Page 55 of Bartered Innocence

I sigh, glancing up at him. “Your mother’s flowers. She breathed life into them, who am I to take them away?”

His bright blue eyes stare down at me, a softness to them that has my heart racing as he studies my face. “I believe she has a book in her library about all the uses of primrose, if you’re interested.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, curiously. It doesn’t escape my notice that I haven’t moved from his hold, in fact I almost feel at home.

Rian smiles. “It’s fascinating. A lot of medicinal purposes, passed down from ancestors.”

I nod. “I’d like that. And thanks for letting Greg purchase what I wanted to plant so quickly.”

His smile falters and he slowly lets go of me to rub at his jaw. “This is your home too, Isabelle.”

My stomach clenches, hating that I’ve ruined this small moment. It was nice to pretend we were normal while it lasted. “I know. I’m—it’s just. Give me time, Rian. I’m trying.”

Since I watched him fight a few days ago, we’ve kind of been in a peaceful oblivion. We’ve gone about our days as if we’re a perfect married couple and I have nothing better to do than play in the garden and make dinners. For the most part I haven’t minded it, enjoying being in the kitchen regardless. Then I wake up to him in our bed every morning and I’m reminded it’s all a mirage, something I’m desperate for while also aching from the reality of the situation.

He nods. “I brought dinner home from one of our favorite Chinese food restaurants. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I grabbed a bit of everything.”

My eyebrows raise. “Chinese food? That’s…I can’t remember the last time I had any.”

“Cillian gets bored, prefers a variety of food to keep him satisfied,” he says as we walk toward the house. His hand slides into mine, and I squeeze it tightly, enjoying the calluses of his palm against my skin. A sense of contentment I didn’t think I could feel seeps into my heart.

Chapter21

Rian

Trimming my beard,my eyes keep straying to my wife as she moves into the bathroom behind me, slathering her body with lotion after our shower. She hums something under her breath as I watch, enchanted by everything she does.

Isabelle catches my stare in the mirror and rolls her eyes.

I smile, finishing up the last few clips with my shears. “I can’t help myself when you’re so beautiful.”

She shakes her head in mock exasperation before pulling on her robe and coming to stand next to me. “Can you guys get home a little early tonight? I’m going to make a large dinner with some of my favorites.”

Nodding, I catch her neck before she can leave and kiss her. Her cheeks are flushed when she pulls away then ducks under my arm and out of the bathroom while I laugh softly. Some days it feels surreal to live a more domesticated life, but I’m loving it more than I ever thought.

When I tell my brothers that Isabelle is cooking us dinner, the excitement is overbearing for the rest of the day. We love Deirdre, and we appreciate everything she does for us, but it does get tiring to eat the same meals over and over. We check up on some of the families farther out in the suburbs before abandoning the rest of our tasks to come home early. They disappear into their rooms to clean up, and I move to the kitchen, greeting the two women of the house.

“We’re all home, we couldn’t wait,” I say, moving toward my wife. She’s stirring something on the stove. Kissing her temple, I glance around at the messy counters and full sink. “It looks like a tornado ran through.”

Deirdre laughs. “The tornado is your wife. She wanted to do as much as she could without help.”

Isabelle tsks, waving her hand at the woman before turning to look up at me as she unties her apron. “I let her help, I did. This was a joint effort. Now help us bring it out.”

I shout for the men to help them carry the obscene amount of food, setting it down the whole length of the table.

“This is my fantasy come true. The only thing missing is the blonde girl I eat it off of,” Cillian says with a groan.

Isabelle scowls at him. “Anyway, it’s usually served in courses, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to eat the food I cooked tonight. So let me break it down for you and then we can dig in. For the appetizer, I’ve made bruschetta and your choice of toppings between the tomato mixture or prosciutto and mozzarella. For the first course, there’s rice with potatoes and provola cheese, which I don’t recommend skipping. Then for the main course, I prepared chicken cacciatore and ricotta lasagna. And if you still have room, a very simple vanilla panna cotta for dessert.”

When she comes around to sit down next to me, I grab her around the waist and kiss her. “It looks and smells delicious. Thanks for cooking all this, love.”

She blushes, admitting in a shy voice, “I did it more for myself than anyone else.”

I shrug with a smile, letting her know it’s okay as we all sit. Cillian has already piled a ton on his plate, savagely tearing in while Cormac watches him with a repulsed expression before taking away some of the dishes to share with others. Aodhan demolishes half of the bruschetta, and I wonder if Isabelle knew how much of a bread fiend he is, and why Deirdre seems to always incorporate some type of bread in our meals. Isabelle’s flushed face doesn’t disappear the entire time, the blush deepening every time one of the men praises the food. I’m surprised she’s not used to the type of compliments as she shuffles in her seat. We’ll have to do it more often, especially if she produces some of the best food I’ve ever had. My eyes stray back to my wife every few minutes, the conversation going on around us dulling as I only focus on her. She avoids my stare, engaging with whatever the men are saying, but every time I catch her thinking no one is looking, I see the smile falter on her lips.

* * *

“You okay?” My deep voice startles her from where she’s staring at the crackling fire, curled up on the sofa across from our bed. We had to leave abruptly after the delicious dinner she made when one of our men had spotted someone we’ve been looking for.

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