Page 144 of Cruelest Contract
“We’ll talk later,” I say, although I’m not excited to resume this conversation. It’s not a pleasant one.
Meanwhile, there are shouts coming from downstairs and I can hear Sonny carrying on about high winds and calling in the technical team for an emergency repair and no, he doesn’t care that it’s freaking Christmas Eve.
Julian sighs again and suddenly I feel very sorry for him. It’s impossible not to notice that he gets pulled in so many directions at once, always expected to stay on top of every situation and find a solution. His broad shoulders already carry a mountain of responsibility. I won’t add to his troubles.
“Are you coming?” Tye asks.
Julian shoots me one more agonized look and I nod.
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
“No, it’s not,” he mutters in misery but he follows his brother.
The sound of their heavy footsteps recedes and I grab a pile of soft yellow and green receiving blankets. They are already folded but I shake them open and then carefully fold them again.
Whenever my nose tickles and my eyes swim with fresh tears, I take deep breaths until I’m in control again.
Then I fold another blanket.
33
CECILIA
At some point, Angelo woke up and decided to go exploring alone. I find him standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing only a black leather jacket and plaid pajama pants while stuffing his face with a batch of Enzo’s chocolate chip muffins.
“Plates exist,” I say with no small degree of grumpiness and fetch a small dessert plate from the cupboard.
Angelo waves off the plate I offer him. “Don’t need that shit,” he says and spills an avalanche of crumbs on the floor.
I leave the plate on the counter. “What are you doing down here?”
He pops an entire muffin into his big mouth and talks while chewing. “I was fucking starving. There’s no breakfast served in this place?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard outside. Most of the ranch staff left for the holidays but the animals still need to be cared for. Why don’t you go help?”
Angelo’s chewing pauses and he looks at me as if I’ve just suggested he ought to become a ballerina. “I’m not into cowboy shit,” he whines.
I roll my eyes. “Our loss.”
“Hey, you want some?” He holds out the bowl of muffins and gestures to my belly. “I mean, you look like you’re eating for a whole litter there so you should probably keep up.”
He’s never polite but he’s always consistent. Anyway, I am kind of hungry so I pluck a muffin from the remaining pile.
I nibble at the sweet edge. “Is Gabe still asleep?”
Angelo shrugs and polishes off another muffin. “Yeah, I guess. How come there’s no coffee?”
I doubt he has any intention of making it himself and I don’t feel like wasting time with an argument. I’m not a fan of coffee, always preferring tea, and I need to be careful with caffeine in pregnancy anyway. After tinkering with some buttons on the intimidating Jura machine, I manage to brew enough to fill a cup and hand it over to Angelo.
He accepts the mug and miraculously mumbles out, “Thanks,” before gulping the contents.
The refrigerator is a customized Italian model with bells and whistles that I don’t even understand. It’s huge enough to serve any commercial kitchen and every time I pry open the stainless steel doors I’m awed.
Enzo has done outstanding prep work. The shelves are stacked with securely packaged foil trays and printed heating instructions are taped to the lid of each one. I’ll get Tye to help me decide what to serve for dinner.
“Is Grandfather spending Christmas alone?” I don’t bother to hide the bitterness in my voice as I shut the refrigerator door.
Angelo slurps more coffee. “He’s not into holidays. You know that. He barely knows what fucking day it is anyway. He’ll have the servants for company while he shakes his fist and screams.”
