33. Paul
PAUL
CHOICES
Istop in the kitchen doorway and spot two of my three sons licking cake beaters and scraping pink frosting from a mixing bowl amidst silly laughter and shoulder-check violence my smallest son doesn’t shy away from.
I clear my throat and draw Koda’s eyes until he presents me with a nose messy with pink frosting, while more circles his grinning lips. But then I look to Mav.
Because he’s who I need answers from.
“Where is she?”
A single sharp brow lifts high above his left eye, and because he’s not done with the half-clean beater—and Koda wants it—he presses a palm to his little brother’s face and pushes him away. “She, who?” he teases. “La Bruja, or Adelita?”
I remain silent. Waiting. Because we both know who I’m asking about.
Finally, he tips his chin toward the north side of our property. “That way.”
“Thanks.” I back out of the doorway and stride along the hall.
I go in search of the woman who has given herself for her family, no matter the cost. She’s sacrificed more than any woman should ever have to sacrifice, and it burns me that instead of showing Scarlett the devoted, selfless mother she is, she’s shown nothing but hate and fire. A woman to fear. A person to avoid.
Not a woman to respect or admire.
Both of which, she deserves.
I hate that my wife is hurting. I loathe that the woman I love, the fucking goddess she is, has presented a side of herself that isn’t, and shouldn’t be, how she’s remembered.
To be intimidating is helpful in war. But to be revered is to be immortal.
Arabella Jameson deserves to be loved, not dreaded. Cherished, not avoided.
I follow the hall all the way to the massive double glass doors, where the view is normally that of a glistening pool in the foreground and beautiful mountains in the distance.
But today, my view comprises a worried mother, and a hundred feet on the other side of the pool, the son she worries for most.
Swallowing, I detour to a closet and snag a jacket for my stubborn wife, then I tip my chin to send men scattering.
They do their jobs, and they do them well.
They guard Arabella with their lives and would throw themselves toward death if it meant saving her first, but now that I’m here, they clear out.
Opening the glass door and stepping into the icy chill, I lay a coat over Arabella’s shoulders and frown when my touch startles her.
She’s never startled, because she’s never caught unaware.
“You need to breathe, baby.” I drape my arm over her shoulders and pull her in until she turns to the side and lays her cheek on my chest. “You’re distracted.
Emotional.” I peek out at my son leading his horse across the expanse of our property, Jasper’s rein in his hand, while sitting atop the beast, Scarlett beams so large, I can see her smile from all the way over here.
I suppose all it took to make her feel at home was to give her a horse.
Every small girl dreams of getting a pony someday.
“He likes her.” Like the thought brings her dread, Arabella tips her head back and searches my eyes. “It scares me.”
“Because he was our first?” I choke out a throaty laugh and drag her back in. The closer we come to evening, the colder it gets out here. “He’s older than you were when we fell in love. Much older.”
“In love?” Scoffing, she shakes her head as far as my chest will allow. “No. She’s fun and pretty. And he’s already shown a complete lack of common sense lately.”
“Arabella—”
“He went back to Richard’s world! After we pulled out, after everything we did to sever the ties between us, my son just… he went back,” she exhales. “Jesus, Paul. Where did we go wrong?”
“I don’t know that we did.” I press a kiss to her temple and hide my smile, because as Scarlett’s laughter floats on the breeze, Arabella’s shoulders grow more tense. “We raised a good man, baby. We raised him to be strong and brave. To care about others more than he cares about himself.”
“So that’s where we screwed up.” Her voice crackles with an ache so deep, I feel it in my chest. “To care about others is admirable. But to care about them more than he cares about himself? That’s why he’s brought her…
that…” She struggles to find the right word.
“Her! He brought her here, Paul! And now he’s putting her stupid drama ahead of his own safety. Ahead of our safety!”
“Drama?” I firm my lips and pull back to search her eyes. “I’m gonna need you to shake yourself, baby.”
“Paul—”
“Her life was in danger! I’d hardly call it drama.”
“She killed her ex-boyfriend! Will you seriously stand here and pretend that doesn’t bother you?”
“Well—”
“She’s a black widow spider. She enjoys her lovers, takes what she needs, and then she disposes of them. Stop acting like our son isn’t her next—”
“Her next, what?” I challenge. “Her lover? Probably. Her protector? Definitely. But her victim? No.”
“Don’t be so na?ve! Of course she—”
“Don’t be so close-minded,” I counter, though my tone is far gentler than hers.
“She has not left a trail of dead men in her wake, babe. It was one man, one time, and we’ve seen the police reports.
You called that detective and spoke to him yourself.
That bastard hurt her. Bad. What she did was self-defense. ”
“Torturing a man is not self-defense!” She pulls away with a growl.
“According to our very own son, that woman and her brother debased Roy Daniels. They destroyed him. They picked him apart until there was nothing left but the carcass of a man who deserved prison bars.” She stares angrily out at the woman who turned twenty-six years old today.
“I could’ve bought her story that she was an abused woman—”
“Could have?”
“But the punishment doesn’t fit.” Stubborn, she brings fiery eyes back to me. “We know abuse. I know abuse. I needed escape, not a fucking toolkit and retribution.”
“You don’t get to decide what every other abused woman should look like, babe! You don’t get to decide how they act. And you sure as shit don’t get to discredit her response to abuse, not when yours wasn’t some kind of impulsive explosion, either.”
“Paul—”
“You took the time to plan. We took the time to plan. To steal millions of dollars. To destroy Richard’s empire on the way out the door.
We had time to create an army and sift through his loyalists versus yours.
We had time, and we were not sorry to hear that old prick is dead.
” I point blindly across the expanse of our property.
“She wasn’t alone that day Roy Daniels died.
She was with her brother, and her brother is most of the reason your abuser is dead.
If the roles were reversed, or if we had a daughter who needed help, don’t act like Sebastion wouldn’t hold that prick down and talk her through slicing his veins open.
Let’s not pretend I wouldn’t do the same for you.
Or that Bastion wouldn’t do it for any of us. ”
“But he—”
“You want a reason to hate her.” I step forward and capture my wife’s wrists in my hands.
If I don’t, she might hit me. “Believe it or not, but I’m pretty sure most good moms go through these emotions when her first-born son brings a woman home.
It’s your right to be pissy about it. To want to know for certain that she’s good enough for him.
But in the end, it was our job to raise him right, so when the time came, he would choose well.
You don’t get to decide for him, baby.” I tug her closer and pin her against my chest. “You don’t get to torment that poor woman and expect him to still think you hung the moon and the stars.
” I tilt her head back and search her eyes.
“As your husband, it’s my job to warn you off this path you’re heading down.
If you keep coming at her the way you have been, you’ll ruin the relationship you’ve spent thirty years building with him. ”
“Which is surely more proof she’s wrong for him.” She wriggles and attempts to break free of my grip. “The right woman wouldn’t cause this trouble between mother and son.”
“You mean like how my mother told me to walk away from you?”
Her cheeks turn impossibly pale.
“Like how she knew I was working, but not where, and not for who. She knew I’d fallen in love, and that the situation was tense, so she told me to bail out. You weren’t worth the drama.”
Her lower lip trembles and shakes. “She said that?”
“Mmhm.” And other, worse stuff. “She demanded I come home, Arabella. Called me stupid for leading with my dick, because she was certain you were nothing more than a harlot shaking her ass for soldiers.”
She gulps.
“My mother pushed and pushed and pushed, baby. She refused to hear me when I said I would see the situation through, and later, when I told her I’d fallen in love, she laughed and called it hormones.
Dumb boy hormones. Kinda like how my dad went to war a loving, devoted father, but he came home with a whole other family.
Those wartime sluts,” I lower my voice, mocking the woman who gave me life.
“She wouldn’t let up, and she was sure she knew better. ”
Instead of pulling away, Arabella inches closer and strokes my jaw with the pads of her fingers. “All this time, and you never told me?”
“Tell you what?” I force a chuckle along my throat. “A bitter woman decided she didn’t like you, which was pretty foolish, since she didn’t even know you. She made me choose, baby. She told me what was at stake and warned me there would be no going back.”
Soft, traitorous tears fill her eyes. “Paul…”