Chapter 21
Rian
Trimming my beard, my eyes keep straying to my wife as she moves into the bathroom behind me, slathering her body with lotion after our shower. She hums something under her breath as I watch, enchanted by everything she does.
Isabelle catches my stare in the mirror and rolls her eyes.
I smile, finishing up the last few clips with my shears. “I can’t help myself when you’re so beautiful.”
She shakes her head in mock exasperation before pulling on her robe and coming to stand next to me. “Can you guys get home a little early tonight? I’m going to make a large dinner with some of my favorites.”
Nodding, I catch her neck before she can leave and kiss her. Her cheeks are flushed when she pulls away then ducks under my arm and out of the bathroom while I laugh softly. Some days it feels surreal to live a more domesticated life, but I’m loving it more than I ever thought.
When I tell my brothers that Isabelle is cooking us dinner, the excitement is overbearing for the rest of the day. We love Deirdre, and we appreciate everything she does for us, but it does get tiring to eat the same meals over and over. We check up on some of the families farther out in the suburbs before abandoning the rest of our tasks to come home early. They disappear into their rooms to clean up, and I move to the kitchen, greeting the two women of the house.
“We’re all home, we couldn’t wait,” I say, moving toward my wife. She’s stirring something on the stove. Kissing her temple, I glance around at the messy counters and full sink. “It looks like a tornado ran through.”
Deirdre laughs. “The tornado is your wife. She wanted to do as much as she could without help.”
Isabelle tsks, waving her hand at the woman before turning to look up at me as she unties her apron. “I let her help, I did. This was a joint effort. Now help us bring it out.”
I shout for the men to help them carry the obscene amount of food, setting it down the whole length of the table.
“This is my fantasy come true. The only thing missing is the blonde girl I eat it off of,” Cillian says with a groan.
Isabelle scowls at him. “Anyway, it’s usually served in courses, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to eat the food I cooked tonight. So let me break it down for you and then we can dig in. For the appetizer, I’ve made bruschetta and your choice of toppings between the tomato mixture or prosciutto and mozzarella. For the first course, there’s rice with potatoes and provola cheese, which I don’t recommend skipping. Then for the main course, I prepared chicken cacciatore and ricotta lasagna. And if you still have room, a very simple vanilla panna cotta for dessert.”
When she comes around to sit down next to me, I grab her around the waist and kiss her. “It looks and smells delicious. Thanks for cooking all this, love.”
She blushes, admitting in a shy voice, “I did it more for myself than anyone else.”
I shrug with a smile, letting her know it’s okay as we all sit. Cillian has already piled a ton on his plate, savagely tearing in while Cormac watches him with a repulsed expression before taking away some of the dishes to share with others. Aodhan demolishes half of the bruschetta, and I wonder if Isabelle knew how much of a bread fiend he is, and why Deirdre seems to always incorporate some type of bread in our meals. Isabelle’s flushed face doesn’t disappear the entire time, the blush deepening every time one of the men praises the food. I’m surprised she’s not used to the type of compliments as she shuffles in her seat. We’ll have to do it more often, especially if she produces some of the best food I’ve ever had. My eyes stray back to my wife every few minutes, the conversation going on around us dulling as I only focus on her. She avoids my stare, engaging with whatever the men are saying, but every time I catch her thinking no one is looking, I see the smile falter on her lips.
* * *
“You okay?” My deep voice startles her from where she’s staring at the crackling fire, curled up on the sofa across from our bed. We had to leave abruptly after the delicious dinner she made when one of our men had spotted someone we’ve been looking for.
She blinks a few times, rubbing at her eyes as if they hurt her. I imagine they are dry from the flames.
“Yeah, I was just thinking,” Isabelle says.
I nod, an amused smile pulling at my lips. “I could see that. You didn’t even notice me come in.”
She glances down with a somber expression on her face that has me moving to sit next to her. I stretch my arm along the back of the couch behind her. “Okay, Isabelle. Now I know something is wrong.”
She shakes her head. “Not really, I was just…thinking, like I said.” Her voice is resigned.
Her eyebrow raises as we stare at each other, and I reach out, running a knuckle down her cheek. “I’ll listen if you want.”
“You may not like it,” she says, biting her lip.
I shrug. “We don’t know that, but I’m still willing to listen anyway.”
Isabelle sighs, a raw vulnerability shining in her eyes. “I feel alone.”
I stiffen at her words, not expecting that. My brothers, Deirdre and I have done as much as we can to make her feel a part of this family. Aodhan has told me that during the day, she spends a lot of time in the kitchen with Dierdre, or with my father reading, or even with Greg in the greenhouse. I thought she was adjusting well.
She gives me a bitter smile. “Everyone has been so kind and welcoming, more than I ever imagined. And how I feel is no reflection on them, but I don’t know anyone.” She swallows harshly, licking her lips and looking back to the fire. “And I feel abandoned. You were right, you know. I was looking for anyone to take me home that night. I was determined to lose my virginity so I didn’t have to marry.”
Anger surges in my chest and I clench my jaw, trying not to interject as she continues with a hollow laugh. “Obviously that didn’t work out. So I went ahead with it, I married you. And they all praised me for it, told me how proud they were, and how important what I was doing was for the Famiglia.”
I reach over to entangle our fingers as her voice cracks and she looks up at me, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks.
“I worked so hard for their approval, and while I genuinely love to cook, I think part of me still wanted my father to recognize what I’ve done for them,” she says as a sob breaks out in her throat.
I pull her into my chest, and she cries harder, rasping out the next sentence that breaks my heart for her. “I feel like I was disposable, like maybe they never really loved me.”
Rubbing her back, I press kisses on the top of her head. “They love you, Isabelle. They do. I’ve seen it, okay?” I tighten my hold on her. “I saw it the fear in your father’s eyes when he hesitated to hand you over after walking you down the aisle. I saw it in the way your mother was determined to break my bank with the wedding, as if I would disagree and give her a reason to call it off. I saw it in the way your brother looked ten seconds from shooting me anytime I touched you during our reception.” I don’t mention the wasteful meeting Luca called for, just for Ricky to question my intentions for her.
She sobs harder, pressing her face deeper into me. I hate seeing her like this, instead of my strong, stubborn wife. “Baby, it’s not you. It’s everything else. The peace between us and the Famiglia is fragile, they’re probably under orders to let us settle before they reach out, okay?” I say, trying to grasp at anything to comfort her. She lifts her head, and I cup her face, wiping at her tears with my thumbs.
“Maybe I can see them then. The restaurant?—”
“Isabelle,” I interrupt, damn tired about hearing about that fucking restaurant. “How about we see if your parents can come for dinner? Like the wonderful one you just made?—”
She rips out of my hold, standing up to glare down at me. “I pour my feelings out to you, and you still won’t allow me to go back to work.”
I rub my hand down my face, exhausted from having this same conversation with her when she’s unwilling to compromise with me. “I’ve never prevented you from working. You can pick any of my restaurants or chefs in my territory, and I?—”
“My father has a perfectly good one!” Her furious shout has my own anger rising, and I need to know why she won’t let this fucking go.
“Ask yourself if you really want to work there, or if you can’t let go until your daddy sings your praises,” I sneer. I regret the words as soon as I see the hurt look on her face and she flinches away. My stomach twists and I reach for her. “Wait, Isabelle?—”
“No, fuck you. How dare you throw my words back at me.” Her voice is strong with conviction, but I can hear the masked pain. She doesn’t give me a chance to explain or even apologize before grabbing her pajamas off the bed and storming into the bathroom. I wait for a few minutes, stuck in a lost haze on where the evening took a wrong turn. We had an amazing dinner, one Cillian didn’t shut up about even hours after, and then I came home to this. With a defeated sigh, I grab a pair of sweats and head into the guestroom, wanting to give her space for the night.