Page 46

CHAPTER 46

As they climbed the stairs, Maarja asked Dante, “How come you’re okay with separate bedrooms?”

He carried their luggage and grimaced at the question. “Your mom came at me from the angle of if I want a traditional wedding, I should behave like a traditional bridegroom and spend my nights in miserable horniness.”

“My mom said that ?”

“Not exactly that, but based on that logic, I did promise I wouldn’t fuck you before the wedding day.”

“You said that ?”

“Not in so many words,” he allowed. “Not fuck. I may have used a euphemism.”

“I didn’t know you knew any euphemisms.”

One step from the top, he stopped climbing, placed their bags on the landing, and when she turned to face him, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her, a deep marvelous, sexy kiss that made her press against him hard enough to meld into his bones. When he slowly pulled away, a healthy amount of applause from below made her glare at him. He murmured, “I know so much more than I’ve shown you; you don’t need to worry about my vocabulary. It’s your vocabulary that’s going to expand.” His gaze slid to her belly. “Among other things.”

The question popped out of her mouth as if she’d been thinking it all along. “What if I’m not pregnant? What if I’m infertile?”

The man looked astonished, as if the idea itself couldn’t be conceived. “It’s a little early to worry about that.”

“No. It’s not too early.” She gestured down at the people still smiling up at them, and the people who had returned to their tasks. “It’s actually very late. We’re getting legally married in two days. If I’m not pregnant, if I can’t conceive, if I don’t want to have children, what is your reaction? For all that you believe we’re destined by fate to end this stupid-ass vendetta—”

His mouth quirked. “What do you really think of the feud, Maarja?”

“We live a modern life in modern times. All of this—” she gestured around “—is tangible. We don’t have to get married if I’m pregnant. We don’t have to have babies if we get married.” Reality bubbled out of her, a reality beyond family and ancient grudges and an imagined homage to their star-crossed destiny. “What do you want, Dante? Do you want me, or simply our progeny for the peace they provide?”

He truly seemed dumbstruck by her outburst. Dante without words—and how rare was that?

His lack of response gave her the impetus to pick up her suitcase and walk around him toward her room. “Let me know when you figure it out. We can trap a threat without going through with the ceremony. We. Don’t have. To get married.” She slammed the door behind her, not because she was angry, but because she wanted to provide an exclamation point for her statement.

Somebody had to say it.

They both needed to know.

* * *

By late afternoon Nate had arrived and taken up his station in front of the dining room where Dante worked behind closed pocket doors.

A barrage of gifts arrived at regular intervals, gifts that were promptly removed from the premises, inventoried, x-rayed, and examined by bomb-sniffing dogs.

Not that anyone was suspicious.

Workmen swarmed the house, scraping, painting, replacing old siding and old plaster, trimming trees, and planting flowers.

Octavia sought Maarja, caught her at Alex’s desk, and demanded, “Why are there so many hammers? And saws. I can smell new paint. And solvent! I heard someone in the backyard discussing the fountain. I don’t have a fountain! Caterers in the kitchen talking about new appliances! What is Dante doing?”

Alex intervened. “Mom, I’d say that he’s being a good guy, but that doesn’t seem his flavor. I suspect it’s prep for the wedding.”

Octavia swung on her. “It’s a backyard ceremony, not a royal gala!”

“Actually,” Maarja said, “in Dante’s circle, he is a kind of royalty.”

“The killer kind,” Alex mumbled.

“When he’s done, I’m not going to know my house!” Octavia wailed.

Maarja didn’t really want to go and see if Dante would grant her an audience. Not after this morning’s stairway confrontation. But—“I’ll talk to him, remind him who you are, make sure he understands there are restrictions.” Although when Dante intended to do something he believed needed to be done and would improve a life, Maarja didn’t expect him to pay attention.

Nate stood before Dante’s makeshift office, arms crossed.

From inside she heard a man shouting.

Nate looked over the top of her head and spoke a single word, “No.” As if she’d asked to enter.

The voice was muffled, but not enough to stop her from hearing, “…You crazy?…Can’t go through with this…Already upset the enemies!…Lost your mother, lost your mind…Shit show! A woman! A piece of…Suspect!…Do you know what you’re inviting?…”

Dante spoke in a soothing tone, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Nearby, she heard someone whimper. Béatrice stood against the wall, watching the door and wringing her hands. She looked a little like the Béatrice Maarja had first met: pale, hunched, with a pinched mouth that had never seen a smile. Yet she’d seemed so different here, at Octavia’s house, in this safe, busy environment.

Well, of course. Béatrice shut down in the face of adversity. Maarja had made unkind judgments about her and about Mrs. Arundel for tolerating Béatrice. Mrs. Arundel had seen what Maarja hadn’t bothered to see; away from…away from constant fear of fire, explosion, pain, and death, a different Béatrice lived a different life, a whole life.

From inside the office, they heard another shout, clearly a condemnation.

Béatrice cringed and whimpered again.

Behind Nate, the door was flung open and Cousin Jack, San Francisco police detective, stepped out. His red face and wild eyes displayed his mood only too well. He caught sight of Maarja, stalked over, and, with his hand open, straining and cupped like a claw, reached for her.

Nate caught his wrist. “No sir, Jack. Not on my watch.”

The whole house full of neighbors, family, and hired workers stood very still and watched the scene from a distance. No one wanted to interfere. No one wanted to attract attention. Everyone knew the Arundel reputation and in this part of town everyone had too much experience dodging bullets.

Jack drew a long breath. “I’m fine.” He tossed his wrist and when Nate let him go, he pointed his finger in Maarja’s face. “ You. Should have never. Been born. You. Should have never. Lived. You’re the ruin of him. Give him what he wants and let him go!”

Maarja thought this guy was demented…and remembering the lesson she’d just learned from Béatrice, she told herself he was driven by concern for his cousin. Gently she said, “I’m not holding him.”

“Then why is he staying?”

She didn’t know how to explain when she didn’t know herself.

“You’ve got your teeth into him,” Jack accused.

From the office door Dante said, “Jack, it’s simple. I’m in love with her.”

A gasp came from the front of the foyer.

There Connor held a briefcase to his chest and gaped like a dying fish.

Owen stood beside him, holding two grocery bags full of what looked like flower garlands. “I told you so.”

Nate shut the sliding doors, protecting Dante’s office privacy.

Jack violently shook his head. “No. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into that old trap. She’s merely a woman. Who can tell one from another?”

Dante viewed his cousin in pity.

“You’re too strong for that!” Jack was shouting again. He looked around and, seeing Béatrice, he stalked toward her. “Mother, what are you doing here? I thought all you wanted was to be free of the Arundels. Remember? You said that in the note you left before you waltzed out to your whale--watching in Canada.”

Maarja viewed Jack, then Béatrice, then Jack again. His mother ? Downtrodden, fearful, and depressed Béatrice was his mother ? By who? By the boyfriend who left her after the explosion that killed Benoit Arundel?

No. By Benoit himself.

In Jack’s face she saw the madness and malice of old Benoit, and in Béatrice’s cringing fear, she saw a woman who had been cruelly taken and used by Benoit, and who feared her own son for the pain he inflicted.

As Nate had said, Not on my watch . She moved swiftly to intercept him, and found herself abruptly halted by Nate’s grip on her arm.

Dante moved between Jack and his mother. He didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, feet braced, hands at his hips, challenging Jack in his presence and stance.

The moment smelled ripe with the scent of potential bloodshed.

From somewhere in his scarred soul, Jack dug up some semblance of good sense, and with visible effort, he stepped back from the encounter. “I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back. You can use your feeble organization to shit flowers out your ass for the whole world to smell. San Francisco is my home now, and the police force is my family.” As if he suddenly realized what he was missing, he groped under his jacket. “Dante, you bastard, give me my service pistol!”

“I’ll keep it for now,” Dante replied. “Until you’ve calmed down.”

“I won’t calm down. In love. ” Jack snorted. “You’ll make us a laughing stock of the business world.” As he left, he was weaving, making a wide path, looking for someone to shove aside.

He left without accomplishing his goal.