Chapter 30 #3
"Kitchen. Now," I ordered, my voice dropping like a heavy iron gavel. "Not another word until I come downstairs."
I shut the door before he could stammer a thank you, the lock clicking home with a sharp, final snick.
I let out a sharp, frustrated huff and moved to my wardrobe. I was no longer the woman of the morning; I was a woman of action. I slid into dark jeans and pulled a burgundy cashmere jumper over my head.
"Sit down, Alex," I said, my voice a firm, quiet command as she began to scramble out of bed.
She blinked, lowering herself back onto the edge of the mattress.
I reached into a separate drawer and pulled out a stack of fresh fabric—slim-fit jeans and a soft, dark blue jumper. I set them down beside her.
She bit her lip, a hiss of pain escaping as the movement tugged at the broken skin I had claimed last night. She stared at the clothes, her eyes widening. "You bought these for me? You have clothes for me here?"
I didn't answer immediately. I knelt between her knees, cupping her face. My thumb brushed gently over her wounded lip, my eyes darkening as I inspected the vivid violet bruises scattered across her neck.
"I like the idea of you having everything you need under my roof," I murmured, my voice softening into a possessive purr.
I leaned in, pressing a ghost of a kiss to her lip.
"I'm not going to force you to stay up here like a secret, Alex.
I won't hide you away. But you are marked, and my brother is an idiot. If you want to stay here, under the covers where it’s safe, you can. "
Her gaze flicked from the blue jumper to my eyes, the hesitation melting into something fierce. "I don't want to hide," she said, her voice steadying. "If you'll let me... I’d like to go down with you."
A profound warmth settled behind my ribs—the sheer satisfaction of watching her step into her own strength. "Good girl," I said smoothly. "Get dressed, darling. Let’s go remind my brother who this house actually belongs to."
In the kitchen, Richard was hunched over the dining table, clutching at his skull. As we entered, he looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of us.
I did not give him a chance to speak. I guided Alex to the island, my hand resting firmly and possessively on the small of her back. I pulled out a bar stool, ensuring she was seated comfortably—a clear, physical boundary between her and the mess of a man at my dining table.
I ignored him entirely, moving with practiced grace to make coffee. I didn't hide my affection; I reached over to brush a stray lock of hair away from a particularly dark mark on Alex’s shoulder, my fingers lingering there for a second longer than necessary.
I set a fresh latte in front of her, offering her a soft, private warmth before turning to address the intruder. The warmth vanished instantly. I looked at Richard, my expression flattening into cold, terrifyingly professional indifference. I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.
"You’re lucky Alex has a kinder heart than I do," I said, my voice cutting through the hum of the refrigerator. "Because left to my own devices, you’d be calling a taxi to a hostel right now."
Richard swallowed hard, looking smaller than he had this morning. "I... I appreciate it. Truly. And I'm sorry, again. To both of you."
"You should be," I replied, my voice dropping an octave. "You are here as a guest under very specific conditions. You will stay in the guest room. You will clean up after yourself. And most importantly..."
I moved to Alex’s side, resting a hand on her hip, my fingers curling into the soft wool of her jumper.
"...You will show Alex the respect she is owed. This is not a guest house to her. This is a home. If I hear one more comment, or see one more 'look,' you are gone. No second chances. Do I make myself clear?"
Richard nodded vigorously. "Crystal clear, CC. I promise."
I looked down at my girl. "Are you alright, darling? Do you need anything else?"
She shook her head, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic of her mug.
"Well, I’ll make you lunch, darling," I said, a genuine, soft expression existing only for her.
I pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, my lips grazing the edge of the mark I had left there—a quiet, public claim.
I turned toward the fridge, humming under my breath, beginning to prep ingredients with fluid, confident movements.
The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of chopping, leaving the two of them in a heavy, awkward silence.
"So," Richard started, his voice tentative as he tried to catch Alex’s eye. "How long have you two... known each other? You work at the University too?"
"I don't work at the University," Alex said, her voice steady. "I work at a bar."
"A bartender?" Richard blinked, a flash of judgment flickering—until he caught the way my knife hit the cutting board with a fraction more force. He winced, quickly correcting himself. "I mean, that's cool. Busy night last night, I bet. New Year’s Eve and all."
"It was a very long night," she replied.
Richard looked at her new jumper, then at me, struggling to do the math. "Right. Well. It’s nice, CC. You’ve always had... specific taste."
I did not look up from the stove. "She isn't taste, Richard. She’s the person who keeps me sane. Try to remember that before you open your mouth again."