33. Sienna
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SIENNA
By the end of the retreat, I had begun dreading returning to Harlan. My bags had already been carried downstairs by staff. Jamison’s were gone before mine, because Reeves ran luggage movement with more authority than most men ran military operations.
I stood beside the bed, watching Jamison fasten his watch. He looked more Crow this morning. Black shirt. Black trousers. Sleeves rolled. Gun holsters. Dark hair still slightly damp from the shower. The relaxed side of him had already vanished, replaced by the polished brutality Harlan expected.
“Come here,” he said.
My body had learned his voice in a way that still embarrassed me. One low command, and I crossed the room as if the floor had been built only for that purpose.
His hand found my waist. “Sore?”
“A little.”
His gaze sharpened. “A little or lying?”
“A little,” I said, softer. “Truly.”
He studied me as if my body might send him a written report. Then his thumb brushed my hip through the fabric, and his expression eased by one small, possessive degree.
“No family heroics today,” he said. “You ride with me. You rest.”
He looked so serious that I laughed, and he kissed me before the sound had finished leaving my mouth.
It was meant to be quick. We had people waiting downstairs.
My mother had already sent enough polite messages asking whether we needed assistance leaving, which meant she was seconds from arriving herself with a clipboard.
But Jamison kissed me slowly enough that the entire morning blurred around the edges.
When he lifted his head, his mouth stayed close to mine. “Stay at my house tonight.”
My heart tripped.
He said it as though it had been decided inside him already.
“My house,” he repeated, because I must have looked dazed. “The old side of Harlan. I don’t want to sleep without you.”
The words went through me in a warm rush that nearly made me foolish.
“You really mean that?”
His face tightened, as if the question hurt. “Yes, baby.”
I nodded before I could make myself be careful. “Okay.”
His hand slid to the back of my neck, and his kiss turned deeper, the sort that made my toes press into the floor and my hands search for something steady. I held onto his shirt. He made a low sound of approval against my mouth.
By the time Reeves knocked downstairs, once, Jamison looked as if he was considering cancelling Harlan.
“We have to go,” I whispered.
“No.”
“Jamison.”
He kissed me again, then drew back with visible resentment.
“My convoy and, my house tonight. Promise.”
“I promise.”
I smiled softly.
That answer seemed to settle something violent inside him. He kissed my forehead, took my hand, and led me down the stairs.
The driveway outside House Alder was full of cars.
Black Crow vehicles in a line, Bellemere cars behind them, staff moving with quiet precision.
My family had gathered near the gravel sweep for goodbyes.
Children ran around legs, cousins hugged, aunts cried as if the retreat had been a tragic voyage rather than four weeks of lake activities and overcatering.
Mila threw herself at Jamison’s leg.
He looked down at her. “No.”
She wrapped both arms around him. “Bye, Uncle Jamison.”
His face went still in the way I had come to understand meant he had been defeated.
He rested one hand on her head. “Goodbye, Mila.”
“And Honey,” she said, holding up the rabbit.
Jamison glanced at the stuffed rabbit. “Goodbye, Honey.”
Mila beamed as if a king had knighted her.
My mother kissed my cheek and examined my face for evidence. Sabine hugged me gently, whispering that I looked different, and Henri gave Jamison a nod that carried a conversation I couldn’t hear. Adrian hugged me last.
“Text when you’re back,” he murmured.
“I will.”
His eyes moved to Jamison, then back to me. “You sure?”
I looked at Jamison standing by the car, one hand on the open door, watching me as if every second away from him was an inconvenience he intended to correct.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
Adrian’s jaw worked once, but he kissed my hair and let me go.
Jamison handed me into the car himself.
The inside smelled of leather, smoke, and him. The windows were tinted dark enough that the entire world outside became softened into shapes. Another car pulled ahead. Then another. The convoy started down the long drive, away from House Alder.
The drive back to Harlan would take five hours if traffic behaved. Nearly six if the city choked itself, which it usually did near evening.
I sat beside him properly for the first twenty minutes. Then his hand settled on my thigh. I leaned into him. His mouth brushed my temple.
After that, dignity gave up.
I ended up curled against his side, my legs tucked under me, my head on his shoulder while the countryside moved past in green and gold blurs.
He worked for a while with one arm around me and his phone in the other hand, answering messages with short replies that made men on the other end speak faster.
I listened to the low rhythm of his voice, the clipped Harlan tone was back.
But between calls, he kissed me.
Every time.
A kiss to my forehead. A kiss to my mouth. Once, when I shifted and winced, a kiss to my temple paired with a look so stern that I nearly apologized for my own body.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
“You’re sore.”
“I’m happy.”
That made his face change.
He stared at me for a second too long, then pulled me across his lap and kissed me until I forgot the road, and every version of myself that had once believed Jamison Crow would never look at me.
The hours went soft.
I kissed him because I could. Every time I touched his wrist, he looked at my hand as if it still shocked him to be wanted there.
We made out lazily while Harlan drew closer mile by mile. Sometimes he would tug my lower lip between his. His hand would slide into my hair and hold me still while he took the kiss deeper.
I tucked my face beneath his jaw and rest there, listening to his heart, feeling ridiculous and adored.
His phone ruined the last hour.
It began with one call. Then another. Reeves’ name appeared. Then Harrison. Then someone saved only as DOCK EAST, which seemed ominous enough that I lifted my head from Jamison’s chest.
He looked at the screen and swore under his breath.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Answer.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. “Stay here.”
“I’m in a moving car.”
“Still.”
I smiled and rested against him while he answered.
His voice changed instantly. Harder. The man I had spent the drive kissing disappeared beneath the Crow who ruled Harlan with his brothers.
“Say it again,” he ordered.
The voice on the other end was too low for me to make out. Jamison’s jaw tightened.
“No. They had forty-eight hours. They can bleed for ignoring it.”
I glanced down at my own phone for the first time in ages, partly to give him privacy and partly because the incoming Veil notifications had begun stacking across my screen.
Retreat photos. Family accounts. Cousins tagging goodbye posts. Someone had posted a video of Jamison during rowing. Then another notification slid over it. Bellemere Dynasty Correspondence: Formal Release Documents Available.
I stared at the words. My stomach tightened, but the feeling was distant at first. Formal release could mean anything.
Jamison’s voice stayed low beside me. “Tell Marcel to hold that vote until I arrive. No one signs without me.”
I opened the message.
The document header filled my screen.
Bellemere-Crow Merger Amendment: Release of Original Bride Designation.
For several seconds, I could not read past that. Outside, the city edges had begun to gather. Harlan’s outer estates. Tree-lined roads. Stone walls. The first glimpse of towers in the distance, and dark against late afternoon sky.
I forced myself to keep reading.
Released from all bride obligations.
No longer required to attend Crow family contract events.
Prior token ring rendered ceremonial and void.
Future obligation transferred under amended bride designation.
My breath went very quiet. There was an attached file.
A formal Bellemere seal. A Crow countersignature block. Dated the first night of the retreat.
The first night.
I clicked out of the document because my vision had blurred and Veil sat behind it, still open.
A post had risen near the top of my feed from some Harlan society archive account.
The photo loaded slowly.
Veyr House.
Black marble. Harrison beside a woman I didn’t recognize. Marcel and Emmie near the stairs.
And Jamison.
Jamison standing in black, expression remote, with Celeste Bellemere beside him. Her hand rested on his forearm.
The caption read: Jamison Crow attends first formal appearance under amended Bellemere bride designation. Celeste Bellemere received by the Crow family at Veyr House.
The date was the night the retreat began. The night before he came to House Alder. My body went cold from the inside outward.
Jamison was still on the phone, still holding me against him as if I belonged there. Every kiss in this car hadn’t become a joke the second my screen lit up. I looked at the picture until it stopped making sense.
The cousin I had hugged at the lake. The woman he had kept warning away with that strange coldness I had mistaken for Jamison being Jamison.
He was engaged to Celeste. Maybe everyone had known except me. I closed the document.
Locked my phone.
Placed it carefully in my lap.
Jamison ended the call and looked down at me. “Baby?”
I lifted my face.
I had been trained for rooms full of watching people. Training was a terrible thing until you needed it.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “With work?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll handle it.”
I nodded.
He studied me for one second too long. “You went quiet.”
“I’m tired.”
He softened at once, which was cruel in a way he probably couldn’t imagine. “Come here.”