Clearing her throat awkwardly, Morana nods. “I will. Thank you. I- I mean, it was nice to talk to you, and…”
Chuckling lightly, I rescue her. “It was very nice to talk to you, wife.”
“Will you be home soon?” I can tell it costs her to ask this.
“Aye, tomorrow, hopefully. If everything goes to plan.”
“All right,” she smiles. It’s soft, and hopeful and it makes my heart twinge a bit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And I want to start our self-defense lessons again!”
“We will,” I say, trying to will down my cock, already perkin’ up at the thought of wrestling with her. “Goodnight, wife.”
“Goodnight, husband.”
Ending the call and cleaning myself up, I watch the lights of the city for another hour. Morana still has a role to play before finally being rid of her father, and I’m fighting the guilt that surges up when I think of it.
Chapter Fourteen
In which we meet the most terrifying mother-in-law in the United Kingdom.
Morana…
It’s Day Eight of Operation Bad Cat and he’s finally on my lap, purring his croaky, rusty purr as I stroke over his matted fur. I’m sitting on the swing in the garden, feeling his warmth on my lap and wondering if this was how my mother felt.
Bored.
I don’t have many pictures of her, my father took them all down. But Valentina, my nanny had found some old photos of my mother and put them into a little album for me. I used to look at them and wonder what she was doing when that picture was taken. Working in the garden? Reading in our library? Hiding from my father?
The life of a Bratva wife is typically a dismal one. Parties, overseeing a household that already had a housekeeper, a cook, and an army of maids. Shopping. I like to believe that my mother and I would have been close, that we would have spent time together, and I could make her proud of me.
While I don’t know much about the roles of wives in the Scottish Mafia, I hope they’re more interesting than mine. I got the sense that Mala played a more important role in clan business. Without any further word from Cameron about returning to finish my degree, I’m rudderless. There’s nowhere I can go, no one to talk to, aside from Miss Kevin who has a full life outside of entertaining my bored self.
When she gave me that phone last night, there were only three numbers programmed in it; hers, Hamish’s, and my husband’s. My face warms up as I think about our conversation last night. Phone sex was an abrupt escalation in our relationship, but it felt like another building block was placed on our shaky foundation.
I wonder if I could get Mala’s number?
Bad Cat digs his claws into me to indicate that he wants off my lap and then leaps free, streaking back under the lavender bush.
Miss Kevin is speed-walking down the path from the house. “Madame MacTavish? The Lady MacTavish is here to see you.”
“Do you mean Mala?”
“No.” Her face is pale, who could possibly be scary enough to alarm our implacable butler? “Lady Elspeth MacTavish.”
“You mean, Cameron’s mother?” I ask hoarsely.
“Indeed, please come with me.”
Wiping cat hair off my black skirt as fast as I can, I head up the path at a near-gallop to keep up with her. “Tell me what I need to know!” I gasp, “How do I address her? Is she scary? She’s terrifying, isn’t she? You look like you’re about to wet yourself and you’re the head of staff for an organized crime kingpin!”
We’re at the kitchen door and she spins, smoothing my hair. I’m wondering if she’s going to wet her thumb with her spit and clear a smudge off my cheek.
“Address her as Lady MacTavish until invited to address her otherwise. Smile, but don’t smile too much, she hates people toadying up to her. You’re the wife of a MacTavish, so straighten your shoulders and remember it!” The kindly, calm Miss Kevin has been replaced by a wide-eyed doppelganger who sounds like she’s sending me into battle.
If possible, I’m more terrified now.
Lady Elspeth MacTavish is seated in the drawing room, though I didn’t know it was called that and have passed it maybe once. There is a full tea set in front of her with macarons and little sandwiches.
Wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt, I smile, trying to remember not to make it too wide. “Lady MacTavish, it’s a pleasure- honor- it’s lovely to meet you. I’m-”
