Page 64 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

A t some point, Angelo woke up and decided to go exploring alone. I find him standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing only a black leather jacket and plaid pajama pants while stuffing his face with a batch of Enzo’s chocolate chip muffins.

“Plates exist,” I say with no small degree of grumpiness and fetch a small dessert plate from the cupboard.

Angelo waves off the plate I offer him. “Don’t need that shit,” he says and spills an avalanche of crumbs on the floor.

I leave the plate on the counter. “What are you doing down here?”

He pops an entire muffin into his big mouth and talks while chewing. “I was fucking starving. There’s no breakfast served in this place?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard outside. Most of the ranch staff left for the holidays but the animals still need to be cared for. Why don’t you go help?”

Angelo’s chewing pauses and he looks at me as if I’ve just suggested he ought to become a ballerina. “I’m not into cowboy shit,” he whines.

I roll my eyes. “Our loss.”

“Hey, you want some?” He holds out the bowl of muffins and gestures to my belly. “I mean, you look like you’re eating for a whole litter there so you should probably keep up.”

He’s never polite but he’s always consistent. Anyway, I am kind of hungry so I pluck a muffin from the remaining pile.

I nibble at the sweet edge. “Is Gabe still asleep?”

Angelo shrugs and polishes off another muffin. “Yeah, I guess. How come there’s no coffee?”

I doubt he has any intention of making it himself and I don’t feel like wasting time with an argument.

I’m not a fan of coffee, always preferring tea, and I need to be careful with caffeine in pregnancy anyway.

After tinkering with some buttons on the intimidating Jura machine, I manage to brew enough to fill a cup and hand it over to Angelo.

He accepts the mug and miraculously mumbles out, “Thanks,” before gulping the contents.

The refrigerator is a customized Italian model with bells and whistles that I don’t even understand. It’s huge enough to serve any commercial kitchen and every time I pry open the stainless steel doors I’m awed.

Enzo has done outstanding prep work. The shelves are stacked with securely packaged foil trays and printed heating instructions are taped to the lid of each one. I’ll get Tye to help me decide what to serve for dinner.

“Is Grandfather spending Christmas alone?” I don’t bother to hide the bitterness in my voice as I shut the refrigerator door.

Angelo slurps more coffee. “He’s not into holidays. You know that. He barely knows what fucking day it is anyway. He’ll have the servants for company while he shakes his fist and screams.”

Something about his own comment strikes him as funny and he chuckles out loud.

I can’t forget what Julian said about recent tension between our two families. Or how he called the Grimaldis ‘irrelevant’. No details have been offered and it’s not as if I can count on Angelo to be truthful.

Anyway, my loyalty to my husband would never allow me to ask.

Angelo leaves his dirty coffee mug on the counter and wanders off to go scratch his balls or whatever the hell he does to entertain himself.

A strong gust of icy wind scrapes against the kitchen window. The snow is so thick I can hardly see the shadowy outbuildings in the distance.

With a sudden shudder of apprehension, I wonder about Luna, if she’s safe and warm. Fort already assured me the barn and stables are amply heated in the winter but I wish I could go see her. Petting my horse and gazing into her soft, sympathetic eyes is always medicine for my soul.

The kitchen is too cold and empty to linger here.

Since coming downstairs, I’ve only seen Angelo.

As I walk through the house, all is quiet.

Angelo has disappeared and I’m guessing the Tempesta men are outside.

The emergency weather alerts on my phone repeatedly warned against going outside during the storm.

I hate the thought of Julian being out there and my pulse flutters with anxiety.

The house looks beautiful. Pine garlands are threaded through the polished wood staircase spindles, festooned with gold-edged red ribbons and twinkling white lights.

Every light fixture is draped with greenery and ribbons.

Giant wreaths are hung in each common area and all the fireplace mantles are covered with evergreen swag and candlesticks.

Julian’s brothers acquired the twelve foot high tree in the foyer. Getty didn’t even roll his eyes once when he spent the afternoon on a ladder to hang an army of ornaments while Mel stood below and instructed him on where each piece ought to go.

This is a dream house to spend Christmas in.

It’s everything I’ve longed for since my own family was destroyed.

Next year at this time I’ll have two baby boys to celebrate with.

This gaping hole in my heart will heal sooner or later.

My husband doesn’t need to know I’m hopelessly in love with him.

I’ve already said too much. I have to remind myself of the terms of our contract. I’ll stop yearning for the impossible.

After all, nobody gets everything they wish for.

“Cecilia, come in here please.”

I jump at the sound of Cass Tempesta’s voice. It’s coming from his study. I hadn’t realized he was even in the house.

Sure enough, I find him sitting in a leather chair, facing forward, his back to his desk.

An open bottle of bourbon, same brand as the one Julian drank on our wedding night, sits on a nearby table beside an empty shot glass.

The massive stone fireplace crackles with a comforting blaze.

And above the fireplace mantle, Teresa Tempesta smiles in her wedding dress.

It’s unclear what he’s doing, aside from staring at his wife’s painting. I stand at the threshold and wait for him to explain what he wants.

“Take a seat,” he orders, expecting to be obeyed. “I’m going to show you something.”

His occasionally bizarre behavior aside, I’ve become used to feeling mostly pity for Julian’s father.

I can’t be the only one to notice that he seems to have aged significantly in the past six months.

There’s more grey laced through his hair and he spends an increasing number of hours in this room alone. I suspect he sleeps in here sometimes.

Cass’s eyes remain on the dancing flames in the fireplace until I’m uneasily settled in one of the oversized armchairs.

Then he withdraws a small black remote control from his pocket.

Upon pressing a button, a puzzling hum comes from the opposite wall.

Soon a segment of the dark paneled wall slowly slides to the right, revealing a large screen television that I’ve never seen before.

A bright scene flickers to life. The footage is old, slightly grainy, and clearly taken as an amateur home movie. There are flowers everywhere. The view pans to a crowd of unfamiliar people, all of them dressed up.

“There’s my sister,” says the man behind the camera and zooms in on a beautiful young bride.

She laughs and blows a kiss at the camera. She’s lovely. Dark haired and dark-eyed. Pink-cheeked and ecstatic. Radiating so much vibrance it seems likely she’ll step right through the screen and join us.

And I know her. There’s a hint of my husband in her smile.

“Congratulations, Teresa,” says the man recording. “Hard to believe you’re a married woman now.”

“Love you, big brother,” she replies with a wink and looks around. “Now where’s my gorgeous prince? I demand a dance.”

“I’m right here.” The groom sneaks up behind her and slides his arms around her slender waist. He cradles her close, hulking and protective. “I’ll never be far from you, angel. You know that.”

Teresa turns her head to look up at him. “Promise?” she says.

A very young and dashing Cass Tempesta smiles at his bride and answers her request with a kiss. A few people clap. An unseen woman yells to start the music.

A handful of familiar notes is all it takes for recognition to click. The first time I heard this old song it was coming from this room. Now I know the reason why. And I also know why I ended up dancing to it at my own wedding.

On the screen, Teresa hooks her arms over her husband’s shoulders.

He holds her with care and there’s so much reverence and devotion written on his face.

They don’t look away from each other once as the music plays.

A few times they speak private words, too softly for the camera to pick it up.

They kiss often. They are blissfully, magnificently in love.

I wish every good thing in the world for this couple. I wish I was unaware of the heartbreak to come. There is too much sorrow in the knowledge that they will be brutally ripped apart far too soon.

This young groom, so desperately in love, has no idea that decades in the future, he will play this very song at his son’s wedding. Perhaps Julian’s father was trying to share a little bit of his own love story. Or maybe he was attempting to relive the moment through us in a way.

Lost In Your Eyes is on its final seconds and Cass abruptly freezes the screen. He and Teresa gaze at each other and time stands still for them.

Julian’s father doesn’t look my way as he says, “I thought you’d want to see her.”

I swallow the grief in my throat. “She was wonderful.”

“Yes.”

It hurts to see Cass and his beloved Teresa up there, so young and hopeful. But I doubt they would want me to feel sorry for them.

“You and Teresa really had the dream,” I say. “You shared the kind of love most people only wish they could experience.”

His dark eyes shift and focus on me. His expression is unreadable and apprehension tickles the base of my spine as I panic that I’ve accidentally offended him. I’m in no way prepared for what he says next.

“My son loves you, Cecilia. He loves you far more than he ever expected to love you, whether he admits it or not.” Cass’s mouth bends into a frown. “I should have known this would happen.”

I’m still reeling from his first claim. Things made sense a minute ago and now they don’t. “What does that mean?”

Cass’s expression turns wry. “Julian is my firstborn son. We have an intense bond. He has shadowed me for his entire life. The reason why I understand Julian so well is because we are so similar. Of course his wife has become the center of his universe. He would move heaven and earth for you. It’s how he’s built. ”

I’ve interacted with Julian’s father often enough to realize he doesn’t speak up for no reason. Though he must have heard at least part of yesterday’s argument, he believes what he’s telling me. That doesn’t make his words accurate. But he does believe them.

However, I have no time to dwell on this shocking epiphany because I hear the echo of my brothers’ voices. Angelo is grumbling about something. Gabriel is loudly asking why the house is empty and where everyone went.

“Go,” says Cass, dismissing me with an annoyed wave of his hand.

I know better than to leave before paying my respects to Teresa. Hastily, I cross myself in front of her picture. Behind me, Cass presses the remote button to hide the screen and gazes at the fireplace.

I find Gabe and Angelo standing at the foot of the stairs.

Gabe greets me with a smile. “There you are,” he says.

“Here I am,” I reply, doing my best to return his smile and not quite succeeding. “You said you wanted a tour of the house. How about now?”

“Why, is it a fucking museum?” Angelo snorts.

Gabe subtly elbows his arm before joining my side. “I’d really like that, Cici,” he says with complete sincerity. “We both would.”

Finally, I manage to twist my mouth into a real smile for my twin.

For the moment, I will try to forget all the uncomfortably true things Julian said about him.