Chapter 32
ABOUT A WEEK LATER
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, my hand instinctively reaches across the sheets for Eavan.
My brows furrow, finding nothing but the cool satin where she should be.
Sprinkles of spring rain fall against the windows, the light patter and hazy gray sky making it the kind of morning made for staying in bed… together.
I sit up slowly, scrubbing my palm down my face in annoyance, not enjoying waking up alone.
Not anymore. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and tug on a pair of sweatpants.
Noticing the nail marks running down my chest, I run my fingers over them, reminiscing with a smile, and opt to cover them with a shirt before heading to find my princess.
The faint smell of coffee hits me halfway down the stairs.
Coupled with the soft clink of mugs, I pause at the bottom step and lean against the railing long enough to watch her.
Eavan stands at the counter, back to me, her hair twisted up in a messy knot, wearing one of my hoodies.
Far too big, it hangs off her and barely covers her ass—leaving me wondering if she has anything on underneath it.
She hums quietly while fixing a cup of coffee.
It’s dangerous, how much I love her like this.
I move silently, sneaking up on her like a shadow.
Snaking my arms around her waist, I quickly tighten them and pull her back snug against my chest. She lets out a breathy scream, tensing for just a second before melting into me when I press my lips to her neck.
“Daddy doesn’t like it when you sneak out of bed. ”
She gasps, a mixture of shock and laughter. “Enzo?—”
I kiss her again, slower this time, my lips lingering just beneath her ear. “I need you to come back upstairs,” I groan, my voice raspier than intended. “Right now.”
Her breath hitches, and I feel her smile against my cheek. She wriggles in my hold before turning around to face me.
“Someone’s needy this morning,” she teases, eyes bright.
I pretend to let her push me away, giving her a few inches of space before catching her wrist and dragging her back into me. “Have it your way, princess,” I murmur, tipping her head to the side and leaving a slew of wet kisses along her neck. “We don’t have to go upstairs first.”
Her laugh turns into a light moan as my hands slide around her hips and over the generous curve of her ass, drawing her close and firmly pressing my hardening length against her.
“For fuck’s sake,” Cillian grouses, his voice still tired and already full of irritation. With my face buried in the crook of Eavan’s neck, I laugh softly and slide my hands from her ass to her lower back. “You have a room,” Cillian groans, taking a seat on a barstool at the island. “Use it.”
“Trust me, brother,” I grumble, without turning to face him. “I’m trying .”
“Enz!” Eavan swats me in the chest, cheeks flushed with the heat of her embarrassment.
She squirms out of my hold and tries to look composed, though her lips are still tipped upward, letting me know she’s not entirely upset with my teasing.
Eavan busies herself with the coffee machine as I hop onto the counter and stretch, watching her.
“I’m going to start charging you two every time I walk in on that ,” Cillian mutters, reaching for the mug Eavan is sliding across the island. “My therapy bill is already racking up.”
I shrug. “Your fault for coming in without knocking.”
“It’s the kitchen ,” he snaps, trying desperately to hide his amusement and maintain a disapproving stance. “There is no door to knock.”
I grin. “Fair. ”
Eavan, mercifully, changes the subject. “I’m making muffins,” she says brightly. “Blueberry.”
Cillian gives her a suspicious look. “What’s the occasion?”
“Surviving another week in lockdown without strangling each other,” she quips, pulling ingredients from the cupboard.
“Barely,” he snorts, glancing at me—his eyes still harboring his annoyance over my relationship with his sister.
I jump down from the counter to help her, not because she needs it, but because I enjoy watching her work. There’s something domestic and comforting about it—so unlike the world I’m used to—like if I stay in this moment long enough, maybe the outside world will stay away.
It isn’t long before the scent of baking muffins drifts through the apartment, warm and sweet. Nikolai stumbles downstairs, sniffing at the sweet aroma—shirtless and his hair an absolute mess. “What smells like happiness?” he mutters, heading straight for the coffee like it’s life support.
“Muffins,” Eavan says.
“Possibly still with a side of murder,” Cillian mumbles half in jest.
“Coffee.” I smirk, glaring at Cillian. “And inappropriate kitchen behavior.”
“Again?” Nikolai teasingly mutters. “You do know that you two have a very large and very nice room upstairs, right?” I snicker as he unknowingly repeats Cillian’s sentiment. While they both might be correct, I can’t get enough of her, and I will happily take her anywhere I can.
Eavan steps into the hall and opens the front door, her soft voice carrying into the kitchen. “Come on. You both can take a short break. Or at least protect me from in here.”
Hawk and Jagger follow behind her as she returns to the kitchen—tall, stone-faced, and both carrying an arsenal. They pause at the threshold to the kitchen, unsure whether they’re allowed in.
Hawk clears his throat, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “That’s very kind, ma’am.”
Jagger nods once. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”
She hands each of them a muffin straight from the tray, and I swear they both look like they’ve just been knighted as they take the warm baked goods from her. She pours them each a cup of coffee, and I realize that she’s silently thanking them for helping to keep her safe.
The kitchen fills with quiet conversation and the clinking of cups against the granite countertop.
On the surface, everything appears normal, but I can see it—the way Eavan stares out the window and over the terrace with distant eyes.
She hasn’t been outside this apartment in weeks, and no matter how much she pretends otherwise, I know it’s wearing on her.
The tray of muffins is reduced to nothing more than a few crumbs, and the coffee pot has been drained.
Everyone starts to clear from the room—Nikolai mumbling something about a call, Hawk and Jagger returning to their post in the hall.
Cillian stays at the island, scrolling through his phone, and Eavan sits beside me on the counter as I load the dishwasher.
My thank you for her breakfast. After turning it on and drying my hands, I press myself between her knees and slide my hands along her bare thighs. “Want to get out of here for a bit?”
She blinks at me as though trying to ensure she heard me correctly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I answer slowly, watching her face, “you and me. A quick trip outside these walls. Assuming you can follow the rules. There’s a boutique I know of nearby. It’s privately owned and appointment only. No crowds. No risk. Just a change of scenery for the morning.”
Her eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
“No,” Cillian sharply answers for me with his arms crossed. “Absolutely not. We’ve kept her in here for a reason.”
“I get that,” I reply calmly. “But she’s going stir-crazy. We’re talking one hour… Two, tops. We’ll take Hawk and Jagger, and she won’t go a second without someone’s eyes on her?—”
“She’s not leaving,” he snaps, louder this time.
Eavan stiffens beside me, and something in my chest hardens. I take a breath, trying to maintain my composure. “Cian, I know what you think you’re doing. And trust me, I understand why you’re being so protective. But keeping her locked in here like a prisoner isn’t protecting her.”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t get to make that call. ”
“Actually, I do,” I curtly insist, stepping forward. “I want to keep her safe as much as you do, but I also want to ensure she’s happy. And no one is going to keep me from giving that to her. She deserves a bit of normalcy.”
He looks at me long and hard, mistrust simmering under the surface.
Eavan shifts uncomfortably on the counter, and I squeeze her hand while maintaining Cillian’s hard stare.
“I’ll take care of her,” I promise. “I know you still don’t believe she means something to me.
That this is just some fling. But it’s not.
I swear to you that I will protect her with my life. ”
“Please, Cian,” Eavan begs softly, batting her eyelashes at him like it’s some play from the How to Manipulate Men handbook.
He lets out a heavy exhale and grumbles, “You take Hawk and Jagger. Back before lunch.”
“Go get ready, princess,” I whisper against Eavan’s temple before brushing a soft kiss against it.
She grins brightly and darts from the room with the same excitement as the last time I took her out the front door. Cillian watches her go, waiting until she has disappeared upstairs before turning to me and threatening, “If anything happens?—”
“I know,” I interrupt him. “But nothing will.”