“That sounds nice.”
“It was chaos. Seven kids, one kitchen. Someone always got burned or broke something or started a fight over who got to lick the spoon.”
“It sounds like good chaos.”
“The best kind.” I glanced at her. She was looking at her hands, and I wondered if she’d tell me what her life had been like when she was growing up.
“Our house was formal,” she said quietly. “And quiet. Even before my mother died. If my father was home, we’d eat in the dining room. Sixteen feet of mahogany between us. Crystal glasses. Cloth napkins. No talking unless he asked a question.”
“That sounds…”
“Lonely.” The word slipped out, and I could tell she hadn’t meant to say it. “It was lonely.”
I turned off the burner, crossed to her, spread her legs, and stepped between them. I cupped her face in my hands and rested my forehead against hers.
“It won’t be like that for us,” I said. “I promise you that. There’ll be chaos and noise, and someone will probably break something at least once a week. But there’ll be love, too. So much love it’ll flow all around us.”
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise I’ll try. Every single day.”
I kissed her, and she kissed me back. Then we ate dinner holding hands across the table.
Beneath it all,Baron’s deadline loomed.
The day came and went—two weeks since I’d first shown up at Whitmore—and I watched Isabel check her phone too often, as though she was waiting for a gavel to fall. The official announcement that she’d been cut off.
But nothing came.
“What do you think Baron is up to?” she asked that night, curled against my side on the sofa.
“I have no idea.” I stroked her hair, keeping my inflection even. “Although I’m sorry to say I doubt he’ll just let it go.”
“Never. He doesn’t know how. Not that it makes me feel any better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to. It’s supposed to keep you alert.” I pressed a kiss to her temple. “But whatever he’s planning or doing, you can handle it.”
“Can I?”
“You know you can. And if you forget or insecurity creeps in or you feel like you have to give in to something you don’t want to, remember that I’m right byyour side. I’ll help, support your decisions, and be who and whatever you need. And if you want, we can face him together.”
She was quiet for a few seconds. I knew she wanted to believe me. I also knew that wanting to believe and actually doing it were far different.
I’d just have to keep showing her.
The morningof her two-week follow-up appointment, I woke before the alarm. I watched Isabel sleep for a few minutes, then couldn’t resist and slid my hand down her body as my lips found her shoulder.
She stirred. “We have to leave in an hour.”
“Plenty of time.”
I was right. Barely.
She was stillflushed when we walked into the OB’s waiting room. From the look she shot me, she knew I was pleased with myself.
“Behave,” she muttered.
“I always behave.”
