Page 55 of House of Soot

In case things don’t turn out, I want you to know that I love you and that I’m happy you found Blaise. He hardly knows me and yet, he’s the reason I’m having this surgery so quickly.

To be honest, I don’t condone his method and I feel guilty going out of turn, and yet, I want to live.

Blaise reminds me of your father, so willing to move heaven and earth to protect those he loves. I've never seen you happier than you've been these past weeks with him.

I know the timing of this transplant seemed miraculous. Now you know why. Your Blaise made it happen.

All my love,

Mom

Tears blurmy vision as I fold the letter, trying to understand. Blaise did this? How? What was his “method” that is questionable? Did someone else lose their chance at a heart so my mother could live? What if their family is grieving right now because Blaise pushed my mother ahead in line? The guilt gnaws at me. I've always tried to do what's right, to be good and fair. Yet I can't bring myself to wish he hadn't done it. Does that make me a terrible person?

I watch the steady rise and fall of Mom’s breathing. Blaise made this happen. He gave my mother a second chance at life.

How do you thank someone for something like this? A fruit basket and a thank-you note seem laughably inadequate. I owe him everything. My mother's life. Our future together. The chance for her to meet her grandchild…

The steady hum of machines fills the silence as I watch Mom's chest rise and fall. I want to tell her everything about the baby, about my fears, about how deeply I've fallen for Blaise. But the breathing tube makes conversation impossible, and it might upset or excite her. So instead, I squeeze her hand gently, hoping she can feel how much I love her even in her sedated state.

I’m already picturing her well again. Tending the garden again. Being a grandmother. And Blaise is there too. My heart swells with emotion at the thought of being a happy family.

I rest my free hand on my stomach, where our child grows. Maybe this baby is a gift I can give him in return for my mother’s life, though I know that's not how it works. Still, the timing feelslike fate, like everything in my life is aligning in ways I never imagined possible.

But other moments nag at me. How he deflects questions about his past. The tension in his shoulders whenever I bring up the Keans. That night at the hotel, he practically shut down when I suggested speaking to the press about how good they've been to us. He was rougher, darker with me. At the time, I thought it was passion. Now I wonder if it was something else. Frustration? Anger? At me?

The baby changes everything. I need to know if what we have is real, if his love for me is as deep as mine for him because there is something in his eyes sometimes, a darkness that doesn't match his tender touches and sweet words. Like he's fighting some internal battle I can't see or understand.

22

BLAISE

Iwatch Jenna park her car and make her way around the house to the cottage from the window of the security room where Ronan is bragging about his latest exploit, a threesome.

But my attention is on Jenna. My chest tightens at the sight of her as it always does. It’s driving me mad. I came here to destroy her, to make her pay for betraying my family. Instead, I watch over her like some lovesick fool.

Watching her now, so innocent and pure in the silvery light, I can't reconcile this Jenna with the conniving girl who helped murder my parents, the girl who worships the ground Ronan walks on while he barely knows she exists. The loyal servant who defends the Keans even as they threaten her livelihood.

I want to hate her. I need to hate her. But every time I'm with her, every kiss we share, every smile she gives me chips away at my resolve. She's burrowed under my skin, into my heart, and I don't know how to cut her out without bleeding myself dry.

I catch the shift in Ronan's expression before he even turns his head. That entitled smirk I remember from ten years agospreads across his face as his gaze fixes on Jenna while she stops briefly to check on a flower.

My blood runs cold. After all these years of Jenna pining after him, now he notices her? Now that she's with me?

"Do you think she’s as innocent and pure as she looks?” he asks.

I want to smash his face in.

He tilts his head, studying her like she's a shiny new toy. "Funny how you don't notice someone until…" He trails off, that arrogant smirk widening.

Until what? Until she's happy with someone else? Until she's no longer mooning over you? My fingers itch to wrap around his throat, but I keep my hands relaxed at my sides.

"She seems different lately," he continues. "More confident. Less…" He waves his hand dismissively. "Mousy."

Because she's with me, you pompous ass. Because I make her feel valued, not invisible. The irony of my defensive thoughts isn't lost on me. Aren't I supposed to be using her? Breaking her heart?

"I should reacquaint myself," Ronan says, adjusting his cuffs. "After all, it's important to know one's staff."

His meaning is quite clear. My hand flexes then fists in response. But what right do I have to feel protective? I'm planning to hurt her far worse than Ronan ever could.

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