Chapter 5 #2
Perfumes. Hair oils. Make up palettes in warm neutrals and soft pinks. Bath products wrapped in ribbon. Candles. Soaps. Little jars of salts and oils and things I recognize only from shop windows I peered into.
Books are stacked beside the fireplace.
Actual books.
New hardbacks. Worn-looking classics. Romances with discreet covers for Cass. A stack of children’s books for Ryan.
And in the corner, on a rug that wasn’t there this morning, sits a pile of toys.
Lego. Art supplies. Model cars. A science kit. A stack of Spider-Man comics. And folded on top of a large box, like a holy offering, is bright red-and-blue Spider-Man bedding.
Ryan makes a noise of pure, unfiltered joy.
“Spider-Man,” he whispers.
Then louder.
“Spider-Man.”
Cass’s hand flies to her mouth.
I turn slowly.
Lucian stands near the fireplace.
Not smug.
That might be what undoes me most.
He is watching us like this matters. Like the entire room, every rack and box and ridiculously expensive bottle, is not about wealth or control or showing off.
It is about making us feel loved. Cherished.
Spoiled.
And I’ll never be able to pay him back.
Lucian’s eyes find mine. “You three have made my life so full. And I want you all to have everything I can give you.”
My throat tightens.
Lucian’s voice softens. “You three deserve all of this and more.”
Oh.
Oh, that is unfair.
I blink back tears. We are given all this and did nothing to earn it other than come into his life as our jumbled, hot-mess selves.
Cass makes a choking sound beside me and immediately turns it into a cough.
Blaze, always one to lighten the mood, shouts, “Hear, hear!”
The other men join in.
One of the women standing near the clothing racks steps forward. She is elegant, professional, and entirely unbothered by the armed men positioned around a pop-up boutique in a Scottish safe house.
“Everything has been selected in your sizes,” she says warmly. “We brought additional options, of course. Tailors are on standby. Anything you like can be adjusted. Anything you don’t like goes back. No pressure.”
Cass stares at her. “Our sizes?”
The woman smiles. “Yes.”
Cass looks at me.
I look at Lucian.
He does not apologize.
Of course he doesn’t.
“The scents?” I ask because my brain has apparently chosen the strangest detail to survive on.
Lucian’s mouth curves faintly. “Cass likes citrus and vanilla. You like lavender when you think you don’t, and vanilla when it isn’t too sweet.”
I blink.
He adds, “Ryan likes the bubblegum bath bubbles, which I have decided to tolerate.”
Ryan clutches a Spider-Man pillowcase to his chest. “This smells like new.”
“That’s a great smell, isn’t it, Ryan?” Cass says softly with a smile, remembering our childhood of hand-me-downs.
“Even better than bubblegum.” He buries his face in it.
I press my fingers to my lips like it will stop the tears.
“You have a billionaire mafia king setting up a department store in the living room because you had to rewear leggings and a sweater, and you’re standing there looking like you’re going to run.” Cass holds up a jar to me. “Smell something, for goodness’ sake.”
She’s right.
I walk to a table and pick up a small jar of cream I’ve come to love, brushing my thumb over the label.
He’s right.
It’s made with lavender.
I set it down too carefully.
“This is too much,” I say.
Lucian looks at me. “No.”
The word is quiet.
Final.
He won’t argue.
The saleswoman is helping Cass slip into a pale orange cashmere zip-up hooded jacket.
“Lucian…” My gaze goes back to those slippers. “Are you sure?”
“Shut up, Erin,” Cass singsongs over her shoulder.
Ryan is too busy with Legos to correct her.
“The man is sure.”
“These are clothes,” Lucian says with a shrug. “Books. Soap. Toys. Sheets.
Things.”
His voice drops.
“You are allowed to have things, Erin.”
That is when my eyes burn.
Not when I see the cashmere. Not the shoes. Not the handbags, or the glass bottles, or the jewelry cases glinting under soft lamplight.
Then.
You are allowed to have things.
I have had survival.
I have had to provide for my family.
I had to do things I didn’t want to do and would never have done otherwise.
I even had to make a deal to betray the man in front of me.
Things were for other women.
Cared-for women.
Women who are worthy of love.
I look around.
At Cass, moaning over the scent of an orange-blossom body wash. At Ryan, arranging the Spider-Man sheet over his shoulders like a cape, then smoothing the comforter over the rug like a play mat. At Mack, watching the door with his tattooed neck and soft eyes that he probably thinks no one can see.
At Blaze, pretending to inspect a sparkly purple leather handbag, holding it against his side.
“Bayne,” he calls. “Does this make my hips look wide?”
Bayne ignores him, staring out the window.
“This one makes me look approachable,” Blaze says, switching it out for a hot pink one that is way more Cass than me.
Blaze brings it to his chest. “It brings out my eyes.”
“It brings out your need for supervision,” Bayne finally replies.
Ryan laughs, and the sound breaks something open in the room.
I look back at Lucian.
“I love it so much, I don’t even know how to act,” I whisper. I choke back a tearful laugh, knowing I should be doing something other than standing in this doorway, frozen. “I love it.”
His expression shifts.
Barely.
But I see the relief.
I step closer and lower my voice so only he hears. “I don’t know how to have this.
But I’m more grateful than I could ever find the words for. And I promise, I’ll learn to be less awkward about gifts.”
He cups my cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. Just be you.”
My voice is even raspier than usual. “A reasonable request.”
His thumb strokes beneath my eye, catching the tear before it falls.
Behind us, the stylist opens a garment bag and reveals a cropped silver jacket that makes Cass mutter, “Absolutely not,” in the exact tone that means she wants to touch it.
Lucian wraps his arms around me.
His breath warms my skin. “I love you.”
I reach up on tiptoe to kiss him and say it back. “I love you.”
Staring down at me, he demands, “Say it again.”
And I say, “I love you, Lucian.”
Then we kiss.
When we part, he says it again.
His words settle inside me.
Dangerous. Beautiful. Terrifying.
And no one else exists except the people in this room, this ridiculous, beautiful room full of things we did not know we needed.
And Lucian’s hand against my cheek, steady, possessive, and careful.
Not closing around me.
Just there.
Waiting while I learn to trust his love without fearing that a beautiful woman from his past will steal it back from me.
One of the outer guards steps into the room. Calm but hurried. He leans toward Bayne, discreetly relaying information not meant for my ears.
Bayne looks at Lucian and raises one hand. He presses two fingers together and waves his hand right to left.
Lucian’s body tenses beside me. The air in the room is heavy with tension.
I may not have Gregory’s formal education, but I’ve practical experience in navigating these men. And I’m slowly decoding their gestures.
The beautiful things fade away.
Bayne just told Lucian that someone is approaching Red Shutters.
Gregory enters the room, laptop in hand. “We’ve received a message.” He’s staring at the screen in awe. “Isobel has just made contact with us.”
“What?” Lucian is over to the screen before I take a breath. Gregory tilts it towards him. Lucian’s knuckles go white, his hands in tight fists. He stares down, trying to make sense of the words.
Gregory summarizes. “The Phoenix message was from her. She was referring to herself. She thought you would read between the lines.”
My stomach drops.
Lucian doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay focused on the screen. “I did not.”
Holding two fingers pressed together, he waves once, right to left.
I feel the color drain from my face. I look from Lucian to Mack, to Gregory.
“What’s going on?” Then back to him. “Lucian?”
“She’s here,” he says, turning to me slowly. His eyes lock on mine, flashing with emotion. “Isobel is here.”