Page 142 of Cruelest Contract
Family dinner in the dining room
Keep the peace between my brothers and the Tempestas
Finish wrapping presents
This looks like an ordinary set of goals. Even number four feels well within reach.
Angelo’s surly nature tends to be an obstacle to harmony but he was less combative than usual when he arrived yesterday. And Gabriel seemed determined to paper over Angelo’s rough edges by being overly friendly.
As for the Tempesta boys, Julian must have ordered his brothers to remain on their best behavior. Nobody picked afight, not even Getty. Maybe it doesn’t hurt that everyone is preoccupied with the blizzard.
I click the pen and shift my gaze to the window. The week I arrived here I imagined the Christmas season as a charming winter scene that could compete with the coziest Hallmark movie.
This is my first winter storm and it’s not at all what I expected. Rather than dainty snowflakes that fall silently and cover the world in a serene white blanket, the wind knocks stinging ice pellets in every haphazard direction. The ground is already uneven as snowdrifts pile up.
A man bundled up all in black crosses the yard at a brisk pace, his face hidden in the upturned collar of his jacket. He’s one of the Tempestas. Their imposing size isn’t shared by the other men of Storm’s Eye Ranch. The man I’m looking at might be my husband or any of his brothers. From here, with his face hidden and all the blowing snow partially blocking the view, I honestly can’t tell.
Julian left our bed very early, long before there was any sign of this bleak grey light in the sky. There are still animals to care for no matter what the weather is doing. Because of the holiday, there aren’t many men left at the ranch to do the work.
He quietly dressed in the dark as I feigned sleep. I didn’t even stir when I felt the fleeting touch of his hand on my shoulder before he left.
I know Julian feels bad about our argument yesterday. Maybe ‘argument’ isn’t even the right word. It was more like a ferociously honest debate. The arrival of my brothers put a temporary end to marital spats but I lost count of how many times I looked up in time to be confronted with my husband’s troubled stare.
If he’s wondering whether I’m going to do something irrational, he can quit wondering. I’m not going to cry or run out or throw a tantrum. I never do.
A hearty thud somewhere inside my belly reminds me that I’m not alone. Two additional kicks quickly follow. I can’t tell if the movements come from one twin or both but I smile.
The heartache of my marriage needs to be set aside. It’s Christmas Eve and soon I’ll be a mother. I have things to do. Feeling sorry for myself accomplishes nothing.
Even my heaviest cardigan doesn’t keep me from shivering. The temperature has plummeted forty degrees since yesterday. Luckily, Julian’s warm flannels leave more room for my belly than my sweater and I doubt he cares how often I borrow them.
His scent, a heady mix of cologne and soap, manages to cling to every piece of fabric he comes into contact with. I’m addicted to it, often using his pillow when he’s away in order to feel just a little closer to him. I inhale it now as I button one of his shirts closed and a potent flash of arousal immediately strikes.
Just as quickly, my mood turns sour because the truth is still the truth. No matter how much I ache to have my husband’s love, it wasn’t promised.
Love was not part of Julian’s marriage offer. This hasn’t changed.
Squashing this thought, I leave the room with my pen and a color coded handwritten chart of baby necessities.
The hallway is empty and dim. I helped Mel decorate for the holidays downstairs and I wish we’d decorated the second floor too. Even just a little bit of holiday cheer up here would have made a big difference.
Bypassing the nursery, I walk all the way to the other end of the second floor where my brothers are staying. Both their doors are closed. Gabriel, perhaps sensing that something wasoff about my mood, pulled me aside yesterday and asked if I was mad that Angelo tagged along on the trip.
No, I’m not mad, not even annoyed. I never expect much from Angelo and so I’m never disappointed.
I couldn’t tell my twin what was really on my mind. Angelo must have known that the original plan was to deliver to me to some skunk named Mancini. Did he object at all? And did Gabe know too?
