Page 12

CHAPTER 12

When Maarja opened her eyes again, it was eight thirty in the morning and the Bay Area fog was lightening outside the window. She rolled over, the aches and pains inflicted by the previous day made themselves known, and she groaned as she stood and hobbled toward the bathroom. She must have banged her knee, because it felt swollen and stiff. Her neck ached as if she had whiplash. She was pretty sure the bruise on her hip went all the way to the bone, and she must have landed with her arm skewed because her shoulder ached as if it had been twisted.

She was also hungry.

How could the grief and disbelief about Mrs. Arundel linger in the background, yet be supplanted by the real physical parts of life? Body functions, bruises, hunger, thirst? It seemed impossible, but all very real.

Boy shorts and a lace cami bra rested in a basket on the count-er, and a long loose, light dress of deep amethyst hung on the robe hook with her name safety-pinned to the hanger. She had to sit down to pull the underwear up her legs, and her shoulder ached as she raised her arms to struggle into the bra. The dress draped well, and she supposed the wraparound styling was easier than a pull-over-her-head type, but she had to work to get her arms in the sleeves and shrug into it.

Movement sucked.

On the other hand, this dress looked fabulous darling , so fabulous she wanted to take it off and check the label. But she couldn’t face going through the twisting motion again, so she would assume she probably wouldn’t recognize the maker, anyway. She didn’t shop at Saks Fifth Avenue, or even Off 5th. Good peasant stock, that was her.

The hospital had suggested an over-the-counter pain reliever, and she intended to find some.

Because…the morning after losing her virginity was no stroll through the park, either. She was sore, and between that, glancing at the shower where the plastic jar of massage oil hung on the wall, and remembering Dante’s earlier alarming conversation, she couldn’t move without being very aware that her advanced age hadn’t helped her easily slip through the ritual deflowering. First-time sex was everything the novels had promised: painful, shocking, invasive, mind-blowing, pleasure-driven, and if there was a baby, life-changing.

She clamped down on that last thought.

She’d barely be concerned if Dante hadn’t been so insistently throwing around terms like unbreakable union and suggesting they had somehow been manipulated by fate to be the ones who would end a centuries-long and bloody feud through, you know, primitive fucking and massive reproducing.

Although it would be nice to never again be afraid for her life…

As she exited the bathroom, a tall broad-hipped woman bustled in holding a tray. “We were listening for you to wake. Mr. Arundel wanted you to have a hearty breakfast before you took your pills, then he’s got his personal stylist waiting in his office for you to fix up your poor hair.” The woman surveyed Maarja’s head and tsked sadly. “Such a pretty color to have singed so badly. But there’s always some sacrifice when you’re a hero, and I know dear Raine would—” The woman’s voice trembled and caught, then she forged on. “I’m Fedelma Arundel Lambert, Mr. Benoit Arundel’s cousin. When my husband was killed, I took over the household management for the Arundels. You’re Maarja Daire and you’re with—”

Maarja tensed.

“—Saint Rees Fine Arts Movers.”

“Right! Right.” Maarja had thought Fedelma was going to say, You’re with Dante . She wasn’t. When she could, she’d be out of here and she would never look back, and never mind the internal voice that said, Like he’s going to put up with any disappearing act I could perform unless he damned well wanted to .

“Sit here, Miss Daire.” Fedelma put the tray on the desk and pulled the metal dome off the plate. “Since Chef didn’t know what you liked, he prepared a variety of foods. Irish oatmeal, bacon, a soft-boiled egg, a bowl of fresh fruit, a bread basket with toast, rolls, and croissants.”

“Wow.” Maarja could get used to this.

Someone knocked on the door. Fedelma opened it and accepted a second tray laden with two insulated jugs, and small pitchers of orange juice, grapefruit juice, and tomato juice. She returned to the desk and at Maarja’s indication poured a cup of hot tea and a glass of grapefruit juice. “There’s butter, jam, and honey, and Chef is standing by if you have any special requests.”

Maarja picked up her fork and speared a raspberry. “This is perfect, thank him for me, and thank you.”

“Don’t hesitate to ask. We feel privileged to serve the young lady who put her own life on the line to—” Fedelma choked again, and this time she whipped a white handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and wiped her eyes.

Which made Maarja tear up, which made Fedelma pat her shoulder and say bracingly, “None of that. Ever since her husband died, Raine has been busy and happy. This isn’t how I thought it would end, not now, but we all know for the Arundels, an early death is always a possibility.”

Savagely unwilling to admit the possibility, Maarja asked, “Why? Why is it a possibility? If Dante has really moved the family into legal enterprises, what could anyone achieve with murder?”

“Memories are long.”

“Ridiculous!” Maarja sprinkled flake salt on her oatmeal, added a sprinkling of dried cranberries, and mashed them into the warm cereal. “Mrs. Arundel wasn’t even really an Arundel. She simply married one and I’m not surprised to hear it was an unhappy union. Did she even have a choice?”

“No. We never… None of us…”

“But you said you were Benoit’s cousin. Your last name is Lambert. You weren’t forced to marry an Arundel.”

“My husband was part of the organization. As a reward, Be-noit gifted me to him.”

“That’s medieval.” A word Maarja had heard too often this morning. “Did you fight it?”

“The marriage? That’s not how it works. They look for pretty girls who love their families and whose fathers or mothers or brothers or sisters—or all of the above—are in trouble. Deals are struck. Sacrifices are made. No one escapes, and if they do, they escape alone.” Fedelma stood with her hands clasped at her waist, a solid woman of good sense whose exterior never hinted at her difficult hidden past. In a portentous voice, she said, “Maarja, you know of what I speak.”

Maarja’s father was dead. Her mother was dead. But she had found a family and a job, she wasn’t alone, and she resented Fedelma’s belief that she was. Yet how could Maarja tell this woman who had suffered through a marriage with a thug that she could have escaped that particular prison? Fedelma’s circumstances differed. Her mother hadn’t blown up Benoit Arundel to give her daughter a chance at life.

It was all a matter of perspective.

A thought occurred to Maarja. “Wait! You don’t think I’m somehow stuck in the same—” trap was the wrong word “—situation as you were?”

“Of course not.”

Maarja waited for more.

“Not long after the wedding, my husband was killed on a mission.” Fedelma lifted the teapot. “Can I freshen your cup?”

The conversation made Maarja view the massive mounds and variety of foods with a different perspective. Maybe this breakfast wasn’t merely a thanks for trying to save Mrs. Arundel. Maybe this dress, expensive and flattering, was more in the line of enticement for the woman who Dante saw as his predestined mate.

A surge of horrified rebellion made her push back the chair and bound to her feet. And stagger a little when her hip twinged.

Fedelma caught her arm. “Are you all right?”

“I just…remembered I have an appointment today…at the dentist’s office.”

“What’s your dentist’s name? I’ll call and explain that you have to cancel. Do you want me to schedule a different day?”

Maarja stared at Fedelma. Was she acting like an assistant? Her assistant? “No. I’ll go…to the dentist.”

“Miss Daire, you can’t go to the dentist. Your skin looks sunburned from the heat of the blast and if you had to open your mouth wide, your lips and your cheeks would crack. You need a gentle facial and Dante has arranged one for you.” Fedelma pushed her back into the chair. “I know you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten since, at best, lunch yesterday. Finish your breakfast. I’ll take care of everything. Now, what’s the name of your dentist?”

Maarja sat and tried to think, but her stomach growled and her fingers trembled. She needed the over-the-counter pain reliever Fedelma had placed on her tray, and she remembered the doctor’s lecture to have something in her stomach when she took them. Picking up a cinnamon roll, she peeled off the outer layer, and before she popped it in her mouth, she said, “I was lying about the dentist. I wanted out of here.”

“Ah.”

One thing about Fedelma: she didn’t require a lot of explaining to. Her experiences meant she understood, or at least so Maarja supposed. While Fedelma moved about the suite, straightening and picking up, and for sure not leaving Maarja alone, Maarja ate until she felt she could take the pain relievers. Then she ate a little more—the chef, whoever he was, knew how to prepare a toothsome breakfast—and with a sigh put down her fork. Taking a breath, she announced, “I’m ready.”

“I’ll let Dante know.” Fedelma seemed so stuck in some kind of old-world serving mode Maarja was startled to see her pull a phone from her skirt pocket and message. She immediately got a beep back, and she chuckled. “He’s impatient.” She helped Maarja to her feet—the painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet—and led her through the door.

A man in a gray suit, white shirt, and red tie walked toward them, frowning intently.

Dante.

No! Maarja did a double take.

Not Dante. Handsome, younger, unscarred: he was Dante as Dante would have been if the explosion had never happened. His full upper lip was shaped like a heart, with an indent that went well with the sexy half smile he developed when he saw her. He changed directions to intercept them, and not for the first time in her life, she saw the full seductive force of a man who thought he was God’s gift to women.

Before he reached his goal, Fedelma stepped between them, spitting such a rapid stream of non-English invective that Maarja, who had taken four years of French, caught merely a word here and there. But the tone was clear; This woman is out-of-bounds .

He stopped in his tracks, and for a moment, his expression turned ugly. He wiped that away so quickly it was almost a mirage. That half smile returned, and he chucked Maarja under the chin. “When he’s done with you, I’ll call.”

As he strode away, Maarja stared after him. “Unbelievable! Back to the 1950s.”

“That’s Connor Arundel,” Fedelma told her. “He’s a second cousin to Dante.”

“Connor? That’s quite a name. I can tell he’s related, because of the looks, of course, but he’s got the attitude.” The asshole attitude, and mean with it.

“He’s been much spoiled. He’s childish when he’s crossed, and a wild card Dante holds close.” Fedelma lowered her voice. “Between you and me, he can be dangerous. Avoid him when possible.”

Maarja nodded. “I’ll do my best to avoid them all.”

Too late, Maarja. You messed that up yesterday when you let the old memories lead you to risk your life for an Arundel. God, when she considered what she had started, she wanted to clasp her hands around her head and squeeze some sense into herself.

When she looked up, Fedelma was waiting patiently for her to return to the present. “Ready?” She acted as if Maarja’s momentary breakdown was entirely to be expected.

Maarja supposed that was true. The last twenty-four hours had been like some black comedy, the kind sophisticated people laughed at and she winced about. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Fedelma led her down the hall to what must have been designed as a massive dining room now turned into an equally massive office.

Maarja had barely enough time to take in the high ceilings, filled bookshelves, broad fireplace surrounded by an odd seating arrangement, the oddly stark standing desk before the windows, and the looming man’s shadow behind it before Dante said, “Maarja, welcome to the heart of my business domain.”

Said Hades to Persephone.