Page 145 of Cruelest Contract
Something about his own comment strikes him as funny and he chuckles out loud.
I can’t forget what Julian said about recent tension between our two families. Or how he called the Grimaldis ‘irrelevant’. No details have been offered and it’s not as if I can count on Angelo to be truthful.
Anyway, my loyalty to my husband would never allow me to ask.
Angelo leaves his dirty coffee mug on the counter and wanders off to go scratch his balls or whatever the hell he does to entertain himself.
A strong gust of icy wind scrapes against the kitchen window. The snow is so thick I can hardly see the shadowy outbuildings in the distance.
With a sudden shudder of apprehension, I wonder about Luna, if she’s safe and warm. Fort already assured me the barn and stables are amply heated in the winter but I wish I could go see her. Petting my horse and gazing into her soft, sympathetic eyes is always medicine for my soul.
The kitchen is too cold and empty to linger here. Since coming downstairs, I’ve only seen Angelo. As I walk through the house, all is quiet. Angelo has disappeared and I’m guessing the Tempesta men are outside. The emergency weather alerts on my phone repeatedly warned against going outside during the storm. I hate the thought of Julian being out there and my pulse flutters with anxiety.
The house looks beautiful. Pine garlands are threaded through the polished wood staircase spindles, festooned with gold-edged red ribbons and twinkling white lights. Every light fixture is draped with greenery and ribbons. Giant wreaths are hung in each common area and all the fireplace mantles are covered with evergreen swag and candlesticks.
Julian’s brothers acquired the twelve foot high tree in the foyer. Getty didn’t even roll his eyes once when he spent theafternoon on a ladder to hang an army of ornaments while Mel stood below and instructed him on where each piece ought to go.
This is a dream house to spend Christmas in. It’s everything I’ve longed for since my own family was destroyed. Next year at this time I’ll have two baby boys to celebrate with. This gaping hole in my heart will heal sooner or later. My husband doesn’t need to know I’m hopelessly in love with him. I’ve already said too much. I have to remind myself of the terms of our contract. I’ll stop yearning for the impossible.
After all, nobody gets everything they wish for.
“Cecilia, come in here please.”
I jump at the sound of Cass Tempesta’s voice. It’s coming from his study. I hadn’t realized he was even in the house.
Sure enough, I find him sitting in a leather chair, facing forward, his back to his desk. An open bottle of bourbon, same brand as the one Julian drank on our wedding night, sits on a nearby table beside an empty shot glass. The massive stone fireplace crackles with a comforting blaze. And above the fireplace mantle, Teresa Tempesta smiles in her wedding dress.
It’s unclear what he’s doing, aside from staring at his wife’s painting. I stand at the threshold and wait for him to explain what he wants.
“Take a seat,” he orders, expecting to be obeyed. “I’m going to show you something.”
His occasionally bizarre behavior aside, I’ve become used to feeling mostly pity for Julian’s father. I can’t be the only one to notice that he seems to have aged significantly in the past six months. There’s more grey laced through his hair and he spends an increasing number of hours in this room alone. I suspect he sleeps in here sometimes.
Cass’s eyes remain on the dancing flames in the fireplace until I’m uneasily settled in one of the oversized armchairs. Then he withdraws a small black remote control from hispocket. Upon pressing a button, a puzzling hum comes from the opposite wall. Soon a segment of the dark paneled wall slowly slides to the right, revealing a large screen television that I’ve never seen before.
A bright scene flickers to life. The footage is old, slightly grainy, and clearly taken as an amateur home movie. There are flowers everywhere. The view pans to a crowd of unfamiliar people, all of them dressed up.
“There’s my sister,” says the man behind the camera and zooms in on a beautiful young bride.
She laughs and blows a kiss at the camera. She’s lovely. Dark haired and dark-eyed. Pink-cheeked and ecstatic. Radiating so much vibrance it seems likely she’ll step right through the screen and join us.
And I know her. There’s a hint of my husband in her smile.
“Congratulations, Teresa,” says the man recording. “Hard to believe you’re a married woman now.”
“Love you, big brother,” she replies with a wink and looks around. “Now where’s my gorgeous prince? I demand a dance.”
“I’m right here.” The groom sneaks up behind her and slides his arms around her slender waist. He cradles her close, hulking and protective. “I’ll never be far from you, angel. You know that.”
Teresa turns her head to look up at him. “Promise?” she says.
A very young and dashing Cass Tempesta smiles at his bride and answers her request with a kiss. A few people clap. An unseen woman yells to start the music.
A handful of familiar notes is all it takes for recognition to click. The first time I heard this old song it was coming from this room. Now I know the reason why. And I also know why I ended up dancing to it at my own wedding.
On the screen, Teresa hooks her arms over her husband’s shoulders. He holds her with care and there’s so much reverence and devotion written on his face. They don’t look away from eachother once as the music plays. A few times they speak private words, too softly for the camera to pick it up. They kiss often. They are blissfully, magnificently in love.
I wish every good thing in the world for this couple. I wish I was unaware of the heartbreak to come. There is too much sorrow in the knowledge that they will be brutally ripped apart far too soon.
