Page 62 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

Cecilia sets her pen down and stretches. She hasn’t cut her hair since she arrived here and the thick, wavy mane draped over the back of the chair could compete with any Renaissance art. She’s always so relentlessly beautiful.

Leaning against the wooden doorway frame, I watch as my wife places a hand to her lower back and makes a slightly pained noise that stabs at my heart. I’m about to cross the room, place my hands on her cramped shoulders and offer to give her a back rub when she turns her head and gasps.

“You startled me,” she says. “I thought you were still out riding.”

“We’re finished with storm prep. Now all we can do is wait and see how bad the weather gets.”

She nods and leans heavily on the arms of the chair to lift herself up. I move without thinking, reaching her side in a heartbeat to offer help. She accepts my hand but quickly lets go once she’s steady. Beneath a chunky cream cardigan sweater she wears a pink maternity top over black leggings.

The size of her pregnant belly is startling. I saw it yesterday and the day before that. Yet I’m hit with the uncanny sense that I fell into a time warp or missed a crucial season of a favorite show.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her.

“Bulky,” she says and pats her stomach. “Feeling every bit of that third trimester.”

Again, I have to shake off the weird perception that time is compressing. I’ve watched the calendar fly by and yet I could swear Cecilia just told me she was pregnant last week.

She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’ve made a list of possible names,” she says. “In case you want to look at it.”

Of course I want to look at the list. A dim wave of guilt hits when I remember she’s asked me more than once to come up with some name suggestions.

“We can knock that out now if you want,” I offer but when her eyes shift away I realize this is the wrong answer. Too offhand.

Over on the sofa, Cecilia’s cat continues to observe us with unblinking green eyes.

“Not now.” Cecilia looks out the window. “My brothers will be here soon.”

I’ve just realized this window overlooks a flat patch of dirt where nothing grows. No replacement has ever been built for the greenhouse that used to stand there. My mother’s greenhouse.

I don’t know where all my powers of persuasion went. All I can do is stand here in stupid silence and stare at some dirt with no fucking clue what to say to my own wife.

Cecilia rubs her arms and turns her head to look at me. “Are you still planning to stick around until after New Year’s?”

“You asked me that yesterday. I said I would.”

“Your schedule tends to be uncertain. Can’t blame me for double checking to see if I fit in anywhere.”

I don’t miss the sarcasm in her attitude.

“Cecilia, you are my wife. I’ll give you anything you want any time you ask. I thought you knew that.”

“Your wife,” she echoes and holds out her left hand, looking at her wedding ring. Slowly, she bends her fingers into a fist and buries her hand in her pocket. “Irrelevant,” she whispers.

“What’s irrelevant?”

Her long lashes flutter and a film of tears briefly floats in her pretty eyes before she forcefully blinks it away and raises her chin. “The Grimaldis, according to you.”

So that’s the issue. Either Gabe or Angelo or both of them must have gone running to their sister to whine that they’re getting shut out.

“We’re not debating this,” I say, scarcely able to recognize the frosty sneer in my own voice. This is a tone I reserve for enemies, not for my wife. “If your brothers have a fucking problem they can take it up with me directly instead of sending you to plead on their behalf.”

She sharpens her pitch to match mine. “I’m hardly on speaking terms with Angelo. And Gabe hasn’t told me a damn thing. He has his problems but he’s not nearly as awful as all of you think he is.”

“Is that right?” I fire back. “And if we had a sister do you think any of us would agree to sacrifice her to save our own fucking necks?”

Cecilia flinches and my remorse is swift. For a few horrible seconds it looks like she’ll lose the battle with her tears.

Shit. I’ll fall at her feet and babble out endless apologies. Making my wife cry is inexcusable.

But I’ve underestimated her. She regains control before it’s lost and remains calm.

“You should understand exactly what kind of bond I have with Gabriel,” she says. “After all, you have brothers.”

“Yes, I have brothers who would die for me, just as I would die for them.”

“Yet you assume it’s not the same for me and Gabe.”

“I know it’s true for you. He’s a different story.”

She swallows and a shadow skims across her face. “Sometimes it sounds as if you hate my brother.”

“No. I just see him for what he is. Even if you can’t.”

Her chin trembles and she presses her lips together with a sniff. “What is it you think you know about my twin brother that I don’t know?”

Fuck, I really need to stop. She’s already on the verge of breaking down. Brutal honesty will help nothing.

“Tell me,” she demands. “We’re always so polite , aren’t we, Julian? What a civil, mature marriage arrangement we have. For once, let’s get all the ugly truth out in the open. I’m not made of eggshells. I won’t crack. Speak your mind.”

“All right. Gabriel feels no loyalty toward you, Cecilia. I’m not convinced he feels loyalty for anyone but he definitely has no use for you when you’re not needed to save his spineless ass. He’s so full of self-loathing he can hardly fucking breathe.”

“You’re wrong,” she whispers. “And you’re cruel.”

“Lying to you would be much crueler. And I’m rarely wrong, Cecilia. I’m not wrong now.”

“For your information, Gabe didn’t order me to come here and marry you. He didn’t even beg to be saved. This was entirely my decision.”

“Sure it was. But I doubt you’d feel so forgiving if your brothers and your grandfather had carried through with their original plan.”

DON’T! shrieks an inner voice.

Too late.

Cecilia freezes. “What original plan?”

I don’t answer. If I could rewind time and incinerate those words then I would.

“What plan , Julian?” she insists.

Protect her from this. She doesn’t need to know.

“You brought it up,” she presses. “Now tell me exactly what you meant or I’ll have to go ask your father. Maybe he’ll be honest.”

This is my fault. I was careless and I lashed out. But I’m not one to retreat from a mess of my own making.

“Gabriel killed a Made man in Junior Mancini’s crew,” I say.

“I’m sure you’ve never even met Mancini.

Consider yourself lucky. He’s twice your age and the rumors say his treatment of women is repulsive.

His price for allowing your brother to live was you.

The Grimaldis had already agreed to these terms. All Mancini needed was our permission. We said no.”

Cecilia, wide-eyed, covers her mouth while I’m talking. This is too much for her to handle. She’s avoided thinking about how readily she was used as a pawn by people who are supposed to love her.

Now I’ve presented her with a hideous fact she can’t escape from. Her family thought nothing of sending her here. They wouldn’t have balked at a far worse fate for her.

“Cecilia.” I reach for her and silently curse myself for this unforgivable revelation.

She drops her hand from her mouth but refuses to let me hold her and turns to the window instead. The wind is blowing harder, lifting the dry dirt where my mother’s greenhouse once stood.

“So you made me an offer instead,” she says softly. Her forehead touches the cold windowpane. “I suppose you did me a favor, although I’m sure that wasn’t your intention.”

The pain in her voice is unmistakable. I’m going to crumble where I stand. No certainty has ever been more agonizing than the one that I absolutely do not fucking deserve my own wife.

At least there is no need for me to worry about becoming a ruthless monster. I’m already one, cultivated since birth. I murder men for a variety of reasons that would horrify normal people. I’m never sorry.

Cecilia is right. My motivations for marrying her were far from noble. I had the power to excuse Gabriel’s offense and forbid retribution. But I saw Cecilia and I wanted her. I schemed to make it happen.

Now she’s mine and for most of our marriage I’ve left her here alone. An endangered princess locked in a heavily guarded tower while our babies grow in her belly.

She doesn’t need to show tears in order for me to see that I’ve hurt her, however unintentionally. I know how much she hates to cry.

We’re alike in so many ways. Cecilia uses her endless lists to keep order. She regulates her emotions with caution.

My tactics for sorting out my world are different. I’m expected to maintain control and I do. I didn’t choose this assignment. I was born to the role. Tragedy cemented it.

This isn’t the kind of life I want us to have together. Distant. Sensible. Polite.

We share plenty of passion but passion isn’t just sex.

Passion is offering the rawest, most vulnerable version of yourself and giving it willingly.

It’s handing over your heart and trusting she will guard its fragile condition just as you guard hers.

And I’ve failed at this. I’ve failed her. Fuck. How I’ve failed.

Cecilia turns from the window. Her eyes are clear, her grief stifled, her strength on display. I’ll likely collapse into a weeping puddle before she does.

“You told me how it would be from the beginning,” she says. “I understand everything now, Julian. There’s no need to discuss it anymore.”

NO! She doesn’t understand at all.

But before I can relax the anguish squeezing my lungs and cobble together the right words, my father appears in the doorway.

He hesitates when he senses the tension and his brow furrows. “Cecilia,” he says, “your brothers are almost here. Sonny says to expect them to drive through the gates in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” she replies, completely calm. She pulls the edges of the sweater over her belly and my father makes way as she walks out of the room. Her cat trails after her.

When she’s gone, my father lingers and studies me with curiosity.

If my face looks half as tormented as I feel then I’m sure to be quite the fucking sight.

However, I don’t say a word. I keep my thoughts to myself and follow my wife so we can await the arrival of the Grimaldi brothers.