Page 27 of Cruelest Contract
The room’s three tall windows are covered with dense blackout drapes. I push these aside, only to be struck with a sharp ray of sunshine. The shutters are partially open and I’m dazzled by the magnificent view of Storm’s Eye Ranch. The scene is downright postcard-worthy and I pry the shutter slats apart so I can take a better look.
From here I cannot see the boxy barn or the long horse stables that were pointed out to me last night. A wooden rail fence hems in the yard surrounding the house. Beyond the fence, a pair of horses idle at the crest of a shallow hill. The horses are mounted by riders in cowboy hats. I’m not sure if they are the Tempesta brothers or members of the ranch staff.
The plush towel wrapped around my wet hair starts to unravel and I remove it with one restless shake, nearly losing my glasses in the process. For now the wet towel gets draped acrossthe back of a cushioned chair pushed against a small writing desk. Combing my fingers through the tangled, damp mess of my hair, I take a long, searching look at the vista outside the window.
The cowboys have disappeared. They must have cleared the hill. When I squint, I can make out the dark brown peak of a small house nestled between the hill and a distant tree grove.
Yesterday’s arrival was riddled with new experiences amid waves of anxiety. Whatever information was given to me about ranch operations wasn’t retained. I was surprised by how many buildings are on the property. Some of them, like the barn and the stables, have obvious uses. I don’t know about the rest. After a very brief orientation, I spent an uncomfortable dinner trying to fork occasional bites of rigatoni and wrack my brain for polite responses whenever Cassio Tempesta required one.
Not that the Tempesta patriarch was unpleasant. I remember the fearsome rumors about him and don’t know how to reckon the courteous host of Storm’s Eye Ranch with the stories of a vengeful madman who roams the halls of his gothic mansion carrying on imaginary conversations with his dead wife.
The Tempesta brothers also surprised me during dinner. I was assigned a seat between Julian and Tye. Rather than a chaotic, testosterone-fueled fight club event, the hour was calm and the brothers were impeccably well mannered. I observed them as discreetly as possible, trying to guess if they’re just playing along with their father’s courtship charade or if any one of them will really step up to the altar when called.
When the dinner dishes were cleared away and a cake was delivered to the table, I was initially mystified. I had no idea that anyone in the family was celebrating a birthday.
“I know we’re a day late,” said Cassio, his gleaming black eyes fixated on my reaction. “Happy Birthday, Cecilia.”
For a moment, I was speechless. The cassata cake piped with pink icing roses was forme.
But how did they know?
I suppose I should have been prepared for the fact that the Tempestas have done their homework.
Julian lit the candles and slid the cake over. “Make a wish,” he said in his velvety, deep voice that has already ravaged my composure more than once. His breath feathered over my neck and his knee briefly pressed against mine.
It’s not my imagination that every move Julian makes feels deliberate. Calculated. Intentional. He has a talent for jumpstarting my ovaries and I’m convinced he knows it.
I blew out the candle immediately but was too flustered to make a real wish. Maybe I should make one now. Can’t hurt.
I wish Gabriel would call. Or at least answer my texts. After dinner, Angelo texted to confirm my arrival at the ranch and then ignored all my follow up questions.
A rustling noise outside the bedroom door gets my attention. Uneasiness spikes. I’m unprepared for a visitor. The first thing I did after shutting the door last night was flip the lock and I haven’t been disturbed since then.
The room itself is very comfortable. Spacious, with the walls painted a calming light blue and featuring a king-sized bed, along with the same type of rustic dark wood furniture found throughout the house. I had assumed that the bright pink hydrangeas stuffed into vases sitting atop the dresser and the desk were fake until I watched a vibrant petal fall off.
A light rap on the door is followed by a gentle female voice. “Cecilia?”
I exhale with relief and unlock the door. Carmela has encouraged me to call her ‘Mel’. From what I gather, she’s lived here for ages and is treated like a member of the family.
She’s waiting with a smile when I open the door. “Good morning,” she chirps. There’s a large wooden tray balanced in her hands and I back up to give her room.
“I figured you’ve gotta be hungry.” She has a thick east coast accent and shakes her head when I try to take the tray from her. She sets it down on the small desk. “Breakfast is served in the dining room at seven but you deserved to sleep in on your first day. If you have any requests, just let me know. Our chef used to run a five star restaurant in Philly and can whip up anything under the sun.”
“Thank you.” I tighten the belt on my robe and feel like a slacker. “I’m sorry you had to bring all this up here.”
Mel flips a white ceramic mug over and fills it with hot water from a kettle. She plucks a tea bag from a small bowl and carefully dips it in the water. “I don’t mind at all.”
She straightens up and peers into my eyes. Her short black hair shows grey roots. The number of lines etched into her face imply she’s spent a lifetime smiling. I’m very glad she’s here.
“How long has everyone else been up?” I ask.
“Sweetie, days on a ranch always start early. But don’t you worry. You just got here so you take all the time you need. You’ll have plenty of chances to get to know the boys better.”
From the way she says ‘the boys’, it’s clear she adores them. Mel must have been told the reason why I’m here. I have to wonder what she thinks of this arrangement.
I lift the mug to my lips. English Breakfast tea, my favorite. “You’ve lived at the ranch for a long time?”
Her smile dims and her eyes drift to the window. “Since the boys lost their mother.”
