27. Jamison
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JAMISON
My sainthood continued after I survived the hunt with the fucking Bellemeres. I was walking beside Sienna toward breakfast. Voluntarily. This was what affection did to a man. It took a Crow with standards, and dragged him toward a terrace.
Fucking tragic.
The only reason I tolerated it was the woman beside me.
Sienna wore white. A soft white halter dress tied behind her neck. I approved violently.
It would look better on my floor. Better still bunched around her waist while she panted, my hands holding her open and my mouth between her thighs until she forgot every Bellemere tradition waiting outside.
Instead, she was taking me to breakfast with her family. I caught her wrist before we reached the terrace steps and pulled her back against me.
She collided with my chest,her hands landed against my shirt.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Considering a delay for breakfast.”
Her mouth curved. “Delaying breakfast?”
“Your dress caused it.”
Her cheeks pinked.
I lowered my mouth to her ear. “Can I take it off later?”
“Jamison.”
“Yes, baby?”
“We’re going to breakfast.”
“I am aware. I have been suffering for several minutes.”
“You look fine.”
“I look controlled. Different thing.”
Her breath caught when my hand moved from her wrist to her waist. I held her there, close enough that her back pressed into my front, and ruined every remaining intention I had to be civilized.
“I’ve been thinking about that dress since I saw it hanging in our room,” I murmured.
“Our room?”
She caught that.
Clever girl.
“Our room,” I said again.
Her pulse moved fast at her throat.
I dragged my thumb slowly over the soft fabric at her waist. “I want to pull these little ties loose. Put you on the bed.”
Her lips parted.
Fucking beautiful.
Then a child shrieked somewhere beyond the terrace.
“Come on,” she said, breathless.
I stared at the path ahead. “Children. Excellent. The day has developed pests.”
“They’re my nieces and nephews.”
“Still pests.”
“They love me.”
“That is what worries me.”
She smiled, slipped her hand into mine, and led me toward the terrace as if I had not just discussed eating her for breakfast.
Maybe sainthood had limits and I had passed mine twenty paces back.
The Bellemeres saw us arrive.
Conversation thinned instantly.
Pleasant.
The breakfast terrace overlooked the lake. White awnings cast shade over a long table set with silver pots, ridiculous amount of food.
Her father sat at the head. Her mother beside him.
Julian near one side with his wife and children.
Adrian farther down, already watching me.
Sabine sat with her husband Henri, one hand wrapped around a glass of orange juice, her little daughter half under her chair with a stuffed rabbit.
Liora and Amabel were there too, husbands beside them, children scattered in chairs.
Every adult tried to look normal.
Every adult failed.
They were terrified of me and hiding it poorly.
It pleased me greatly.
I pulled out Sienna’s chair.
Several eyes moved to my hand on the back of it.
Sienna looked at me, faint surprise crossing her face.
I waited until she sat, then moved her chair in slightly, hand resting on her bare shoulder for one second longer than necessary. Her skin was warm. The halter tie sat at the nape of her neck. One pull. One. The whole dress would surrender.
I sat beside her before my restraint became fictional.
“Good morning,” her father said, tense. Alive because I had chosen mercy in the forest.
“Bellemere,” I replied.
His wife’s hand tightened around her teacup.
Excellent.
Sienna glanced at me, a warning in her eyes.
I adjusted my tone. “Good morning.”
A pause moved through the table.
Apparently, manners from me created shock.
Adrian lowered his coffee and stared at me. Julian looked at Sienna.
I ignored all of them and reached for Sienna’s cup.
“Coffee?”
She blinked. “Yes, please.”
I made her coffee exactly right. Then I filled her small plate before she could reach across the table.
Reasonable, I reminded myself.
I was being reasonable.
Sienna picked up the pastry and took a small bite. Her eyes closed for half a second. The edge of her mouth curved. “Very surprising.”
“Nothing about me is surprising.”
“That is untrue.”
I leaned a little closer. “Name one thing.”
Her gaze flicked to my mouth.
Just once..
“You came back from the hunt with my father alive.”
“Generous of me.”
“And you came to breakfast.”
“Heroic.”
She smiled and before I could continue seducing my fiance.
An invasion began.
The first child appeared beside Sienna’s chair without warning. A small girl with dark curls, round cheeks, and a yellow ribbon, clutching a stuffed rabbit by one ear.
“Aunt Sienna.”
Sienna lit up. “Good morning, Mila.”
The child climbed straight onto Sienna’s lap.
No request.
I stared in horror.
My fiancée had been invaded, and I had no plan for this.
Flicking small children away from her seemed frowned upon.
Their fingers were sticky. One little hand landed on the skirt of the white dress.
Another grabbed Sienna’s necklace. The child settled her half chewed old rabbit between herself and Sienna’s chest as if establishing territory.
A boy appeared next. Then another girl. Then one smaller child with jam near his mouth.
They swarmed.
I couldn’t flick theme all back.
Where was security. At the very least staff.
The boy looked at me from beside Sienna’s knee. “Are you Aunt Sienna’s Crow?”
The whole table went silent. As if the child had just stood on a land mine.
“Yes.” I answered.
The boy nodded. “Can you fly?”
“No.”
Mila pressed herself closer to Sienna and glared at me. “Mine.”
What.
I stared at the tiny bellemere.
“Mine,” I corrected.
Every adult at the table reacted. Sienna turned pink. “Jamison.”
“What?”
“You can’t fight a child.”
“She started it.”
Mila tightened her arms around Sienna’s neck. “Mine.”
I leaned back in my chair. “We’ll revisit after coffee.”
The smaller girl, Nell, climbed onto the edge of Sienna’s lap too, which was unreasonable. Sienna adjusted both children with the competence of someone who had been used as a climbing frame for years. Her dress rode up slightly over one thigh.
My gaze dropped.
Her father coughed.
I looked at him.
He studied his coffee.
Wise.
Mila reached across Sienna and touched my wrist. “You’re scary.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you like Honey?”
She held out the rabbit.
I looked at it.
It had one ear slightly crushed, and the resigned face of a creature that had seen too much.
“No.”
Sienna’s foot brushed mine under the table.
I corrected. “He appears durable.”
“He is.” Mila peered at my hand. “Why do you have drawings?”
“Tattoos.”
The boy leaned closer. “Do you have children?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t married Sienna.”
Sienna choked on her coffee.
I placed one hand between her shoulder blades, rubbing once while she recovered. The table stayed frozen in collective horror. Good. Let them hear it. I had spent three years refusing to say anything at tables. Now I was making up for time.
“Will your children be with Aunt Sienna?” the boy asked.
“Tomas,” Julian said sharply.
Tomas ignored him. “Because we have odd numbers for the children’s game. If you have one, can you bring it next retreat?”
I considered the child.
“I’ll review production timelines.”
Sienna made a strangled sound. “Jamison.”
“What?”
“You cannot say production timelines about babies.”
“Fine. I’ll review the request.”
Mila tapped the Crow dialect across my knuckles with one finger. “What do the weird words say?”
“Crow dialect.”
“I don’t know Crow dialect.” She butchered the word dialect, but I admired the attempt.
“I would be deeply concerned if you did.”
“What does it say?”
Sienna’s gaze moved to my hand. The children waited. Adults waited too, pretending otherwise. I placed my hand flat on the table so Mila could trace the ink without pulling at me. Her little finger moved over the black lines near my thumb.
“It says vengeance for my parents. Blessing over the blood. Protection for those who remain. It is a mark Crows receive when both parents are lost to war,” I continued. “A blessing and a promise.”
“Your mom and dad are gone?”
“Yes.”
Her grip tightened on Honey. “I have my rabbit for when Dad goes away to Harrington for work. I hate when he leaves.”
Her father, Henri, looked up sharply from farther down the table.
Something in Mila’s little face caught me at the wrong angle. She looked like Sienna.
Henri stood halfway. “Mila, darling, come down. Stop annoying your aunt.”
“She isn’t annoying her,” I looked at the child. “Are you?”
Mila shook her head.
Sienna’s mouth softened beside me. Wonderful. Now I was defending children.
This retreat was degenerative.
The children asked about frogs next. Too many details. Apparently, a morning lake walk involved searching for them in reeds and whispering because frogs, according to Tomas, hated “big noises and bad shoes.” Nell insisted Aunt Sienna had promised. Mila insisted Aunt Sienna had promised twice.
Sienna kissed Mila’s hair. “I did promise. After breakfast.”
“Can Crow come?” Tomas asked.
Every adult looked at me again.
Sienna did too.
My instinct said no. Strongly. Frogs were wet, pointless little things in a lake that was trying to steal my woman.
Sienna’s fingers slipped under the table and brushed mine.
Ah.
Tactics.
“He can come,” Mila said, deciding for everyone, “but he can’t fly. That scares frogs.”
“I’ll restrain myself.”
“Do Crows eat frogs?” Nell asked.
“No.”
Mila shifted, nearly sliding off Sienna’s lap, and I caught her before she could take Sienna’s dress with her. I lifted the child, set her on her feet, then moved Nell down after her. Efficient. Gentle enough that Sienna gave me a look I liked.
I immediately pulled Sienna’s chair closer to mine.
She gave a tiny gasp when the chair legs slid over stone.
The children ran off toward Sabine.
Sienna looked at the reduced distance between our chairs. “You’re jealous of children.”
“I’m managing resource allocation.”
“My lap is a resource?”
“Mine.”