Page 86 of The Devil's Deceit
“Falling for does not mean being in love with.”
“No, you’re right. They’re as different as chalk and… chalk.” Laughing, he pulls out his phone and taps on the screen.
My cheeks puff up as I blow out a slow breath. “You’re going to blab, aren’t you?”
“Already have. Check the family group chat. Don’t worry. I haven’t added Grace yet.”
I don’t need to check. The multiple vibrations in my pocket are all the evidence I need. “You’re a fucker.”
“No, I’m your eldest brother. Teasing is a key part of the job description.” He flashes me another shit-eating grin.
To hear him call himself my brother after what we discovered about his parentage makes me so fucking happy. When we first discovered Dad’s brother was his biological father a few months ago, and he spat out that line of “I’m as much cousin as I am brother”, I thought the scar his words left behind on not just me but all of us would never heal. Yet here we are, a few short months later, and he’s back to being the brother I’ve known and looked up to my entire life.
“Bastard,” I mutter, but I’m smiling at the same time.
We board the jet right on time, and once we’re in the air, I message Grace to let her know what time we’re due to arrive. I’ve never had someone to message before—no one outside of the family, anyway—yet now I have a wife who wants to know these things. A wife I want to tell these things to.
Is falling for someone and being in love with them all that different? Xan doesn’t think so. What I do know is as the wheels touch down at the private airfield where we house our jets and helicopters, my chest feels light, and my pulse jumps about like I’ve taken a shot of speed.
I’m excited to see Grace.
Before the car has come to a complete halt at the front entrance of Oakleigh, I dive out and race inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Even Xan’s throaty laughter doesn’t stop me, although I do flip him off behind my back, chuckling when he laughs even louder.
I burst through the door to my apartment and skid to a halt. Grace is curled up on the couch, knees tucked into her chest. She’s surrounded by empty packets and half-eaten snacks, and she’s crying.
No, not crying. Sobbing.
“What’s the matter?” I zoom over to the couch, dropping to my knees beside her. “Who upset you?” Whoever it is, they’ve breathed their last breath. No one hurts my wife and gets away with it.
She shakes her head, and her sobs get louder.
Okay, I’m panicking now. I brush damp strands of hair away from her face and wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Talk to me, beautiful. Tell me what’s happened.”
“I-I…” She hugs her knees tighter. “I made a mess.” She motions to the crumbs scattered all over the table.
“You’re crying because you made a mess?” That can’t be it.
She shakes her head again. “No, I’m crying because I got my period, and it hurts. I’ve been cramping for hours. I hate periods. I hate being a woman. I hate snacking. Okay, I don’t hate snacking. I’m a snacking champion. But I hate everything else.”
Relief swamps me, and I drag both hands over my face. Then I do the worst thing possible. I laugh. Oh, but I don’t stop there. No. I also say, “Oh, is that all? I thought something was really wrong. I was ready to commit bloody murder.”
The look she gives me is meant to shrivel my balls. “That’s right. Laugh. It’s all right for guys. You whine about having to shave, but you can even get out of that by growing a beard. I’ll tell you what. I’ll kick you repeatedly in the stomach and see how you like it.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever whined about shaving.”
The amount of air that shoots out of her nose as she huffs has the power to blow over one of the five-hundred-year-old oak trees dotted all over Oakleigh. “Why do men do that?”
“Do what?”
“Latch on to the part of the argument that’s got the least value. Deflection, that’s what it is. Well, it won’t work on me.” She shoves me in the chest, then reaches out a hand and snatches up the family bag of cheese and onion crisps she’s made a sizable dent into. Shoving a handful into her mouth, she chews, all the while sending daggers in my direction. When she swallows, she jabs a finger at me. “I’m going to breathe all over you tonight. You’ll get no sleep because of my cheese and onion breath.”
Fuck. I do love her. I’m so blindly in love with her. Even this side of her that I’ve never seen before. She must’ve had her period at times we were apart, and now I’m sorry I’ve missed this chaotic, slightly unhinged version of the woman I love.
My lips fail to contain the smile that threatens to split my face in two. Grace palms my shoulder so hard, I almost lose my balance.
“It’s not funny, Christian. Men would never survive periods, or childbirth, or bikini waxing, or menopause, or any of the other bloody horrible things that happen to women.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
