Chapter Twenty-Four
In which Scarlett has drinks with the girls and Wallace burns down a lot of stuff.
Scarlett…
Two days later…
Imagine being so swept up by a man’s relentless ability to bring you to orgasm that it takes a full forty-eight hours to remember, “Oh, crap. We haven’t been using condoms! Is he clean?”
If Morgan was here, she’d yell at me and then punch me in the boob. I deserve it. I should punch myself in the boob. Probably the right one because the left one is still sore from Wallace biting my nipple last night.
Instead, I find him in his office. “I have to address something that’s making me question my IQ.”
“It’s high, lass. One hundred and thirty, I’m guessing.” He’s looking at specs for a building on his monitor and I’m guessing he’s got a job to do.
“That’s nice, but it took me until today for it to really hit me that we have been having unprotected sex.”
Frowning, he leans back in his chair. “I’m clean. I’ve never fecked without a condom before.”
“Ever?” My voice goes up to a pitch high enough to attract seagulls.
“No.” His lovely amber eyes are warm.
“I’m clean,” I say, trying to recover my momentum. “And on birth control.”
“I know.”
“What the hell?” I remember the report. The thorough report.
“Did you dig through my OB/GYN records?” I sit down abruptly on the couch.
“Does the Chieftain of the MacTavish Mafia know I’ve got a birth control implant in my arm?
That my periods aren’t regular? About that mole on my left arm that my doctor told me to get looked at? ”
“No. I edited what I gave him. That’s nobody’s fecking business but mine, though I dinnae know about the mole. Are ye okay?” He toying with his computer mouse, acting like this was all fine.
“Fine,” I say impatiently. “What if I wasn’t on birth control?”
“We’d get a morning after pill and an appointment with an OB/GYN,” he says reasonably.
“I’ve had very little control over anything in my life recently,” my voice breaks a little. “Getting pregnant before I was- we were ready would be so bad.”
Wallace comes over to me, squatting gracefully to look in my eyes. “Little Cinder, that will always be your choice and under your control, aye? I agree that being less than a week into our marriage is not an opportune time to have a baby. But when you’re ready, I like bairns. As many as ye want.”
The man who pinned me to the door while he told me all the terrifying reasons that would compel me to marry him is now also the one telling me he’d never trick me into getting pregnant.
That I have agency.
I kiss him, breath mingling. He tastes of mint and that terrible scotch he loves. His thick arm goes around my back pulling me closer until he pulls away, groaning.
“We canna do this.” He drops his head to my chest. “Your bodyguard will be at the door in less than five minutes, and then… we must discuss the cousins.”
He says it with such bleak resignation that I have to laugh, cupping his face and kissing him one last time. “Let’s go do all those things. Then we’ll do all the fun things tonight.”
That gets him going, his devilish smile reappears.
As if on cue, the doorbell rings.
“Why do I need a bodyguard?” Wallace is heading for the door, holding my hand.
“Because ye will always need protection. It’s not safe in this world.”
“I didn’t have one at home.”
“Manny Collins,” he says, hand on the doorknob.
“Who?”
“That’s the guard your Wicked Steps hired to follow you whenever you left the house,” he says, watching my expression. “They were never going to let you go.”
What the hell is in that report?
Gio Costa is a perfectly pleasant person. He looks Italian, speaks with a British accent and apparently, served in the Special Forces with Lucas Stewart.
“He’s married to Catriona.” He smiles at my confusion. “Oldest daughter of Cormac and Mala. Lucas built his own private security firm, the MacTavishes hire us upon occasion.”
“I’m going to make a flow chart of MacTavishes,” I say. “I’m never going to get this straight.”
“You’ll have your chance,” Gio says. “I’m to take you to a MacTavish restaurant in Edinburgh later this afternoon.
Oh, hang on.” He gets up, bringing an opened package over from the table by the door.
“This was delivered to MacTavish International building today; we had to open it as a security procedure.”
“That’s fine.” I put the box on my lap and pluck out the card.
I turn the card over, there’s no signature. “That’s strange. No name?”
“Agreed,” Gio says. “Though it seems like an innocent enough gift.”
It’s a book. Pulling it out of the box, I hold it up to the light. It’s very old, leather-bound with gold print. “Grimm’s Fairy Tales? That’s an odd choice.” I touch the pages carefully; they’re yellowed and fragile.
“Aschenputtel, that’s the Grimm’s version of Cinderella,” I say, looking at the heavy ink illustrations.
“Really?” Gio says, “I’ve never heard of it.”
“The German version is much more… well, for a better word, grim than the fairy tale we’re all used to.
” Putting the book on the table, I brush my hands against my skirt.
“Dad had some quirky associates, but it’s a nice gesture, I guess.
” The book’s heavy, the leather cover is molded into a pattern and the gold leaf of the lettering is flaking just a bit.
There’s a smell to old books that I love, aging parchment, the dusty covers. This one smells… off.
Wallace is back, and wearing a black tactical suit. “What is this?”
“A wedding present from one of my dad’s friends,” I say. “The word about our marriage is definitely out.”
“Ye covered all the security protocols?” he asks Gio.
“Yes, boss. No dangerous powders, poisons, explosive elements. I had them run the book under the scanner, just to be sure I wasn’t missing anything.”
“Excellent, thank ye,” Wallace says, slipping a jacket over his gun holster.
Eyeing his suit, “I see you’re going to be busy tonight, husband,” I say. “Are you flying out?”
“It’s something close.” He gives me a kiss on the top of my head as the doorbell rings again.
“Wallace, ye are in so much trouble.” I turn in my seat to find Logan lounging against the door while two women berate my husband. “Ye know we get first dibs on the wife!” The woman speaking has a beautiful, well-modulated voice and she’s poking my husband in the chest.
“We’ve had a lot going on,” Wallace speaks and signs. “You’ll have plenty of time tonight to tell Scarlett what a disreputable bastard I am.” Turning to me, he says, still using sign language, “Scarlett Banner MacTavish-Taylor, allow me to introduce my cousins. This is Arabella, Logan’s wife.”
“A pleasure,” she beams, coming at me with her hand outstretched. She’s so pretty, long black hair and delicate, almost pocket-sized.
“Thank you, I feel the same.” I shake her hand.
“And this is Sloan, Ethan’s bride.”
“We’re a bit past the bride stage,” she says with a friendly smile.
She’s wildly beautiful to the point that my throat goes dry.
She’s tall, blonde, with amazing eyes that are the color of violets.
“Apologies, we always try to swoop in on a new bride because there are always so. Many. Questions.” She glares at an amused Wallace again.
“Wife, I leave ye in capable hands,” he murmurs, giving me one of his heart-stopping kisses. Not just the quick peck you’d give the missus, but something with passion and just enough pressure to make my lips feel bruised.
Logan immediately sweeps Arabella up in a dramatic kiss while Sloan sighs and checks her watch.
“Is Logan working with you tonight?” I ask quietly.
Logan hears me and answers first. “Aye, Wallace and I are having a boys’ night. The knuckle-brained fart lozenge needs a bit of assistance.”
“Let’s go, ye cock juggling thundercunt,” Wallace says, pulling away from me with a flattering amount of reluctance.
“Is this the standard entourage?”
I'm riding in an armor-plated Maserati SUV with Sloan and Arabella, with Gio riding shotgun. There's also another SUV with tinted windows following us closely. I didn’t count all the giant men squeezed in that car, but it seems like a lot.
“Tensions are high right now,” Sloan says placidly, still signing, her graceful fingers fluttering. I know by now that Arabella has lost her hearing and that everyone in the family immediately learned BSL. Which I will start working on the minute I get home.
“Of course,” Sloan continues, “tensions are always high. I suspect these men wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if we had a long period of peace.”
Arabella laughs, and even that sounds musical.
“Logan would explode. There would be bits and pieces of MacTavish flung from one end of Scotland to the other.” She looks at me with a smile.
“I read lips, so if you’re facing me, there’s no problem.
Knowing Wallace, I’m thinking an extended period of quiet would make him self-immolate? ”
“Oh, good lord, can you imagine?” I shudder. I’ve seen it, felt it too, that barely contained sense of anticipation in Wallace, a flame burning. He’s channeled this obsession into something productive and powerful, but if he doesn’t let it out, it will find a way.
“Okay, wow.”
Not my most clever response but this restaurant, the SkyBox is one of several the MacTavishes own, and it’s essentially a glass cube. It’s perched on top of an old building downtown with a heart-stopping view of Edinburgh Castle, the glass making me feel like we’re floating over the city.
Arabella links arms with me. “Aye, this is one of my favorites.”
One corner of the restaurant is taken over by three women, waving wildly at us as if we’d never find them without the violent gesticulations. I notice there’s a couple of beefy-looking guys in dark suits standing against the wall.
“It’s Bring Your Bodyguard to Work Day, eh?”
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud until one of the girls howls with laughter. “Good one. You’ll get used to it. I’m Afton, welcome to the family.”