Page 123 of Cruelest Contract
It’s the first time I’ve said the words out loud. I need to say them to Julian. But when I try to picture the look on his face, I can’t.
He won’t be shocked. We’ve had tons of unprotected sex. I think he’ll be pleased. I know it’s very important to him to continue the Tempesta line.
But rest of the parenthood picture is unclear. The late nights with a restless infant, the celebration of milestones, the daily routine of feedings and diaper changes.
I want to share every experience with Julian. But how often will he be home?
At the end of the row, Omerta snorts and kicks the door to his stall. I always steer clear of Cass’s ornery stallion. He’s tossing his head, clearly agitated. I like to believe he can’t possibly get free. This would not be a good time to be proven wrong.
I’m struggling to my feet while trying to grapple with Louisa when I hear the buzz of men’s voices. Their agitated shouts are incoherent until one separates, louder than the rest, and yells my name. Then more of them take up the call.
“CECILIA!”
The frantic shouts grow louder. The stressed horses all stir in their stalls.
“I’m here!” I yell back and lurch outside into the pouring rain on my injured leg with my cat in my arms.
And the first highly relieved face I see belongs to Cassio Tempesta.
26
JULIAN
Mel sees us coming and throws open the door even before I’ve screeched to a halt in the mud. I’ve already jumped out of the truck and cleared the porch steps before Tye even opens the passenger door.
“She’s upstairs.” Mel pats my shoulder in reassurance. “I checked on her when I removed her breakfast tray and she’s resting comfortably.”
My father lurks nearby and tries to step in front of me. He doesn’t bother to soften the irritation on his face. “I need a word before you see your wife, Julian.”
“Later,” I snap.
His fingers clamp down on my arm. I shake him off and run for the stairs, taking them three at a time. I can hear Tye walk into the house and attempt to smooth things over with our father. Good luck to him.
The bedroom door is open a crack and my heart knocks around in my chest as I push it open the rest of the way. I don’t give a fuck how often I’ve been told that my wife is all right. I won’t believe it until I see her for myself.
There she is, resting in our bed and writing in her journal. Her head jerks up at the sound of the door opening and she gasps.
“Julian! Your father said you couldn’t leave London.”
Fuck him.Instead of snarling a response that will startle her, I cross the room and take a seat on the bed.
This move is not welcomed by Cecilia’s cat, coiled up at her side. Louisa stands and throws me an arch look before springing to the floor and darting out of the room.
Cecilia wears her pink satin robe and sits atop the covers with a throw blanket draped over her legs. Her hairs falls in a single braid over one shoulder and she’s wearing her glasses for a change.
She’s so lovely and soft and vulnerable that I struggle to stay composed.
I reach for her hand. “What happened exactly?”
She scrunches up her nose. “Nothing. Like I said in the text, I’m fine. There was a storm and I tripped in the yard. Hurt my bad knee when I landed on a horseshoe. But it’s no big deal.”
I’m already peeling back the blanket. She squirms and makes a pained little sound that slashes at my heart. With extreme gentleness, I push her robe aside. Her knee is badly bruised and swollen.
“Did you see a doctor yet?” I ask, careful not to disturb her injury.
She shakes her head. “The roads were flooded last night and I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“You could have torn something in the joint,” I insist and inspect her more carefully. “Fort called and said you were upset.”
