Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 13

13

Fred wanders into the kitchen looking tired and worried. “Fred?” I ask cautiously as I flip the first of the grilled-cheese sandwiches in the frying pan. “Everything okay?”

He gives me a reassuring grimace. “You’re now legally married if that counts as okay. And Margot’s been traced to a flight to Vegas two days ago.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Depends on whether she went there to gamble or meet with mob connections,” he grouses.

“Margot has mob connections?” My eyebrows shoot up. That really doesn’t fit the profile I know of her and I’m certainly not a fan.

Fred shrugs. “Maybe she’s looking to make new ones. Or maybe she’s just there to strike it rich. Not knowing is not good news.”

Got it. “You want anything besides grilled cheese and soup? I could add some ham, or maybe you want some of the leftover fried chicken?”

Fred smiles kindly. “That’s okay, kid. I had a late lunch, so soup and a sandwich will do me.”

“Okay, give me ten minutes and then we can eat with Justin and you can fill him in?”

Fred nods. “I’ll go wash up. Let me carry the tray up so the boss doesn’t chew me out first thing.”

We share a look of commiseration.

Justin is surprisingly quiet, chewing thoughtfully while Fred debriefs.

“Nevermind, we’ll simply put the announcement in the Times and it will spread quickly enough,” he finally says calmly before drinking his soup from the mug.

I stare at him in astonishment. “You can’t just waltz in and hand a paper to the receptionist, Justin. The Times is either for the extraordinarily well-connected or people that will make them look like that’s not the case.” I suppose my disdain for the archaic announcement section shows based on the twitch of Justin’s lips.

“What makes you think I’m not that well-connected, my darling wife?” he asks dryly. Even Fred chokes slightly on that one.

I groan. “I mean, I’d rather waltz onto one of the morning shows. And you should know me well enough to know how unlikely that is.”

Justin purses his lips in amusement. “The thing is, Ingrid, the Times wedding section was made for things like this. The morning shows, as charming as your appearance would be, would be hard pressed to come up for a reason to explain our presence. Nobody in Iowa gives a fuck about what Justin Wilde gets up to.”

I pout in annoyance. They might if they’d ever met him. “ Well, won’t you be flooded with a ton of questions by your wide circle of acquaintances who have never even met me?”

He shakes his head with a tired smile. “If I am, I will simply inform them that no way was I letting anyone else catch even a glimpse of you until my claim was well and truly secured.”

I blush at the possessive glance he casts down over my body. I could almost imagine that he’s had feelings for me for years. But we all know that’s not true.

Fred stands and shuffles towards the bedroom door. “Night, folks. I’m going to check the locks and turn in. Try to keep the noise down.” He chuckles to himself as he leaves. I nibble at my sandwich to hide my embarrassment. Fred is just teasing, but it’s… uncomfortable, I guess. Particularly given Justin’s recent sudden change in attitude.

I cover up the new awkwardness between us with the mundane. Taking his plate and mug, I see him struggling to get out of the bed. I frown. He’s been insisting on being mobile enough to use the bathroom on his own. And I can understand how important that is to a man with his pride. But…

“Shouldn’t Fred be helping you?” I ask softly. Justin cuts me a glare.

“I can manage. Where you can be helpful is remembering you agreed to be back in this bed tonight, so I don’t have to come looking for you. That’s what’s going to help most with my recovery.” He shuffles into the bathroom and shuts the door.

I stand there, dishes in hand, and ponder all the variables. Finally, with a sigh, I leave and take the dishes downstairs to the kitchen. Fred has already cleared away all the others, stacking them neatly in the dishwasher. So I add the few in my hand and start the machine.

The house is still with both men tucked away upstairs. It shouldn’t bother me because I’d planned all along to occupy this place all by myself. But somehow I’ve gotten used to the noise and bustle of other people over the last few weeks. It’s disconcerting now, being down here on the main floor alone. I flip off all the lights and stand in the living room looking out the window. The sunset is just starting, but the sun has long ago disappeared behind the distant mountains.

I still haven’t heard a peep from Rose or Aiden. I know births can take a while, especially the first one, so I don’t want to be the person interrupting for news. But I’m anxious all the same. Tomorrow. If I haven’t heard anything from her tomorrow, I’ll send a text message.

When the last of the color fades from the sky, I consider my options before I can’t drag out bedtime any longer. I could read, but I’m feeling too distracted to concentrate. I could go upstairs and work on some designs. I certainly should. But I work best when I’m in a contemplative, imaginative state and right now I’m too wound up. But then I guess these days I can financially afford to take an extended vacation if I want to.

I grimace, remembering that this is why I wasn’t eager for the money in the first place. Oh, I love the security of it, but that also comes with plenty of excuses. I want to have something to show for my time on this earth. Something only I could create that adds some beauty and light to the world. Something a bank balance by itself can hardly do. Once Justin is well and we’ve decided on our future relationship, I will redevote myself to design. I pinky swear with myself, which probably doesn’t count. But it ought to.

I could always go to bed early and force Justin to watch kitten videos with me. Or maybe guinea pigs on parade is more his style? I grin evilly at the thought and decide he can handle at least one cute animal video before bed. Assuming he’s awake for that, anyway.

The boxes stacked against the wall catch my eye as I turn to leave. Maybe I should at least open one box.

Fired up with renewed purpose, I turn the lights back on full and head to the kitchen to find a pair of scissors. Slicing the blade through the packing tape, I feel like I’ve been blessed with a truck full of mystery packages. There could be anything in there. But since I don’t even have any clear memories of objects I cherish, I’m not too worried about being blindsided with emotion.

Particularly when I carefully pull the tissue paper away from an extremely ugly cup and saucer. It’s fancy enough, there’s lots of gold banding. But along with that are these swirly loops and dots in black and green. I flip it over and check the mark. Oh. Definitely expensive. If I ever saw these, I don’t remember them. I sigh when the layer below in the box reveals a matching bread plate. I’ll bet half the boxes in here are this pattern — service for twenty or more.

Eyeing the box with suspicion, I check one more item off to the side, yep an egg cup in the same design. I carefully fold the lid close and move the entire box over near the window. I’m not unpacking it all just to have to repack it to donate to charity. Although it might be more like dumping on charity because it is seriously ugly.

One more box. I deserve to find something interesting. And surely in the move, they got mixed up and rearranged. Score! This one has framed photographs, some of which I vaguely remember being on display in the formal living room. The one I had no reason to linger in as a kid. I carefully unwrap them and set the photos on one of the built-in bookcases on the interior wall. It will do until I can figure out where everything goes. There’s one of my dad from college with his friends. I study it carefully. Is that kid with the bad haircut and the nerdy t-shirt Justin? Oh my God, it is!

I giggle and sit down in a chair to examine every detail. He’s gangly and awkward but with the same intelligence as now shining in his eyes. And he looks like he has no money at all. My dad and the three other guys are dressed in much more trendy styles, poor things.

It makes me realize I’ve never considered Justin’s early history, the time before he became a big fancy attorney. I think I assumed he came from a long line of equally big fancy attorneys and grew up in a penthouse, but this photo suggests otherwise.

Gradually I’m healing. But it’s a damn slow process and the need to take a nap overwhelms me after the light dinner Ingrid served. I suppose it will go faster if I don’t fight it. The healing, that is, but it’s fucking hard to lose the habits of a lifetime. If I’d stayed home with every sniffle or sore throat, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

I make the slow and laborious trip to the bathroom one more time. It’s not like it’s even down the hall. It’s literally thirty-two steps from the bed. Yes, I counted. My mind isn’t broken, just my body and it needs something to do while my legs struggle that short distance.

Ingrid pops in with a thoughtful expression just after I’ve collapsed back on the bed with a groan. I bite back the smirk of amusement when she starts rifling through a drawer full of filmy nightgowns. I’m guessing here, but I think she’s looking for something more like winter flannel. She’ll roast alive if that’s her plan, but I can address that when she’s under the covers. She pulls something blue from the drawer and stands. “Justin? Where did you grow up?”

I was not expecting that one. My eyebrows fly up in astonishment. “Upstate. Why?”

“Upstate New York?” she clarifies.

I nod, still confused.

“What happened to your family?” she asks softly.

“Nothing. They’re still there. Sunday dinner at my parents’ place. Where we all grew up.”

Her jaw drops in astonishment. “You… why did you never say? Have you called them? Do they know you’re hurt?”

I shake my head. “Ingrid… it’s not that they wouldn’t care, but what could they do? We’re not estranged exactly, but — we have nothing in common. We never did. It was like they picked up the wrong baby from the hospital. They didn’t. I checked when I was in graduate school. Definitely their kid. But it never felt like it,” I admit with wry amusement thinking back to when I sent my DNA off with trepidation expecting it to be the beginning of a long dramatic search for my missing family. Only to be informed the one I had was the only one I was getting.

Ingrid sits down cautiously on the far side of the bed, her face worried. “So, you have brothers and sisters?”

“Five brothers, two sisters. They’re all married with kids of their own. I think it’s thirteen nieces and nephews now, but it could be more. It’s hard to keep track.”

“When was the last time you went back?”

I frown. She isn’t going to try to arrange a grand reunion, is she? “Seven — eight years ago, maybe?”

“So they come to visit you?”

I shake my head, dumbfounded. “No. They have no interest in the city. It’s the kind of town where everyone knows everyone and everyone’s business. They rehash it all at Sunday dinner. If you try to ask them directly what’s new, they’ll say there’s nothing because each and every thing has been talked over and over already. Going someplace where they don’t know all the gossip and who the check-out girl at the grocery is flirting with at church — what’s the point? ”

Ingrid’s smile is small and warm. “It sounds kind of nice. But you wanted more?”

I frown. “I wanted quiet. I wanted to be able to read without having my elbow jostled. And when I got to be a teenager, I really wanted to be able to take a girl out without the entire town speculating on whether I was going to make it to first base or not.”

Ingrid gives a wince of sympathy.

“Why are you worried about that, anyway? Are you attempting to delay your bedtime, little girl?”

Her eyes flare wide in shock, and then her shoulders relax suddenly. She comes closer to peer at me with suspicion. “You have no idea what you just suggested, do you?”

I think back over my words. What else could they possibly mean? “What did you think I was implying because I can’t think of another way to interpret it? Or are you deliberately picking a fight?” I keep my tone as even and level as possible to make it clear that I’m not the one stirring up trouble.

Ingrid huffs a little and then leans over so her long blond braid brushes against my chest. “In certain circles, Justin, your words would come with the expectation that I was about to call you Daddy. I realize you’ve led a sheltered life, so you probably don’t know that. But just in case, it’s not happening.”

I gape at her in horror. Ingrid giggles so hard she wraps her arms around her stomach.

“What circles are those and why are you associating with them?” I finally ask, dumbfounded.

Ingrid just smiles in response. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in a minute.” And with that, she jumps up and heads into the bathroom. I stare after her, going back over my words and still coming up with nothing. Except now I’m the one feeling self-conscious.

And that feeling doesn’t dissipate when Ingrid emerges wearing a filmy blue thing, too short to be called a nightgown. And it does nothing to disguise her curves or the pale curls protecting her sweet pussy. Her eyes are still laughing at me when she pulls the covers back and slides into the bed. I frown and switch off the light. It’s early enough that it’s not completely dark. My brain is warring between the one side that wants to reinforce authority with Ingrid — remind her who’s older and wiser and the other side that’s remarking that is definitely not a smart move.

My hands reach for her of their own volition. Ingrid moves into my arms without protest, which lets my heart relax.