors gently, she sighs and comes back to my side, a fake smile pasted now. “Sorry I got carried away. I’m not used to…all that.” Isabelle waves around and I clench my jaw, knowing she’s putting up that barrier again.

“This is your home now, too.”

Her expression doesn’t falter. “Of course.”

I decide not to push her for answers, not wanting to ruin our day by arguing.

“What’s for breakfast?” I ask the older woman who has been watching the entire exchange with amusement.

Deirdre clicks her tongue. “It’s not done. Here’s some pastries and coffee I made for the boys.”

She waves her hand to the other side of the counter and I walk over and grab two cups.

“The boys?” Isabelle asks.

“Probably Cillian and Cormac getting a head start to Manhattan.”

She takes a sip and snags a raspberry tart. “Are you going to New York too?”

“After our tour, yes.”

“So you’ll be there a lot? Do you have a home there?” She’s been to my penthouse in Jersey City and now this one in the suburbs of Westfield.

I roll my tongue over my lip. “Yes.”

Her eyes narrow. “So you’re leaving me here?”

Shaking my head, I watch her curiously as I take my own food and sip the coffee. I can see the conflict on her face before she succumbs to whatever debate she’s having in her head. She sets the cup down and faces me fully.

“If you have a mistress?—”

I step closer to her, trapping her against the counter with my arms on either side of her. Her attention flickers to Deirdre, who is ignoring us. Leaning forward, her gaze locks with mine and she swallows.

“I promised you fidelity, Isabelle. I will keep that promise and return to our bed every night. If I need to spend time in Jersey City, Manhattan, or wherever the fuck I need to be, I’ll ensure you’re with me.”

Her pulse is beating wildly in her neck and I push away from the counter, even though I want to kiss her lips desperately.

“Let me show you the house.”

She clears her throat and takes one more sip before following me out. We exit the kitchen to the large formal dining room. It’s simple compared to the one I’ve seen in the photos I received from some of the women I’ve sent in to check in on Luca for me.

My mother designed the room for practicality instead of extravagance. It’s why the walls are all a soft beige, leaving the details of the molding attached in even squares with some decorative corners applied inside. When Isabelle’s head tilts up to take in the large crystal chandelier, I smile at the dark green ceiling. My father expressed how silly the idea of painting a ceiling was, but couldn’t deny how good it looked afterward.

“We don’t use this room often since my mom passed and my father fell ill, but I’d like to again.”

Her curious eyes glance at me. “For family dinners?”

I nod.

Isabelle looks at the long, dark oak table again. “Can I ask why?”

“You can always ask me anything. I’ll be as honest as I can be,” I say, putting my hand on the small of her back to lead her into the sitting room. The old plush chairs are worn in from my mother’s social parties, and while there isn’t a layer of dust to show the length of time since it’s been used, the atmosphere is dull and lifeless.

“My mother…was the life of the party.” I move away from Isabelle, picking up one of my mother’s favorite books still lying on the small nook bench in front of the large window. The spine is worn from use, and I swallow down the ache in my throat. “I was their miracle baby after multiple miscarriages, and even then…my birth left her unable to try again. Otherwise my parents would have filled this house with as many kids as they could have.”

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