Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
FELICITY
“ F irefly. Firefly.”
The urgent, deep voice calls me back from the delicious dreams I’ve inhabited all night, a heady mixture of reality and fantasy fueled by Fierce.
“What?” I whisper in a pouty voice, rubbing my eyes drowsily.
“You must get up. Some trouble is brewing. I don’t know what exactly, but Julen says it involves us both.”
“Julen?” I ask grumpily, closing my eyes and pulling the warm goose-down comforter over my head.
“My younger brother,” Fierce explains, and I can hear the rustling sounds of him dressing quickly. “He just called. He said my family are on their way. You must be up and dressed now.” The strain in his voice grabs my attention.
I throw back the covers. “Your family? Coming here? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he replies, his face filled with too many emotions to identify. “But Julen says it’s bad, and he’s never been one to exag?—”
A boom sounds on the front door, and I jump. “Oh God!” My hand goes to my mouth.
“I will deal with them,” he says grimly, narrowing his eyes. “But you must be up and dressed.” He leans over the bed, kissing me. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
He strides from the room, locking and shutting the bedroom door behind him. The heels of his cowboy boots hammer on the wood floor as more booms sound, and the front door swings open with a whining sound.
As if opening Pandora’s Box, the air fills with angry voices, and a tirade of Basque floods the house, making me shake to the marrow of my bones. Oh my God. What is happening?
I dress in silence, trembling as I hear male voices screaming. Fierce’s rumbling tones are among them, furious and authoritative. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if I knew even half of what they said. But the words come so fast and angrily, I can’t make out a thing except for the word ematzea. It either means girlfriend or wife in Basque. I can’t remember which.
A part of me wants to stay hidden in the room, locked away from the drama unfolding outside. But another part feels a soul-deep need to stand my ground next to Fierce, come what may. After all, everything tells me the current tongue-lashing he’s taking is because of me. I slip into light-wash skinny jeans and a black, long-sleeved silk top with a V-neckline.
Standing in the mirror, it’s sexier than any look that I want to wear right now with the insane drama going on outside the bedroom door. But it’s the tamest outfit I brought for the weekend, thanks to Callie’s urging. Sliding into her leopard-spotted ankle booties, they give me a couple of inches of added height, and I stand nearly six feet tall now. Still dwarfed by Fierce, but ready to embrace any extra confidence boosts I can take advantage of.
I look in the mirror, assessing the red glow of beard burn on my cheeks. I hesitate momentarily, wondering if my presence will make things worse. Instead, I splash cold water on my face, then a cooling aloe facial moisturizer to take off the edge. Opening the door, I gulp air, heading down the hallway into the fray.
When I enter the living room, all voices stop, and all heads turn in my direction. The air feels thicker than a slice of Fierce’s homemade cheese.
In the center of the room stands a young woman with blonde hair parted in the middle and pulled back in a bun. She has large green eyes flooded with tears. When she sees me, her gaze narrows, and she spits in my face, hurling indecipherable insults at me and lunging towards me. She grips the front of my shirt, clearly out for blood, her eyes raging and fiery as voices erupt around me.
Fierce and another of his brothers seize the woman’s upper arms, wresting her off me. She spits again, glaring and hurling what must be vicious insults like everyone else in the room, speaking in a torrent of guttural Basque.
I freeze, shocked and unable to process what’s happening as Fierce hands the woman off to his doppelg?nger, though shorter, younger, and smaller of frame. “Julen,” he orders, pointing towards the door and commanding something. The young man nods, wrapping his arm around the woman and leading her outside.
I bring a shaking hand to my face to wipe away the spit. Fortunately, she’s not especially good at hawking saliva, so there’s not much to wipe away.
The room is an angry, incomprehensible chorus, hands flailing with all eyes on me as they rant and curse.
Oh God, Callie was right all along. Fierce has a girlfriend or a wife or something, and the whole family’s outed us to her. I’ve never been the other woman before. Never wanted to be the other woman, and now I feel like shit. Worse than shit. Because I trusted Fierce completely. I shared my heart, my soul, and my body with him. But we’ve apparently done something very, very wrong.
Looking past Fierce at the ruddy faces of his family members, all gazing at me with disgust-filled eyes, I tremble, an outlaw about to get strung up by vigilantes. My heart pounds, and I honestly fear for my safety because I find no mercy in their eyes.
Fierce turns towards me, palming my cheek and asking, “Are you alright?”
I pull away reflexively, fury gripping me. Pain stings his handsome features. I may not know exactly what’s going on, but I have a clear enough idea to no longer feel comfortable with him touching me.
“No, I’m not okay.” My voice shakes despite my attempts to keep it firm.
More Basque breaks out, and Fierce turns, screaming again. Never have I wanted to understand a language or feared the consequences of that knowledge more. My core trembles, and my legs shake, leaving me unsteady.
“Enough!” he declares. “Felicity has done nothing wrong. It is you who have done wrong by her. And you who have done wrong by me and that woman, too.” His anger is palpable. It floods the room as he points at each of his family members, centering his gaze on his mother, who blanches. Now, I’m even more confused.
“I did not ask for anyone in this room to make arrangements on my behalf to have a bride sent from Euskal Herria. Did I?”
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands. That blonde is Fierce’s bride? He wasn’t joking when he said arranged marriage. Not that I thought he was, but I never believed it would go this far.
Fierce towers over everyone, his face red with anger. “And it is not my fault or Felicity’s fault that you mistook her for the woman you arranged to bring here. Felicity and I have done nothing wrong. It is you who have done wrong. And for the record, the only woman I plan on marrying is Felicity. So, get used to it.”
“But what kind of woman is she? Coming out of your bedroom this morning?” His mother counters, and I shudder internally, expecting Fierce to turn Mama’s boy and hang me out to dry. My ex-boyfriend, Tim, did this often, in far less dramatic situations.
Instead, the black-haired, bearded giant steps towards his mother, claiming his authority. “You will never say anything of the kind about my woman again. None of you. There will be hell to pay if I hear any tongues wagging, whether it’s to the neighbors, the cousins, or the priest. Do you understand me?”
No one breathes. No one speaks. I don’t even see blinking. The scene reminds me of a wildlife documentary I once saw where the silverback gorilla shows up, and all of the other members of the group go into oh-shit mode.
“You have asked me to be the patriarch of this family. To take over the duties of this ranch, and it starts this moment. Respect me, respect my bride. Never ever will you speak one foul word about either of us again. And by the way, there will be big changes around here. For starters, English or French spoken around Felicity by all.”
“Why doesn’t she speak our language to be in our family?” Someone pipes up in the back.
“And why don’t you speak English to be in America? Eh?”
“You are creating a whirlwind of trouble. You won’t be able to escape,” another male voice calls from the fringes of the crowd.
“The whirlwind of trouble started with bringing a woman here who I do not know, do not love, and will never marry. If anyone has to answer to Euskal Herria for honor, it is you. Not me. Now, out of my cabin before I quit being nice. Go!” He roars like a single-man tempest, his defense of me downright heroic. But he’s vastly outnumbered.
Eyes shoot daggers at me from every nook and cranny of the house, and he turns toward me, ordering, “You need to go.” He breathes hard, his face flushed. “Now.”
My brows knit, and tears pour down my face.
“I’ll help you with your bag,” he says, grabbing me firmly by the arm and wheeling me back down the hallway toward his bedroom. The voices intensify behind us, seeming to follow us down the hallway.
On the other side of the door, he stares at me dumbfounded for a long, painful moment. “God,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t. I can’t.” His voice and body shake with rage, and he steps forward, seizing me tightly against his hard core, his breathing labored.
I flood his chest with tears, unable to comprehend what’s going on. But the anger in his house, the voices, the energy, all of it is too much. “Please, help me get out of here. I need to get away from this. Whatever this is.”
“You must hate us all,” he says quietly, looking down at my red, tear-streaked face. “I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “They thought you were her, Daphne. That’s why they were being so kind and welcoming yesterday.”
“Oh God,” I whisper.
“Remember how I had reservations about their reception and the way they spoiled us both last night? Now, it all makes sense. And to make matters worse, they neglected to pick Daphne up from the airport, thinking you were her, and so she had to spend the night there, catching a taxi here this morning. She called home to her family livid. And now everyone’s talking about decency and honor. Her family’s trying to charge us for my failed obligation. It’s a fucking mess, and I’m so sorry you ended up in the middle of it. You should have stayed in the bedroom where I left you.”
Taking a deep breath, I reply, “I couldn’t leave you out there to take the brunt of this alone, especially since I had a good inkling that the drama centered around me. Oh, Fierce. I’ve ruined your life. Ostracized you from your family and your homeland, and all for what?”
“For love,” he says without hesitation, snagging his finger under my chin and turning my gaze towards his. “And I would do it over again in a heartbeat to be with you. We’ll get through this. I promise. Just don’t give up on me.”
The screaming from the other room won’t stop. I feel like if they could get to me, they’d rip me limb from limb. I shudder as a bang sounds and then another.
Fierce lets go of me, his face steely as he gathers my bag. “Is this everything?”
“No,” I say breathlessly. “I have some things in the bathroom. Let me go grab them.”
He nods.
Anxiety makes my hands clumsy and shaky, so he finishes packing for me. Staring long and hard at me, he says, “Please remember my family is not a reflection of me.”
“I know,” I nod, shivering from head to toe. He pulls me into his arms, kissing me hard, possession exuded in his firm grip. “I will right this, Felicity. I swear, I will. And they will all show you the respect and love you deserve.”
He wraps his arm around me, leading me down the hallway and back into the clamor of angry people. Fierce’s body exudes a dangerous energy that makes the room go quiet and the crowd part as we make our way outside to my Jeep.
He throws my bag in the back and helps me inside, fastening my seatbelt. Regret and pain flood his eyes, and he whispers, “I am so sorry for all of this, ma luciole.”
“Wait,” I whisper. “Are you going to be okay here alone with everyone? Why not come with me?”
He shakes his head, his eyes clouded. “No, it’s time for me to step up and be the family leader they have asked me to be.”
What does he mean? My eyes plead with him, but he frowns resolutely. Squeezing my hand, he adds, “Write your story the way your heart tells you to.” Then, he steps away, closing the car door and storming back toward his cabin.