Page 20 of His Secret Wish

Chapter 5

Isabella was cocooned in the warmest, most snuggly place ever. It was a bit stuffy, but that was okay. Because there had been a point last night where it felt like she’d been sleeping on an iceberg in the Antarctic.

She stretched, her muscles pulling in that almost painful, but delicious way. A groan escaped, and she blinked her eyes open.

And came face to face with a chest.

Her bearings finally rolled back into place, and then the stuff from last night came flooding back. Owen had woken her in the middle of the night, insisting she get in the bed. Not that she’d argued very hard, because it had been frigid on the floor. That damn wind whistling through the window was wicked.

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Owen was sprawled out beside her, still sound asleep. One of his more annoying qualities. While she had always had trouble with sleeping through the night—not quite an insomniac, but it was rare she ever slept for more than a few hours at a time—he was the type of person that once he was out, he was practically dead to the world. His mother used to joke that nothing short of a nuclear blast could get his butt out of bed.

He looked younger in his sleep. Not as stressed. He spent so much of his life with the weight of the world pressing down on his wide, wide shoulders. And yes, a lot of it was his own doing, especially more recently.

But, in his defense, he’d really been forced into it when Mason had decided to leave to join the army. Calvin had turned his focus to Owen, and from that moment on, it had been all or nothing. Owen had been pushed, and pushed hard, by his father. As soon as he’d become the heir apparent, his life had been flipped upside down.

She smoothed her fingers over his brow, along his cheekbone. He’d been overwhelmed and underappreciated. And heartbroken that Mason had abandoned him to chase his own dreams. The expectations had weighed so heavily on him. He used to come to her exhausted and out of sorts, and it would take her a couple of hours to soothe him back to a place where he wasn’t wound as tight as an over-sprung watch.

He made a noise and leaned into her touch. But he still didn’t wake up.

She smiled, but a full bladder waited for no one. Not even Owen Callahan to get his sorry butt out of bed. With a sigh, she crawled over him, trying not to think about all the hard, muscular flesh underneath her. She’d managed to almost make it to freedom when his arms wrapped around her.

He pulled her over top of him so she was pressed against every part of him. And she meant every part of him. His morning erection dug into her belly, burning through their pajamas and branding her skin.

“Where are you going?” His words were sleep slurred, and he kept his eyes closed. If she had to guess, he was still mostly asleep.

“To the bathroom.” The urge to rub against him was a massive ball of need inside her, but she managed to refrain. Barely. Sending mixed signals was not the answer, especially after the kissing last night, and the way she’d freaked out. No matter what kind of deal they’d made about this weekend, leading him on was not the answer. They were still separated, on the verge of divorce.

Sadness streaked through her, so quick and sharp it stole her breath. The end of her marriage was still a painful topic, even after all these years. And having it stare her in the face like this was heartbreaking.

At least when she was at home, she could pretend that life was fine. That her and Owen splitting up didn’t leave a hole the size of the Pacific Ocean in her soul.

“Okay,” he mumbled, and let her go.

Briefly, she thought about throwing all of her concerns and fears out the leaky little window above them, and leaning down and kissing him fully awake. It wasn’t like they’d be doing anything wrong. Technically, they were still married. And they had made the whole alternate universe deal in regard to this weekend…

No. No, that’s a terrible idea. With another sigh, she pushed herself off of him and out of the bed. The floor was cold and made the soles of her feet ache. There was still a chill in the air, and she squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was just past six in the morning. The sun was barely up, and it was way too early for her to be awake.

She made her way across the hall to the bathroom. It was way warmer than her room. Maybe they should sleep with the door open. That way the cold air from the window would be dispersed through the space. Except, she’d forgotten about the little girls sleeping in the small room across the hall.

Her cousin Yolanda and her husband, Jorge, were fostering the little girls. According to Yolanda, they’d decided to give the girls their own space, somewhere they could go if they got overwhelmed.

While Isabella could understand that sentiment—her family could be a lot, and there were a lot of them—she doubted very highly that was the only reason the girls had been dumped in the closet. Yolanda and Jorge seemed to have a “as long as no one is bleeding to death, leave me alone” kind of parenting style. It was infuriating, mostly because they were using those kids. And from the look on Owen’s face yesterday when they’d run into Jorge, he still heartily agreed.

Although she was glad the girls had somewhere to go where they felt safe. Isabella had Yaya, four tia abuelas and tia abuelos still living, her abuela and abuelo, her Mami, Papi, and brother Antonio, six tias and tios, and twenty-six first cousins on just this side of the family. Not to mention all their spouses and friends and children.

There were plenty of times she was overwhelmed, and she was used to everyone.

She couldn’t imagine being so young, with such a tragic story, and being expected to deal with all of this. The girls had briefly come down for a bit around supper time last night, but Isabella hadn’t gotten a chance to officially meet them before they’d disappeared back upstairs.

She went to the bathroom and washed her hands. A glance in the mirror showed she was a disheveled mess. Her hair was curly enough to easily get unruly, which was one of the reasons she almost always wore it in a braid. Especially when she went to bed. Clearly, last night, she’d been distracted.

And that distraction was still sleeping in the bed. All she had to do was crawl in beside him.

No, no, that was a bad idea. Maybe she’d get dressed and go and see if anyone else was awake. Even though it was early, it was almost guaranteed someone would be up and about at this hour. Probably Yaya. Her bisabuela always seemed to be up this early.

She dried her hands and stepped into the hallway. The small bedroom doorway was open a few inches, and two sets of eyes peered out at her.

She crouched down so she was eye level with them. “Good morning.”