Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
CALDWELL
Patience has never been difficult for me. It was ingrained into me even at a young age with the knowledge that I would one day rule.
When you’re stuck or unsure, stepping back can help you find answers or return with a fresh perspective.
Clearly, my patience is now zero. I keep checking my email, wondering when Zorn is going to get back to me.
I found the ring I want to give to Mable.
I’ve been working on it for weeks. Initially, I knew I needed a ring, but when I searched online to get an idea—since I didn’t know much about rings—all I found were plain ones. None of them reminded me of Mable.
With a little help from an old friend, we’d found four possibilities.
Each of the rings has a rich history, but still, they weren’t right.
That’s when it hit my dumb ass. I needed a family ring.
That meant going to the vault and looking over the collection.
Once I picked the perfect one, Zorn took over to get it sized.
I want the damn ring already, but I have to wait.
It’s killing me. It’s already been long enough.
My patience is wearing thin. I need Mable to officially be mine.
For her to be wearing my ring so that all others know she’s mine forever.
Once I get it, I only have to wait for the right time. I want it to be perfect for her. She deserves that.
“Caldwell.”
I blink.
Cordelia stands across from me, her finger still on the map, waiting. How long has she been waiting?
“Sorry. What?” I don’t have a clue what we’d been talking about.
This might be why I’m not finding a solution to the problem.
It doesn’t help that I used to be able to watch Mable on the security cameras at home.
With her out and at the library most days, I don’t get to have eyes on her.
It helped keep me working. I suppose I could have cameras installed late tonight.
After she heads home, which should be about now.
“I asked if you’d reviewed the eastern survey.” Her tone is patient. “The one from 1847. It contradicts the treaty language.”
“Right.” I pull the document toward me, but my eyes drift to my phone.
If everyone eats her sourdough before I get home to have a slice, I’ll ban everyone from eating bread.
Mable would overrule me. The thought makes me smile; I enjoy when she gets a little pushy and worked up.
She’s adorable, and I can’t tell her no.
If we have little girls, one day I’ll be a goner.
They’ll run circles around me. Have me wrapped around their little fingers just like Mable currently does.
“Caldwell.”
“Yes. I’m here.” I force myself to focus. The survey. The boundary. The endless negotiations.
I can feel Cordelia watching. Has her stare always been so assessing? She’s been very calculating lately, always three steps ahead. That’s what it’s felt like over the last few weeks, or maybe all this shit is getting to my head.
“How is Mable settling in?” she asks casually. “I worry she’s bored. All that time in the archives.”
I look up. “She’s not bored.” In fact, I’m starting to get jealous of dusty boxes; Jenson, who gets to drive her around; the chef, who gets to try all her food; and Mrs. P, who makes her giggle.
“Of course.” Cordelia moves to the window, adjusting the curtain that didn’t need it. “I don’t want you to worry, but she mentioned feeling isolated. The staff can be distant. And the protocols overwhelm her. She told me she feels like she’s performing, never quite getting it right.”
“When did she tell you this?” I watch her.
“Oh, when we’ve had lunch a few times. She’s sweet, Caldwell. Really tries.” A pause. “She worries she’s not enough for you. For all of this.” Cordelia waves her hand around. “And she’s missing her friend.”
I know the last one to be true, but as for the others, this is news to me. I drop my pen, letting it roll across the map.
“Mable doesn’t worry about being enough,” I say defensively.
“Doesn’t she?” Cordelia steps closer, her hand brushing my arm as she reaches for a file.
“She’s young, Caldwell. Overwhelmed. I think she’s trying so hard to fit in that she’s losing herself.
” She pauses, her eyes holding mine. “I worry that she’s going to leave and then, well—” If she’s implying that I would be broken if she left, she’d be correct.
But Mable wouldn’t be gone for long. I would drag her little ass right back or, if I had to, follow her and stay wherever.
“She’s not going to leave,” I get out through gritted teeth. The thought alone is pissing me the fuck off.
“I just want you to know that I’ll be here if anything happens. And when we’re done with this project, I hope we can still work together. I’ve valued this time with you.” Her hand comes down on my arm now, not brushing it. I already told her to stop with that touching shit.
I step back. “We should finish.”
Something flickers across her face. Annoyance, maybe. Calculation? A mix of the two. “Of course.”
But I see it now. The careful mentions of Mable’s supposed fears.
The positioning. The implication that she and I have some partnership Mable could never understand.
Cordelia isn’t helping. She’s building a case, brick by brick.
Trying to keep herself relevant in my life. She’s trying to sabotage Mable.
How dumb does she think I am? While Mable might be getting more comfortable with Cordelia, I have not. If anything, I’m paying closer attention to everything when it comes to her. I need to untangle this carefully. Without destroying both families.
But if it comes to that, then so be it. All my life I have given and given. Everything planned out for me from the moment I was born. This, however, Mable, is not something I will concede.
“I have to go.” I’m already grabbing my phone, shoving papers into my bag, not caring about order. I’ll figure it out later.
“Caldwell, we haven’t finished the—”
“It can wait.” I’m at the door, hand on the handle, not looking back. “Send me your notes. I’ll review them tomorrow.”
“Caldwell.” Her voice changes. “Is everything all right?”
I pause, turning enough to see her face, composed, concerned.
“Everything’s fine. I just need to see my wife.”
I said wife, not Mable, not her, deliberately, wanting it to land and sink in. The role Cordelia keeps implying might not last.
Her expression doesn’t flicker. “Give her my best.”
I don’t respond. I’m already gone.
The drive home is too long. I can’t stop wondering where Mable will be so I can go straight to her. In the kitchen probably, or the library, or wherever she’s made herself comfortable without realizing she’s made a home.
When I finally pull through the gates, I’m out of the car before the driver can fully stop.
“Where is she?” I ask one of the guards stationed at the front entrance door.
“The kitchen.” He confirms what I thought. I hurry toward it and then force myself to slow, to breathe, so I don’t burst in like some madman.
She turns, flour on her cheek, the smell of something warming in the oven, cinnamon. My favorite. Mable gives me a bright smile. I’ll never get used to the way her face lights up when she sees me; it truly does make me feel like a king.
“You’re early,” she says.
“I needed to see you.”
Her smile falters slightly. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing.” I make my way over to her and pull her in, then bury my face in her hair. She smells of vanilla and home. That panic that’s been holding me tightly starts to loosen its grip. “Nothing’s wrong. I just missed you.”
She laughs softly. “You saw me this morning.”
“Too long ago.”
Her hand slides up my chest and then around my neck, her body flush to me. She’s here, and Cordelia’s words dissolve into nothing.
“I made cookies,” she whispers against my neck.
“I don’t care about cookies.” I pull back enough to see her face, searching it. Is she leaving? Is she overwhelmed? Is she performing for me too?
She blinks, confused by my intensity. “Caldwell?”
I kiss her. Hard. Desperate. Needing to feel her respond to me, to know she’s still mine, still choosing this, still wanting me despite everything she should run from.
“You need me,” she says against my mouth.
“Always,” I groan. She pulls back, grabbing the front of my shirt and tugging me. I let her lead me across the kitchen into the butler’s pantry. She’s taking the lead, and I want to see where this goes.
Mable pushes me up against the wall. My brows rise. “Gorgeous?”
She doesn’t answer. Just sinks to her knees in front of me, her hands already at my belt, working the buckle with her delicate fingers.
I reach for her, meaning to pull her up, but she bats my hand away and looks up at me with a cheeky, playful smile, nothing like the careful girl I first met.
I’m fucking thrilled that she feels safe enough to not be so careful when it comes to me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking care of my man.”
I let her, watching as she yanks my belt open, the button next, before the zipper slides down. I know she’s not moving slowly, teasing. No, she doesn’t need to; half a second is too long for me when it comes to her.
Mable’s fingers grip the top of my boxer briefs and tug them down. My cock springs free. She wraps one of her small hands around me, making me groan.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she tells me. She’s trying to kill me with her innocence.
“Beautiful, you can do anything you want to me, and it will be perfect,” I reassure her because it’s true. It’s not as though I’ve had a blow job before.
Tactically, at first, she flicks the tip, a slow drag of her tongue that makes my hips jerk forward. Then the whole world stops as her mouth wraps around the head of my cock. A groan rips from me.
She takes me in deeper, and my fingers tighten in her hair, not guiding, just holding on. The need to touch her is overwhelming. I love all of it. Every stroke, her tongue flattening against my underside, her cheeks hollowing out when she sucks hard. I groan her name.
I can’t not watch her, even if it’s only going to make me come sooner.
The sight of her on her knees for me, eyes closed, dark lashes brushing her cheeks, her mouth wrapped around my cock, pleasing me is enough to bring me to my knees.
She finds a rhythm and starts working me faster. I feel a tingle in the base of my spine, my release coming, approaching the edge.
I jerk back suddenly, and she makes a small sound of protest, a pout forming on her swollen lips. She licks them. “Wells, I wasn’t done, I—”
“Need to be inside you.” The words come out guttural, barely recognizable. “Need to come inside you.”
She doesn’t protest when I lift her and carry her, her body sliding against the island in the middle of the pantry.
I sweep aside jars and boxes with one arm, not caring what breaks, set her on the edge, shove her skirt up, and yank her panties to the side.
The urgent need I have for her presses down hard on me.
She’s soaked for me. My girl is always ready to take me.
I push inside in one stroke, and we both groan, the sound echoing in the small space.
She wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, and I drive into her with the same desperation I felt at the office, the same fear that she’s temporary, that I’ll lose her, that I don’t deserve to keep her.
“Look at me,” I demand, and she does, her eyes unfocused and filled with desire, her lips parting. “Stay with me. Stay.”
“I’m here,” she gasps, and her nails dig into my shoulders, anchoring us both. “I’m here, Wells. I’m not going anywhere.”
I fuck her harder, the island edge digging into my hips, her body taking everything I give.
She was made just for me the same as I was made for her.
When she comes, it’s with my name pouring from her lips, her body tightening around me until I follow, spilling into her with a groan that sounds like a prayer.
I keep myself planted inside of her until I’m sure she’s taken every last drop of me, my cock nudged right up against her womb.
Then I collapse on top of her, not giving her all my weight but enough to keep her pinned under me. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in.
Mable’s fingers trace lazy patterns down my spine, unhurried, content.
“Welcome home,” she whispers.
I don’t answer. I’m already thinking about the ring, about making this permanent, about putting a baby in her so she can never leave.
I don’t care what kind of bastard that makes me… I’ll do what I have to. She’ll rule at my side, or I won’t rule at all.