Page 35 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
“It’s Black Claws territory,” he said, looking past her into the hall, hands behind his back, “not safe at the best of times.”
Her lips parted slightly, and he pretended it didn’t have an effect on him. “And…and you wouldn’t…try to find me?”
He glanced back at her, finding his breath stolen at the look in her eyes. Fierce. Hopeful.
Real.
“I would only ensure your safety in our territory,” he said after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I would not stop you.”
She stood up slightly straighter, suddenly owning the space she stood in, and when she spoke to him, for the first time, her words seemed like her own. “Thank you, Rick.”
And then she turned and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Rick staring at the spot she had been standing in, well beyond darkness falling.
Chapter 9 - Rosalia
Something had changed in the last week. Ever since Rick had all but told her that if she ran away, he would not stop her, she found herself waking and seeing the walls of her room not as a cage, but simply as walls.
It was a new feeling. Unfamiliar. But not unwelcome.
If she had surprised him by not instantly disappearing into the night, he did not show it. In fact, he had hardly spoken to her at all since that night. But somehow, somewhere along the way, his long silences had stopped making her feel like she was teetering on a knife’s edge. And, to her complete and utter surprise, she found herself growing curious about him.
She hadn’t noticed before how gentle his hands were when he ruffled Eva’s hair. How his eyebrows would furrow when he was concentrating particularly hard on something he was reading. How when his eyes tracked around the room, watchful and narrowed, it wasn’t because of her presence. It was just him and his natural inclination to guard his home. To watch out for intruders. To protect his family.
Was…was she included in that?
She shook her head. No. No, that was utterly ridiculous. And she would be a fool to hope for such a thing.
And yet, much to her horror, she found herself wondering, alone in bed, staring up at the canopy, hair splayed out on her pillow. What would it be like to be his wife? Toactuallybe his wife, and not just the facade of it?
To be his mate? His equal?
It was a pointless daydream. Utterly self-defeating.
And yet, with each passing day, she felt her mask slipping. Her walls are shrinking. Felt her wolf inside her, puppyish and eager, wanting to break free.Wantingto know him. To let him in.
Perhaps it was Eva’s influence. The girl clearly adored her father, and Rosalia had allowed the girl past her carefully crafted defenses. Perhapsshehad planted the seed beyond Rosalia’s ice. She barely knew Rick; it would be only too easy to craft an image of him based on his daughter’s esteem.
But something held her back. At first, she had thought it had been fear, a natural caution around a powerful alpha male. But in the darkness and safety of her room, she dug deeper. Faced herself. Came to realize that it wasn’t fear of him holding her back. It was her own inability that let her true self out.
She had spent so long hiding behind the mask, she had forgotten how to take it off.
How was she supposed to try and build something with someone else when she barely knew herself?
And so, that morning, she rose with the clear intention to try to learn. It was Eva’s birthday, and the whole pack was coming around. Rosalia had spent weeks preparing, making sure everything was perfect, but now she faced the greatest challenge of all.
Actually allowing herself to enjoy it.
The morning passed in a blur of working with the staff to get the decorations up outside, to prepare the food, to make sure every little detail was utterly perfect. Rick had taken Eva to breakfast, just the two of them, allowing Rosalia free rein.
She knew Rick was placing a lot of trust in her. And she was determined to prove to him that she took that seriously.
Fortunately for her, being groomed to be a perfect shifter wife her whole life had prepared her beautifully for the task.
As the pack began to arrive, laughing and smiling and throwing compliments around about the cheerful paper lanterns and lively string quartet, satisfaction settled in her gut.
She had gone for a more traditional celebration, her instincts telling her Rick would appreciate that, and as such, there were a series of arenas roped off. Some were marked out for racing, some for organized games, and others with elaborate climbing apparatuses assembled, all designed for young shifter children to show off their burgeoning skills. The lanterns had been imported from Germany, hand-painted with the old myths, and the air was heavy with the scent of the traditional spiced lamb stew.
The one thing she had added was a stage at the bottom of the garden, with a trio of ballerinas switching between performing and teaching dances to the children.
