Page 52 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

S preadsheets have always been comforting. No matter how much turmoil rages elsewhere, neat columns of orderly numbers on a screen always make sense.

Today, however, my eyes keep glazing over and the numbers swim together as I scroll through the files sent over by the Tempestas’ financial team.

Julian suggested that I ought to start by overseeing the management of their local commercial real estate portfolio.

The ranch aside, I’m now realizing they literally own half the town of Vigilance.

This should come as no surprise, considering Tye’s comments about funding the high school football stadium.

Still, as I click through the many tabs included in the document, I’m aware that this is only a drop in the bucket of their overall financial picture.

Julian has casually mentioned hotels in Vegas, construction firms in Phoenix and Chicago, and fleets of commercial trucks up and down the west coast, not to mention their considerable stock market assets.

At least no one can accuse Cass Tempesta of failing to diversify his holdings.

But these are just the legitimate enterprises. Layered beneath their assets is a tricky invisible network of mob patronage and cronyism that I’ll never hear about.

Blowing out a sigh, I shut the laptop lid and open my journal. The first item on my daily list can be crossed off now: Go to work in office.

Two hours have passed since I stepped into my office. All I’ve done is stare dully at spreadsheet numbers while my mind strays. Still, I’m going to cheat and call it ‘work’.

I run a neat line of black ink through the words and close the journal. My fingertips trace the name on the cover.

Cecilia Tempesta has a nice ring to it.

The name I choose for my child will also have a nice ring to it.

When Julian left four days ago, I didn’t tell him that my period was already late.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to hope for.

My choice to quit all birth control measures was abrupt and impulsive.

But by the time the date of my expected period rolled around, I was starting to wonder about my own reasons.

Heavy, worrisome questions shadowed the edges of my mind.

Why am I rushing things?

What’s wrong with getting to know my husband better before adding a new complicated layer to our relationship?

And most troubling of all…

What if I’m trying too hard to transform into Julian’s perfect wife?

In the days following that humiliating visit to the vineyard, I felt anxious and mentally bruised. I barely even got to see Gabe and I don’t know when I’ll see him again.

Julian sensed my troubled mood and didn’t push. I’m mortified that he heard my grandfather’s hideous words. Though I’m grateful for the way he stood up for me, some tension remains between us.

He didn’t tell me he’d seen Matthias. If it were up to him, I still wouldn’t know. This bothers me. I don’t need to hear all the gory details about whatever Mafia business brought my brother and husband together. I know I’ll always stand on the outside of certain circles.

But what else would Julian be willing to hide from me?

All I’m asking for is some honesty. An apology or an explanation wouldn’t have hurt.

Neither were forthcoming.

What’s more, I doubt the idea ever crossed Julian’s mind. From the beginning, it was clear he expects to always run the show. But at times I don’t know where that leaves me.

Now he’s gone again. Before I even got settled into the routine of having him around every day, he got called to Chicago. Then to London. This time he took Tye with him. I don’t know what he’s doing or when he’ll return.

Yesterday, without mentioning it to anyone, I went on a mission to buy a pregnancy test. This wasn’t easy, considering I’m chaperoned on every visit to town. However, I couldn’t take the chance a delivery to the house would be intercepted.

I waited until Fort and Getty were distracted, flirting with the pretty pharmacist at the drug store. With Olympian speed, I seized three boxes of pregnancy tests and scrambled to pay for them at the front of the store, shoving them in my purse before Julian’s brothers noticed.

This morning I took a test. Then I took another one. I’m never late and I’ve been feeling queasy and sore so the results were not a shock. Both were unmistakably positive.

No one knows, not even Alice. Julian needs to be the first to hear the news and I’m determined to tell him in person. Until he returns, the secret will be mine alone.

With a smile, my hands gently outline the flat contours of my belly. Any doubts I might have felt no longer matter. I’m going to have a baby. Julian’s baby. Our baby.

Earlier, I found an online pregnancy calculator. According to the date of my last period, I’m due the tenth of March.

For so long I’ve lived without a family. Now I’m building one of my own.

But grief is a treacherous creature, always lying in wait. It chooses now to strike.

My mother would have loved to be a grandma. She adored babies. She once said she would have had more children, if not for her emergency hysterectomy right after Gabe and I were born.

And then there’s Teresa. Everything I’ve learned about Julian’s mother indicates she was a doting mother. Her grandchild will never know her either.

Footsteps rapidly click in the hallway. I recognize Mel’s purposeful walk and I grab a tissue to dab at my eyes before she pokes her head into the room.

“Hey there, hon. Lunch is about to be served. Enzo’s focaccia bread is divine. Cass and the boys are already waiting in the dining room.” While she talks, she moves to a window, straightening a panel of the rose-patterned curtains.

The day dawned sunny and brilliant but outside the window, the sky grows increasingly grey and gloomy. The wind has also picked up.

“I didn’t know we were having a formal lunch today,” I say.

Mel turns around, smiling. “Cass requested your presence.”

‘Requested’ . That’s funny. When Cass Tempesta makes a request he expects to be obeyed.

However, I’m too hungry to object. My stomach wasn’t in the mood to be fed earlier. All I ate for breakfast was a piece of dry toast.

Mel crosses the room with concern pinching her mouth. She places a cool hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

She drops her hand but continues to look worried. “I know you miss Julian. I’m sure he’s thinking about you too. He’ll be home soon.”

I do miss Julian.

But I’m not so sure he’s also thinking about me.

And I have no clue when he’ll return.

This, I have to remind myself, is what I agreed to when I married him. I just never counted on this persistent longing for my own husband. I didn’t realize how badly I’d wish to come first with him. Or how devastating it would feel to understand this will likely never happen.

None of this is Mel’s fault so I make an effort to smile. “You’re right. I’ll go to the dining room in just a minute.”

She starts to walk away, satisfied that her mission is complete.

“Mel, did you know Teresa?” I blurt out.

She turns and her face wilts with sadness.

“I first met Teresa when she was a child. Frank, my husband, was friendly with her father and we used to eat at Gino’s often.

Oh, she was a lovely girl. So friendly and thoughtful.

It’s often said that some people have a way of brightening any room they enter but in Teresa’s case it was true.

No wonder Cassio was smitten from the moment they met.

” She cocks her head and inspects me more carefully.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I’m just hungry,” I tell her and this answer makes her brighten.

“Then let’s get you fed,” she says and happily escorts me down the hall to the dining room.

The Tempesta men are already assembled at the huge dining table that unfurls across the room like a dark wood tongue.

They are alone, leaving most of the chairs, high-backed and upholstered with crushed red velvet, unoccupied.

With the sun disappearing behind clouds and the chandelier lights flickering, the room has never looked more like a gothic movie set.

Fort gives me an impish grin and Getty stews in his chair with his arms crossed, grumpily waiting for their father to signal permission to dig into the platters of food on the table. Since both Julian and Tye are gone, I feel very conspicuous as I slide into the chair between their two empty seats.

“Cecilia,” booms my father-in-law. He unfolds a linen napkin and drapes it over his lap. “When your husband isn’t at home, you may occupy his seat.”

I’d rather not. Moving into Julian’s seat would put me even closer to Cass. There are still times when I catch Julian’s father watching me with a level of calculating concentration that makes me want to hide under the furniture.

Strange, because I’m convinced Cass doesn’t mean me any harm. But I’m also starting to doubt that he’s entirely sane.

Arguing is pointless. I obediently slide into Julian’s chair and feel a pang of yearning for my husband’s protective presence.

“Ladies first,” says Cass and passes a basket of focaccia wedges.

His wolfish eyes remain fastened to me as I pluck out one piece, clumsily drop it on the table runner and retrieve it as Getty snickers.

“Take more,” Cass insists, so loudly that I jump.

This time I don’t drop anything and he moves on, passing the basket to Getty. I nibble on the edge of my focaccia slice, still warm from the oven.

“And I know how much you like risotto,” Cass says and grabs my bowl before I can object. He heaps multiple ladles of creamy risotto into the bowl, far more than I usually eat at one sitting. “You’ll want some chicken piccata too.”

Weird. Very weird. I’m starting to believe he intends to spoon the food directly into my mouth.