Chapter Fourteen
DYLAN
Iventured out of the house a little more now. Never on my own, and never with Minnie. Caine would normally catch me on the way out—as if he was attuned to where I was at all times—and he’d come with me. Or he’d send extra guards when he was busy, as a precaution.
I still preferred the safety of the mansion’s four hundred walls, though.
Since we had no mating bites, there was always the risk of someone catching on that we weren’t “official” and making shit difficult, though Caine had assured me I’d be in no danger as long as we kept our glands covered.
We’d shared a heat and a rut, so our pheromones were infused; we also scented each other and swapped clothes regularly.
If anyone got close, they shouldn’t suspect a thing.
He had an easier time with it because his neck was basically a whole tattoo, and his lack of a bite wasn’t so obvious—not that I ever wore anything revealing anyway.
Still. There was always an anxious voice in the back of my head saying it wasn’t worth it.
That I could unintentionally put Minnie in danger for the sake of nipping to the shops for insignificant crap like baking equipment.
And after that night, seeing Caine covered in blood in the hallway, it reminded me just how ruthless this world was.
I didn’t want to think about it.
To be fair, if it wasn’t for the slightly guilty feeling in my chest whenever one of Caine’s guards ran out to grab anything I even hinted at wanting, I probably wouldn’t bother.
Brian had said he couldn’t have minded less, that he was happy to fulfil errands for me or get whatever made Minnie’s and my life here more comfortable.
It was . . . nice for someone to genuinely care about my contentment, but he was under orders, and I wasn’t yet used to the whole “kept wife” thing.
It was hard to get on board with having people do everything for me and having so much at my disposal.
Especially when I’d spent so long being independent.
And going without.
I would learn to cope with it. I had to.
Minnie’s safety was way more important than my pride.
Edith had scolded me in that grandmotherly way of hers, insisting I couldn’t live the rest of my life being terrified of what might happen, and staying cooped up in here wasn’t healthy for me or my baby girl.
I did agree with her. I wanted Minnie to have a normal upbringing, as much as was reasonably possible given the circumstances, and that would mean going outside. Though it would do her no harm to stay behind while my trips were kept to the bare essentials, at least until she was a little older.
Or until Caine had dealt with the pack conflict.
We had everything we needed here, but I’d have to be more mindful of who I spoke to in future if I wanted to tame that guilty feeling.
It was as if the staff were told to be super perceptive, clocking my every mindless desire and getting it here, special delivery.
Not just the bodyguards, but the housemaids, and even the gardener.
I’d be sitting out in the sun and a flyaway comment would float out of me about ice cream and how my grandma used to buy a specific type of “choc ices.” The very same day, there’d be several boxes of them in the freezer. The same brand and all.
Unless they could read minds.
It was never anything major. Nappies running low?
Fully stocked the next time I checked. The movie I’d wanted to watch wasn’t available on any streaming service?
The DVD was in my hands within a few hours.
Little things I thought nothing of whenever I mentioned them.
Except for the one instance when I’d joked to Edith about how much Minnie loved horses and I wouldn’t be surprised if she put one on her list to Santa this year.
There had been a fucking horse in the courtyard the following morning.
I didn’t even know this place had stables. Apparently so, and the stable hands to care for it. I shouldn’t have been surprised, the mansion was ridiculous, and the acres of land around it were even more so. It had everything, or if it didn’t, Caine bought it.
Minnie had been beside herself, clapping her hands in delight as she’d bounced on my hip, clicking her tongue.
I couldn’t be mad at the extravagance of the gift, not when it made her light up like that.
However, it was slightly disconcerting being so closely observed twenty-four seven. It was borderline stalkerish, actually.
On the other hand, it did prove Caine was taking the agreement seriously. Minnie wanted for nothing and we were protected. There were so many eyes and ears on us, and if they had the means to pick up on every single want or need we had, they’d be just as perceptive if anything went wrong.
“Finally found your way around the cupboards, I see.”
I jolted out of my wandering thoughts. Minnie cooed at the sight of Caine standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He’d appeared silently while I was bent over rifling through the cupboards trying to find anything that resembled a cookie cutter.
“A-fa!” Minnie thrust up her arms. She’d progressed a lot with her speech in the last month, but she couldn’t quite get the handle on Alpha. She had “daddy” down, though, able to say it perfectly and with conviction, which made me a little smug.
He wandered over to where she sat in her high chair, taking her little hand in his.
She giggled.
Traitor.
We’d seen a lot of each other over the last few weeks.
Not only in the sense of him escorting me where I needed to go or when we scented each other, but mostly around Minnie.
She’d been the stepping stone for us to grow slightly more civil towards each other, though when she wasn’t there, it was fair game.
She was a solid mix of us both; I spotted it the more time we spent as a trio.
She had my fire—attitude, Caine would say—and she had a couple of his quirks.
The head tilt, the furrowed stare that couldn’t be trained.
That shit was inherited. She had his face shape, his straight nose and strong jaw.
But she had my eyes, and when she smiled, it was almost like looking at a mirror image of my younger self.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled like that.
She also brought out a gentler side of the Alpha.
Not completely, just small changes I’d noticed, making him appear less mean and standoffish.
I was pleased he was making an effort for her.
She deserved it. He wasn’t as much of an arsehole either—nope, he was a total arsehole, but he wasn’t quite as cutting or dismissive.
He also . . . gave me things. Which I would’ve suspected were gifts, if he didn’t follow each one up with, “An omega of your standing should be seen to have excess and luxury, which is now my responsibility to provide.”
Regardless, it was more than anyone had ever done for me, and it showed a united front—even if it was a sham.
It also softened my opinion of him, to an extent.
He was doing literally everything except apologising for the way he’d treated me, but if those gestures meant Minnie would grow up believing we didn’t absolutely loathe each other, it was enough for me.
It took me a second to realise he was waiting on a response, his eyebrow raised expectantly. “Oh, is that, uh . . .” Don’t need to ask permission. “Yeah, I did. Lori helped.”
I’d officially met Lori, Caine’s chef, a few days ago.
Before that, on the rare occasion I needed anything, I’d stuck to wandering down to the kitchens in the gaps between her shifts, not wanting to get under her feet.
I’d been eating her food for the last two months or so, but had never seen her in person.
It only changed because I’d come down to whip up a quick chocolate mousse on a night I couldn’t sleep.
She’d dropped her purse on her way out from her dinner shift, and when she’d come back for it an hour later, I’d collided with her in the hall.
She’d stayed to help me navigate the space as I hadn’t used it for baking before, not having felt comfortable enough to reveal that part of myself.
But stress had won out that day, and I’d needed the solace of my usual reliever.
We’d talked a little, and since then I’d become slightly less strict about when I came down.
I’d been sure not to broach the lack of baking equipment with her, but if this was going to be a regular occurrence now I felt more secure, I’d have to make one of my trips.
Or just get on with it.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re making gingerbread and lemon cookies,” I said. “They’re our favourites, aren’t they, Minnie?”
“Ginga-bed!” she confirmed, wiggling happily.
Caine hummed, and I’d thought that would be it, but he lingered, observing Minnie.
Before I could think better of it, I heard myself say, “Would you . . . like to help?”
A look crossed his face, as if he hadn’t anticipated an invitation or even known it was possible. To be honest, I hadn’t expected to ask, but it was too late to backtrack. “I don’t—”
“A-fa!”
I shrugged. “Don’t force yourself. It gets pretty messy.”
Caine considered it, but then his chest inflated as if he was sighing internally, no extra air escaping his nose. He stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves as he advanced.
My eyes widened.
Alright then.
“There’s not a lot of baking-specific equipment here,” I said offhandedly, bringing out another ceramic bowl for Caine to use. No cookie cutters—we’d have to go rustic or use glasses. “So we’re using what we can. I hope Lori doesn’t mind.”
I set the bowl down on the counter at the other side of Minnie, so she’d be in the middle of us.
I’d already laid out the ingredients, two trays lined with greaseproof paper, a stack of measuring cups, and an array of spoons.
There was a KitchenAid in the corner, but I preferred doing it all by hand.