Chapter 1 In This House #2
“Prince Casimir!” Her voice climbed three octaves on the last syllable.
“I can tolerate you reorganizing my spices by hue and realigning every can label toward magnetic north. I didn’t even complain when you arranged the silverware by metallurgic composition!
” Her crooked index finger pointed to the handle of the knife now garnishing the waffles.
“But to touch my Wüsthof Classic? That, sir, is an act of war!”
My eyes darted between Mrs. Wentzel’s flushed face and Casimir’s impassive one. My pulse sped up instinctively at the confrontation. Years with Arabesque had taught me to fear raised voices, but something about the way the brothers remained calm told me this wasn’t truly dangerous.
Still, I scooted my chair a little closer to Zane.
Casimir blinked at the accusation, not a hint of reaction on his face. The silence stretched before a faint scraping sound made us all turn. Koa sat hunched over his plate, butter knife rasping against his toast. His shoulders stiffened under four stares.
Mrs. Wentzel inhaled sharply enough to suck the tablecloth against the platter of bacon.
“YOU.”
The toast shattered in Koa’s hand.
“It was an accident!”
“That implies you didn’t spend three hours grinding it down to a butter knife,” Zane snorted.
“Apologies, Mrs. Wentzel.” Koa muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “The rhythm centers me.”
“He means sharpening things is how he meditates,” Zane stage-whispered to me. “Like monks with sand gardens, but stabbier.”
“I don’t understand. What happened?” I asked. “What’s a versed toff?”
Mrs. Wentzel’s eyes snapped to me, then gestured toward the waffle stack.
“That is what’s left of my best meat cleaver!”
I couldn’t help it; a giggle bubbled up from my chest. I quickly covered my mouth, but Mrs. Wentzel had already heard.
“I promise it won’t happen again.” Koa somehow looked both contrite and proud of his handiwork.
“At least not to the same cleaver,” Zane laughed, then leaned across the table to whisper, “Last week, it was one of the landscaper’s garden trowels. It’s now a scalpel.”
“I’ll order a replacement before the day is out, Mrs. Wentzel.” Casimir’s tone was even and calm. “The finest quality, of course.”
She glared at them all for one more tense moment, her chest heaving with indignation. Then, as suddenly as a summer storm passing, she exhaled and smoothed back the wayward strands of her gray hair. When she turned to me, she wore a sweet smile that wrinkled the corner of her eyes.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Lady Serafina.” Her voice was suddenly warm honey instead of crackling fire. “I’m Dotty Wentzel, head chef here at Evermere.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Addison! Come in here, please.”
“Oh!” I perked up. “Your grandson?”
“Yes, he’s been helping me by bringing in the food platters.” She nodded, aglow with grandmotherly pride.
“I’ve been wanting to meet him, but I haven’t had much opportunity to visit the staff yet. My husbands take a lot of my time and energy.”
Zane sputtered mid-sip, spraying coffee onto his napkin. Koa turned his laugh into an unconvincing cough behind his napkin, shoulders shaking. Even Casimir’s lips twitched at one corner in the barest hint of a smirk.
“What?” I asked with a frown.
Before any of them could answer, a lanky figure appeared in the doorway, hovering like a sparrow unsure whether to land.
The boy was thin with dark curly hair cut close on the sides and enormous black eyes.
He wore a kitchen apron that was far too large for him, and his fingers twisted one corner of it.
“Lady Serafina, this is my grandson, Addison. Addison, this is Lady Serafina.”
His eyes darted up to meet mine for just a moment before fixing on the floor again.
“Hello,” he whispered, a faint Spanish accent in his voice.
His posture, the way his shoulders curled inward to make himself smaller, reminded me of myself during those first terrible weeks after Papa died and Arabesque had locked me in the root cellar for “sniveling too loud.”
Fourteen going on ghost, I thought.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Addison. The food is always so wonderful. You and your grandmother are very talented.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He didn’t look up.
And I knew something awful had happened to this boy.
I could sense it like a bruise beneath the skin.
It wasn’t only in his hesitant speech or the way he stood like he was ready to flee, but also in Mrs. Wentzel’s watchful eyes and the way she positioned herself slightly between him and the rest of us.
“I hope we’ll get to know each other better,” I said, meaning every word. “Maybe you could show me around the kitchen sometime? I love to bake, but I’m not very good at it yet.”
“If you want.” For just a second, Addison’s eyes met mine, a tiny spark of interest there before it was shuttered away.
“That would be lovely. For now, we should get back to work.” Mrs. Wentzel guided him to the doorway, where she spun, brandishing a finger at Koa as she hissed, “One scratch on my new cleaver, and I’ll julienne your spleen!”
As Zane teased Koa about a possible death by chef, a new resolve settled in my heart. I knew what it was like to be small, scared, and alone. Whatever Addison had been through, I would make sure he had at least one friend in this house.
Then Brumous, who had been quietly lying at my feet, shot out from under the table like he’d been launched from a cannon. He raced around the dining room, paws skittering on the hardwood floor, tail held high and tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.
“What in the world?” I gasped.
For the first time since rescuing him, he looked like an actual pup instead of a wounded shadow as he charged around the room, making tight circles around chair legs and diving under the sideboard before coming out on the other side in a blur of gray.
Joy radiated from him in invisible waves, and tears pricked my eyes.
This was healing, real healing, happening right before me!
“Look at him!” I pressed both hands to my mouth as he ricocheted off the furniture. “He’s playing!”
“Zoomies!” Zane crowed, leaping up from his chair. “He’s got the zoomies! Look at him go!”
“Chase him, Zoodle!” I laughed, clapping my hands.
He didn’t even object to the nickname this time. He just grinned wildly and launched himself into the game, running after Brummy while making exaggerated monster noises.
“I’m gonna get you, fur missile!”
Not to be outdone, Koa jumped up, too, circling the table in the opposite direction.
“Cut him off at the pass!”
Brummy yipped with delight as he dodged between their legs in wide figure eights.
FUN! RUN! PLAY! I could almost hear him shouting, and that made me laugh even harder.
Koa crashed into a chair, sending it skidding across the room, Zane knocked over a pitcher of orange juice, and Casimir, still seated, took an unhurried sip of coffee.
The muscle in his jaw pulsed like a trapped heartbeat, though, and his broad thumb traced the gilded rim of the saucer once, twice, before it stilled.
Brummy chose that moment to slam into the sideboard.
The fruit bowl somersaulted through the air, red grapes bouncing off Casimir’s white shirt, and the growl that rumbled from his chest sent delicious shivers down my spine. Not fear, never fear with him, but the electric thrill of watching a thunderstorm contained in skin.
I stood, still laughing as Brummy darted under the table with both Zane and Koa diving after him. As I walked over to Casimir, his gaze tracked me, eyebrows raised in question. I laid my palm on his shoulder to find his muscles pulled taut as a wire.
“Thank you, Simmy.” I brushed my lips against his cheek. Freshly shaved skin glided under my mouth as I breathed in his moonflower scent. “For not murdering them.”
The teacup hit its saucer with a ceramic clink before his arm looped around my waist and pulled me onto his lap.
“You mistake patience for permission, little wife.”
Then his mouth claimed mine, hot and demanding, in a thorough, devastating kiss that made my toes curl inside my new sneakers.
Somewhere beyond the dizzying rush of blood in my ears, Zane whooped, Koa cursed, and Brummy barked. I heard it all as if from a distance, lost in the possessive heat of Casimir’s kiss as I clung to his shoulders and memorized the taste of coffee and patience on my husband’s tongue.
#
Koa Cimmerian
Seri’s laughter skated across the living room, bright and unguarded in a way that made my heart hurt.
I leaned against the doorway, arms folded tight, watching as she knelt beside Brumous.
The dire wolf pup’s paws were comically oversized, thumping against her thighs as she scratched behind his ragged ears.
“Who’s my good boy?” she crooned, dodging a slobbery lick, her gray eyes softened to smoke.
Brummy yipped, tail demolishing a dried flower arrangement on the newly replaced coffee table, the one Zane had shattered after reading Brumous’ memories.
Speaking of the redheaded devil.
“Cas wants a council meeting,” Z said from behind me. “Apparently, our resident fluffball’s plotting world domination via chew toys.”
Should have known.
While Seri had seen Brumous’ zoomies at breakfast as healing progress, Casimir would have seen it only as a new threat. He’d probably been conducting a benefit-risk analysis ever since we left the dining room.
Sure enough, he stood by the library fireplace, posture rigid as a rifle barrel. His gaze tracked Brummy padding in behind Seri, those green eyes narrowing at the pup’s feet. Or rather, the claws clacking at the end of each one.
“We need to discuss the wolf’s long-term viability here,” he said without preamble. “His growth rate alone poses logistical issues. He’s already doubled in size, and Mrs. Wentzel has had to substantially increase her usual meat order.”