I spin. “Yes?”
He glances at the rose, eyes darkening. “My rose.”
I beam.
I rush to him and hand over the pretty single rose.
He accepts it, inhaling the flower deeply as if to claim it. And somehow, the image of Clay Butcher, even in his weekend attire—in jeans, black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, so brutal and alive, holding the fragile single rose—appears more deadly than any normal man would while holding a gun.
“You like it?” I gush. “It’s the main flower for our wedding.”
His smile is smooth and satisfied.
He sets the bloom beside him on the desk. “It’s lovely.” Then, a command: “Ten minutes, little deer. Go to my sons. We will spend the rest of the weekend as a family. You have my word.”
CHAPTER NINE
fawn
Things don't comein threes—I know that now. But three distinct thoughts have been circling like hungry crows through my mind all weekend until this crisp Monday morning while I rock baby Luca against my bare chest, his plush-coloured lips looped around my tender nipple, sucking with the relentless demand only a true Butcher could possess.
Three thoughts:
My foster mother's unexpected appearance on Saturday at the flower market: number one.
The elaborate Juliet bouquet with its peach-white roses sitting wondrously in my marble foyer: number two.
And I never got my damn sausage roll or the Gucci underwear: number three.
So, as Jasmine sashays through the nursery's dusty-blue door with a paper shopping bag clutched in each newly manicured hand, I arch my eyebrows and tip my shoulders questioningly. "I know you get Sundays off, but I didn't expect to wait two whole days for my sausage roll."
"Oh." She freezes mid-step, her hazel-coloured eyes widening. "I thought you were joking about that."
"And the Gucci underwear?" I press, shifting Luca's weight against me.
"Well, I did look." Her lips curve into a mischievous smile. "But I thought we could go together, ya know? Try on some silky lingerie." She rocks her hips in a seductive figure-eight, singing in a husky voice, "For your wedding night."
"Lingerie?"
Can I do that?
Without Sir?
"Yeah. While the boss is at the hotel. I've called the Gucci store in the District Centre, and they'll lock the doors for a private viewing from nine to twelve today."
Oh,I glance down at Luca as he starts to gnaw on my nipple with his wet, gummy mouth, his heavy eyelashes fluttering against chubby cheeks. "I guess you can come with us?" I whisper to him.God,he's breathtaking. At what point does a precious baby like this transform into a hardened man? Is it a slow change, or sudden like flipping a switch? I hope it's incredibly slow, hope I witness every tiny milestone, every adorable hiccup.
"Wait." My eyes snap up to meet hers. "Sir is at a hotel? When? Now?” He’s never in bed when I wake up, but I presumed he was in his office or at his father’s house or one of the outer wings where he does business.
"At his hotel. The one where the rehearsal dinner is booked? With the hunky doormen. It’s next to the ballroom where you’re getting married, and it's where the Family will be staying during the wedding.”
I frown.
“You know this hotel, Fawn,” she adds.
“I know his hotel,” I clarify. “Never been there, but yes, I’veseen the pictures. This isn’t confusion on my face, Jasmine.” I’m sulking, not dumbfounded. That hollow feeling burrows into my chest again, a twisted yearning that churns when he is absent.
True to his word, we spent every moment together on Sunday, but he said nothing about a hotel today. I don’t like being in the dark about his routine. It feels wrong to be the last to know.Did he kiss me goodbye? Did I sleep through a conversation about this?
