Page 135 of Cruelest Contract
But even after he climbs off his stool, he’s hesitant to leave. “Please tell my sister that I said congratulations on the twins.”
“I will. But she probably wouldn’t mind hearing it from you directly.”
“Maybe,” he mutters and walks away. I watch him disappear into an elevator and then check the time.
It’s after ten p.m. I wish I hadn’t put off calling Cecilia. Tired from the pregnancy, she turns in early these days. I can’t risk waking her with a text or a call. She deserves to get as much rest as possible.
Instead, I scroll through my phone apps until I find the one I’m looking for and place yet another order for a flowerarrangement, selecting the largest one available to be delivered tomorrow morning.
Even if I can’t be home every day to hold my wife the way I want to be, I can fill her world with pretty things on a regular basis to show her how much I care.
She’ll like that.
30
CECILIA
My dreams are different now. Bolder and vibrant. More immediate. They don’t disappear in the hazy seconds when my mind first shifts back to real world mode.
I often dream of Julian. With my hormones surging all over the place, I want him more than ever. I wake up breathless, desperate to feel his weight on top of me but stuck using my own fingers to resolve the unbearable ache between my legs.
Other times I dream he’s in danger but I cannot find him as I run, sobbing, through the empty rooms of this castle-sized house. I leave those dreams gasping, with a sickening chill coursing through my blood, and I seek the comfort of my weighted blanket until my thrashing heartbeat calms down.
The nights when I sleep the most peacefully are the nights when my husband is beside me. There aren’t nearly enough of those.
Dreams aren’t my problem tonight. Each time I fitfully doze off, I’m jerked awake a short time later by nothing in particular. The weighted blanket is no comfort at all. It bothers my skin and I throw it off. The flutter in my belly is an alert that the twins arebeing affected by my irritability. I rub my hand over my stomach while taking deep breaths to settle down.
The static hum of the sound machine on the nightstand isn’t enough to drown out the sound of the blowing wind. There’s no rain, no thunder. Just wind. It finds tiny cracks in the house and bleeds through with a whistling hiss.
If I had to name the loneliest sound in the world, I’d choose this one. And when I hear it, I think of Teresa’s gravesite over the hill on this moonless night while the wind batters the unchanging stone angel as she keeps watch alone.
Morbid thoughts really don’t help with insomnia. Sitting up, I turn on the bedside lamp and check my phone. After midnight. The last message came from Alice six hours ago when she let me know she’d arrived home safely.
I loved having my best friend here. The week was full of laughter and fun and tons of eager planning for the babies. We watched movies in my bed and ate more ice cream than should be legally permissible. Alice rode a horse for the very first time when I coaxed her onto Luna’s back. She was hilarious in the saddle, sitting hunched over and clutching the reins to her chest while Fort led Luna around at the slowest pace imaginable. She sketched out a plan for the twins’ nursery and we used Julian’s bank card for an online shopping spree of baby items.
In the months I’ve spent at Storm’s Eye, I’ve grown to love the ranch and everyone on it, even the difficult Gaetano. But I can never quite forget that they are allJulian’speople. His family. His loyal allies.
With Alice around, I finally had someone who was all mine, completely and devotedly on my side. She enjoyed her time here and joked a few times that she ought to get a teaching job in nearby Vigilance. I was so tempted to beg her to follow through. She cried when we hugged goodbye. I nearly did too.
I set my phone down and reach for my journal, flipping to the pages where I’ve begun making lists for all the things the twins will need. A pressed flower falls from the middle of the book and drops into my lap. Julian had placed the chrysanthemum in my hair the day of our honeymoon picnic. I kept it as a souvenir. With care, I return it to an inner page of the journal.
The roses in the room are wilting. They are from an arrangement Julian sent nearly two weeks ago after I told him about the ultrasound results. Their scent has shifted from sweet to peppery as they begin to decay. I’ll throw them out tomorrow.
My eyes blur with disinterest as I page through my lists. I’m too restless to concentrate. The sight of Julian’s untouched pillow only summons a lonely twinge of desire.
He’s always made it clear that his obligations to the family are a priority. But as I run a palm over my growing belly, I’m convinced Julian and I still have a lot to sort out. I shouldn’t be nervous about telling my husband that I want him here. That I miss him.
And that I love him.
He’s never said those words. But then again, neither have I. Maybe it’s time to gather some courage and tell Julian how I feel. When he’s gone, I miss him terribly. I think about him nonstop. I want us to be so much closer.
How will he know any of this if I don’t tell him?
A sudden gurgling in my belly isn’t the twins. Pregnancy cravings strike at odd times. This morning Enzo served some marvelous orange glazed muffins and right now I’m desperately wishing I’d squirreled a few away.
I bet there are leftovers. Enzo always cooks enough for a medieval banquet. About a month ago, the Storm’s Eye Ranch chef caught me rummaging in the huge kitchen fridge between meals. With delight, he showed me the cupboard where he keepsthe freshly baked goods and encouraged me to help myself any hour of the day or night.
Muffins and a cup of tea sound like the perfect snack right now. I tend to avoid wandering the house at night because it gives me the creeps but I have every right to go wherever I please.
