Page 87 of The Betrothal

Time dragged while I waited for her to finish up.

Finally, she emerged, hair newly braided, the soft pink splodges on her cheeks told me what I already knew. She’d been crying. Either because of me, or because of this Christian. Whichever of us it was, I didn’t like it.

“If you get an early night, we can get up earlier and I’ll clear the way for you to get back to the boys.” I’d rather her there with them, than upset here.

I had wanted her honesty, not her tears.

She blinked up at me hopefully.

“Bed?” I pointed to the large four-poster.

I’d done the renovations on this room first. In an ideal world I would have stayed over more often, all the better to get longer days working on the property. Ben, however, was my first priority, and I couldn’t be there for him and here to finish the house at the same time.

That was part of the reason the renovations took so long. That and the woeful lack of funds.

Izzy tore back the covers and slipped between the sheets, rustling them she removed the large jumper and I saw the hints of her shoulders and the strap of a vest top.

“You’ll be warm enough.” I didn’t know why I said it. She obviously knew she would be, otherwise she wouldn’t be taking off her jumper. I chided myself.

Surging onwards I cleared my throat, willing the conversation to be done so I didn’t sound like such an idiot. “Sorry, but I don’t have any other heaters, or any other rooms set up. Not to invade the space but are you comfortable if I take the floor?”

She rose to her elbows, watching me. Then she smirked.

I felt a tiny wave of relief at the reaction from her. The thought of me made her smile. Granted it was the thought of me sleeping on a hard wooden floor.

“It’s your bedroom, Alex. You don’t need my permission to sleep in here. Or on the floor. I’m an adult.” She paused, warring with a thought, then continued. “I can tolerate a top-and-tail arrangement?” There was a tiny hint of mockery in her tone.

“There is no need for feet in this already tense arrangement,” I joked and she smiled.

“Not a foot guy – noted.” She collapsed against the thick pillows.

“I can take a blanket and sleep on top of the duvet? It would be a million times better than the floor. The parquet is unforgiving.”

She barked a rough laugh. “Oh no, not the parquet,” she mocked me. “Get on the bed, Alex.”

I didn’t sleep. Not one bit, and frankly it was ridiculous.

She didn’t either, not if the tossing and turning that stopped an hour or so ago was anything to go by.

The wind outside still blew a gale and I worried what that meant for today.

I wondered if she was kept awake by the thought of the boys back at home, or if – like me – it was the person lying next to me keeping me from rest.

Rising slowly from the bed I gathered my boots and jumper and slipped from the room. Normally, the sound of my movement was comparable to stampeding wildebeests. Not this morning, this morning I made it out of the room so quietly there wasn’t so much as a hitch in her now steady breaths.

Cereal and coffee was all the sustenance I had for the long day ahead. Ideally I would have all the windows in place by nightfall, and every single pane of glass.

A day was overly optimistic, even two would be a push, but I was good at lying to myself.

The creak of the kitchen door alerted me to her presence. She shuffled in, braid dishevelled and rubbing her eyes. Her feet were clad only in her socks – she dropped her boots just inside the door and straightened her jumper.

She must have been freezing.

“You’re awake,” I observed.

She offered a weak smile and began making a coffee. “The earlier I’m up, the sooner I can get back and out of your hair.” She tapped the spoon against the mug and sat down.

“That all?” I observed her while she thought about my question.