Chapter Seventeen #3
She’d been cranky through her bedtime routine, unimpressed with bathtime, launching her rubber ducks at my face just to make it known.
The crash hit her hard, and she’d needed a whole hour of cuddles and rocking to soothe her enough to lie down.
I’d expected to be with her all night, leaning over her cot, rubbing circles on her back and listening to her frustrated sobs—what was it about kids and protesting sleep when they were obviously exhausted?
But she’d settled eventually, unable to fight it, no matter how hard she tried.
I sat there for a bit, staring down at her, committing each part to memory.
She was growing so fast, changing almost every time I looked at her.
Often, I’d make the effort to just take it all in, ensure I didn’t miss a single stage of her growth or any new achievements and traits that would be old news before I even blinked.
She had another tooth coming in, and her hair was thicker—seriously, I’d never known a child to have such a mop of shiny dark hair.
She had the tiniest freckles on her nose because the weather was warmer now, the sun turning them more visible.
I didn’t have freckles. Caine did. Little constellations mostly hidden under stubble and tattoos—so faint, and the lightest shade of brown, they’d be easy to miss if you didn’t pay attention.
Not that I paid attention.
I leaned in to kiss Minnie’s cheek one more time before heading downstairs.
I was on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water, but I passed a room that typically had its door closed.
I never really had the compulsion to snoop, but there was a warm, inviting glow emanating from the gap, so it’d be rude not to in this instance.
Stepping closer, I peeked inside. At a glance, it was a study, or cozy little sitting room, but I didn’t get the chance to properly deduce its purpose as my attention was drawn to the high-backed armchair at the far side, facing the door. Caine was sitting in it.
I jerked back. No idea why. It felt as if I was intruding on his leisure time or some shit—or spying on him, which might be his jam, but it certainly wasn’t mine.
He hadn’t spotted me, though, so I could probably just walk away and leave him with no indication I’d been there.
Or . . . I could have another look? Take the opportunity to observe him in a relaxed habitat, since he rarely allowed himself time off.
I leaned in again.
The fireplace beside him was burning, painting his sombre face with an orange flare.
Had he lit it himself? I’d never noticed him in any room in the house except his office, our bedrooms, or the playroom.
Did he sit here often? Come down here when he couldn’t sleep?
He was clearly deep in thought. He had that look on his face, the faraway gaze and detachment from his surroundings.
Was he thinking about Minnie? About her designation?
Or was it the cause of his aversion to hospitals?
Whatever it was, it was bothering him, and the impulse rose in me to comfort him.
The Alpha was exposed, and there was a weird sensation in my gut refusing to abate.
I could have laughed at the irony of it.
Why would I want to console a man who didn’t care for my feelings?
It wasn’t as if he’d offered me any sympathy when my nerves were all over the place.
It had to be the omega in me, programmed to pacify my Alpha’s distress.
Or it was tiredness from calming Minnie for so long, and it was crossing over—lingering maternal instincts or something silly.
I didn’t laugh. I bit the inside of my cheek, willing myself to pull away and go up to bed.
Why was his mood affecting me? I shouldn’t care.
I didn’t care. He was always dour and detached, culling the atmosphere with his unfeeling disposition.
He probably sat and sulked most nights, just to keep up appearances.
I’d never bothered concerning myself with his emotional state before, so why would I start now?
Because this is different.
This wasn’t his norm.
“I know you’re there,” his voice rumbled, and my gaze shot up, a gasp stuck in my throat. He was still staring intensely at the fire. “You’re not as quiet as you think you are.”
It’d be weird to run, right?
I heaved a near-silent sigh. Yeah, I’d been caught. I hadn’t explored this part of the mansion yet, so I might as well take a gander while I was here. Just to be a little nosy.
No other reason.
“I wasn’t spying on you,” I lied. “I was just—”
“Lurking in doorways,” he finished for me in his usual flat tone. “Breathing heavily.”
I paused in my advance. “I wasn’t breathing heavily.”
“Thought we’d adopted a dog.”
“Fuck you,” I grumbled, though it had less bite than it typically would. It might have even sounded a little amused.
“Is Minseo alright?” he asked. “I heard her crying.”
“She is now.” I combed my fingers through my hair, cringing at how greasy it was.
I needed to shower. “Took her a bit, but she finally realised I wasn’t the worst person in the world for coaxing her to sleep when she was exhausted.
She’ll probably have the shits tomorrow, though, with the amount of ice cream she ate. ”
Caine made a face as if he was praying for strength in the flames. “Lovely.”
I shrugged. “You asked.”
There was silence, but instead of filling it, I glanced around, taking in the room.
It was definitely a study. There were bookshelves along the walls, and even a desk in the corner.
It stuck out from all the other areas of the house I’d visited.
Not that I’d been in every room—far from it, it would take me an age—but everywhere else, bar Minnie’s playroom, was more . . . showy?
From the outside, it was like one of those grand stately homes that’d stood for generations.
The foundations were classic and timeless, but the inside was a complete contrast. It was modern, minimal, and lacking any real personal touches.
It was as if it had been stripped back and renovated by a million-pound-home interior designer, then left to sit without anyone actually living in it.
It was beautiful, and the decor it did have was the height of luxury, but it was missing the warmth and homeyness.
I’d gradually been adding bits and pieces to my own room, giving it more of a me feel.
I’d held out for so long because tailoring it to my preferences seemed like I was accepting the permanency of it.
Surrendering. But I’d moved past that. I was here to stay, so why force myself to be uncomfortable in my den for the sake of spite?
I’d felt like a visitor before, a piece of furniture on loan, but now I wasn’t quite so displaced.
It was mine, and though I wasn’t yet influenced to call this place my home—probably wouldn’t be for a while—I could admit I wasn’t so mad about it.
There were worse places to spend the rest of my life.
Was this Caine’s den? His sanctuary? It smelled like him.
Not just because he was in front of me, but it clung to the walls, territorial and untainted by anyone else.
His office was saturated in him too, but it was his workplace and he spent most of his time there, he hadn’t claimed it as his.
The scent in here was serene, comforting, and blended together with the dim lighting of the fire, it was like a warm hug.
He must really need to escape if he was in here.
“Did you need something?” he queried. “Or was it just the spying?”
“Wasn’t spying,” I reiterated, suddenly unsure where to put my hands. “But no, I was going to the kitchen to get a drink. Do you want one?”
The Alpha raised his left hand, which had been hanging off the opposite side of the chair, showing me a glass tumbler with a few inches of amber liquid. “I have one.”
I nodded and left the room, heading to my original destination.
I grabbed a glass and filled it under the fridge dispenser on autopilot.
If I went up to bed, I wouldn’t sleep. It was too early, and the more I forced myself, the less successful I’d be.
I could read. It wasn’t my favourite free-time activity, but Lori had given me one of her old recipe books to scan through.
It was filled with pictures of fancy desserts and handwritten instructions on how to replicate them.
She never used it because of Caine’s disinterest in sweets, so she thought I’d like to take a look.
It wasn’t too big, and it would likely kill a few hours.
I returned to the study.
Caine had set his glass down on the side table, and he was rubbing at the fingers on his right hand, a faint grimace knitting his brow. His brace was lying on the table too.
“Are they hurting?” I said, and he froze, looking up as if he hadn’t heard my approach this time. He released his hand, setting it back on the chair arm and lifting his chin.
“They’re fine,” he rumbled. An obvious lie. “Haven’t you gone to bed yet?”
“It’s eight p.m.,” I drawled. “I’m not a toddler.”
He snorted. “Your attitude suggests otherwise.”
“You know what . . .” I strolled further into the room, placing my glass of water next to his. I crossed my arms over my chest. There was no other seat, so I’d just loom over him instead. “I was going to go to bed, to read, but I think I’ll stay and annoy the shit out of you.”
“I’m shocked.”
“You really are a cantankerous old fucker.”
He pinned me with a dry look. “I’m thirty-five.”
I did not know that. “My point still stands.”
His fingers twitched, but he gripped the chair arm as if forcing himself to endure the pain. I sighed, and before even thinking about it, I was kneeling on the floor at his feet, offering up my palm expectantly. “What are you—”