She nodded once, conceding. “I don’t need to say it for you to know.”
That confirmed it then. My worst fear.
My eyes fell to Cleo, the sun and all the stars combined. It was insane that we were talking about this right now when she was here, and she was glorious, and ours, and I loved her. More than I thought I would. More than I’d thought I was capable of loving anything.
“What is it you need?” I pushed the words out with quiet force, knowing the conversation wouldn’t go away just because I wanted it gone.
It was an atomic bomb of a question, though. Because when she answered, as I was sure she would answer, demanding I give up the quest to avenge her wrongdoer, asking me to be a man that I was not and had never been, then everything between us would explode, impossible to ever put back together again.
But she didn’t answer how I expected.
“It’s not what I need, it’s what she needs. And it’s nonnegotiable.” She bent to nuzzle her nose against Cleo’s head, then, with her eyes still centered on her, she said, “You will be everything for our daughter. Everything. You will be present. You will be engaged. You will put her before any other pursuit—before your business, before your obsessions. You will care and provide for her. You will keep her safe. You will protect her from predators. You will believe her when she comes to you in a crisis. And when the world lets her down, and she needs to crawl into your lap and fall apart, you will listen to her and console her and build her up again, but you will not destroy her monsters for her, not even if she asks you to, unless we both agree it’s the right thing to be done, and—” she lifted her eyes promptly to mine “—I’m telling you right now, Edward, it will very rarely, if ever, be the right thing to be done.”
It was like slamming into a wall of bricks the way her words hit me, their impact was so forceful. I was supposed to take care of her, to see what was best for her. I knew the horrors of her past and her father’s role in her pain. How had I not understood that what she’d need most for me to be was a father for her daughter that she wished she’d had for herself?
As sure as I had been that I had fucked up my older children and that I was doomed to repeat it with Cleo, I was suddenly sure that I wasn’t. I could be those things she asked. For our daughter. Because Celia believed I could be. Because she demanded it of me. Because I wouldn’t be the man who repeated the sins of her father.
I once again brought my hand up to her cheek. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes full of more that had yet to be shed. Yet she was, at that moment, the strongest person I had ever known.
“I will,” I said hoarsely, a ball stuck at the back of my throat. I cleared my throat. “I promise. I will. For both of you.”
A tear leaked down my cheek as I kissed her forehead. Another fell as I bent to kiss Cleo. She stirred, her eyes squinting and relaxing several times, as though she were trying to open them. Then she gave up and gave her energy instead to suckling at her mother’s breast.
“Good,” Celia said, her own voice tight. “Thank you, that’s...good.”
We settled into silence, heavy but not burdensome. As though I was carrying a load that I very much wanted to be carrying. My emotions were a knot inside me, too tangled to pick out all of them individually.
One, though, stood out from the rest, one I was quite familiar with—the “almost” feeling. The one I’d experienced most frequently after Celia had come into my life. Before her, I’d always been insufferably far away from whatever it was that was the goal, the abstract completion that I longed for and could never actually achieve.
Then she’d appeared, and that “will-never-reach” feeling had grown more and more possible, and now it felt so close. Like trying to catch a string of a helium balloon just as it drifts out of my grasp. Like closing my hand around a fistful of fog or smoke and opening it again to find a bare palm.
I closed my hands now, one around Celia’s shoulder and another around Cleo’s tiny foot. I lay there, as long as I could, until a nurse came in to tend to my women, way beyond when my limbs had fallen asleep and my neck had got a crick, afraid if I opened my hands again I’d find them both empty.
Eight
Celia
I gasped and brought my hand to my chest, a cliched gesture that was both authentic and fitting for the moment. “Oh my, that’s spectacular!”
Spectacular was actually an understatement. The Edwardian style jewel on Genevieve’s finger, with it’s bead of diamonds around a larger stone, was genuinely one of the most gorgeous engagement rings I’d ever seen.
Also, possibly one of the most expensive. The center stone had to be at least two carats, and if I had to guess, I’d say the whole thing probably cost a hundred grand.
I supposed that was the kind of bauble you got when you hooked up with a Pierce. Once upon a time, I would have been seething with jealousy, despite having not an ounce of attraction for Chandler. It was his last name that I’d coveted. I could barely remember feeling that way now, as content as I was with a sleeping four-month-old baby in the next room and a husband that I loved madly at my side.
A husband who hadn’t said a word since his older daughter stuck out her hand to share the good news.
“Daddy?” Her voice was cautious but hopeful. Understandably so. She was only twenty-four, and last she’d told us, she’d indicated marriage wasn’t anywhere on their radar. She and Chandler hadn’t even been together quite a year yet. Not to mention the bit about him being a Pierce. It was natural to assume that her overprotective father might have some reservations about their union.
I bit my lip as Edward remained silent, feeling the tension thickening around us. Just as I was about to put my hand out to touch his thigh so I could nudge him out of his stupor, he stood and without a word, walked out of the room.
Genevieve and I exchanged a glance, then she exchanged one with Chandler, who had her ringless hand clenched tight in his. The expression on her face was one of bewilderment. His, on the other hand, was tightening with what I could only imagine was rage.
Heat rushed up my neck in mortification. It was one thing to be skeptical about their relationship. It was quite another to be an ass about it.
I stretched my neck so I could look through one of the openings in the bookcase that separated the living room of our suite from the next. Edward hadn’t gone far, apparently. He was in the dining room leaning over the wet bar.
“Edward? What are you doing?” Admittedly, there was a sharpness to my tone. Things had been so good between us, and I didn’t want to start a fight, but I would if he didn’t get his act together. She was still his daughter, and she deserved his support no matter what her choices. Weren’t those words that had come out of his own mouth when she’d first decided to work for a company he abhorred after graduation?
And what was there not to support, anyway? He’d said he’d been happy when she’d taken the job at Pierce Industries. He already knew she wasn’t returning to London anytime soon. She’d been dating Chandler for months. The only thing that had changed was she was now engaged to one of the wealthiest men in America. There was no way he could justify the cold shoulder.
“Coming.” The clinking sound accompanied his response. A second later he was back in the room carrying four glass flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon that had been put in the fridge a couple of days before in preparation for a celebration of our own that we had yet to make time for. “I thought the occasion called for champagne,” he said, distributing the glasses. “It’s not every day that your child gets engaged.”
The rest of us sighed in unison, the tension immediately evaporated and replaced with smiles and hugs and congratulations.
Then Edward popped the champagne. “Shall I pour one for you, love?”
I mentally calculated how much breast milk I had stored in the fridge. Enough to get through the night, I was sure. Which meant I could express and dump if I had any alcohol now.
Still, I hesitated. Nursing was one o
f my greatest joys, a special time for me and Cleo to bond with each other. With Edward too, who was often at my side for feedings when he was home.
Seeming to read my mind, he said, “Let me feed her when she wakes. I rarely get the opportunity.”
My devil had grown awfully princely over the years. It made my chest tight to think about. “In that case, fill mine to the top.”
Everyone laughed as Edward poured each of us a full glass. When he’d finished serving, he set the bottle down and lifted his flute. “To a long and happy union. May you continue to love and bring out the best in each other for the rest of your days.”
Simple, but sincere. Genevieve wiped her eye as she raised her glass to clink against each of ours.
“Honestly, Dad,” she said when we’d all taken our first swallows and remarked on the quality. “I was scared there for a moment.”
Edward arched a brow. “You were? Whatever for?”
She stared at him like the question was ludicrous. “You didn’t say anything. Then you got up and Left. The. Room. That’s not the behavior of a father who is about to give his blessing.”
“Genny had already been nervous you wouldn’t approve.” Chandler gazed adoringly at his fiancée. “I’d even prepared a speech defending our decision in case…” His brows knit, and I could tell he was imagining himself standing up to Edward. “Well, thank God it didn’t go that way.”
I smiled to myself, feeling lucky that I was married to such an intimidating specimen.
An intimidating specimen who was at that very moment being especially intimidating. “You thought I wouldn’t approve? Because you’re both so young or because you’ve known each other less than ten months or because you’re a Pierce?”
“Most people think the name is an advantage.” Chandler, poor thing, managed to sound brave despite himself.
“Indeed, I’m sure they do.”
“Dad,” Genevieve chided. “You are being awfully you right now when I was just praising you for not being you.”
My husband smirked, which his daughter responded to with an equally childish sigh.
“Fine, let’s discuss this then.” Edward crossed one arm over his chest, his flute held up with the other. “How could I possibly argue about your age? I married Genevieve’s mother when I was younger than you both by a few years, even though perhaps that isn’t a good example since we ended in divorce. On the other hand, Celia and I had known each other far less time than you when we got engaged, and whether she likes it or not, she’s stuck with me.”
His glance at me was playful with the hint of a wink without actually moving his eyelid. “As for the name…” Here Edward grew eerily sober. “Chandler knows full well it won’t stop me from killing him with my bare hands if he ever hurts you. Don’t you, Chandler?”
Chandler swallowed. “Uh. I do now.”
A chill ran down my spine. Edward was considered formidable for a reason—he was as much bite as he was bark. Even now when I suspected he was pulling the kid’s leg, I couldn’t help remembering Camilla and her abusive husband. Edward had killed Frank, I was sure of it, and maybe it was justified, but was murder ever really justified?
I wished I knew the story. It was a secret he refused to tell since I had a secret of my own, and I’d gotten used to ignoring the burning want to know for the most part, but today, I desperately wished I had answers. It might calm the terrifying certainty that, though I was sure Edward meant for his words to be taken in jest, he was actually being quite sincere.
“Dad!” Genevieve said with a laugh, breaking the tension knotting in my belly. “Stop it. Please. You’re scaring my fiancé.”
Finally, Edward caved, a grin breaking out on his face. “In all seriousness, blessings to you both. I’m very happy for you. And maybe sometime Chandler can tell me how he gets away with calling you Genny.”
She nuzzled into Chandler. “It doesn’t sound the same when he says it as when you do. Out of your lips, it makes me feel like I’m seven years old. Out of his…” She blushed, making it apparent the nickname had become special between them.
“It’s very exciting,” I said, stepping in so she wouldn’t have to say more in front of her father. “And I’m so thrilled for both of you. Truly. Now tell us everything about how it happened. I’m dying to hear the details.”
An hour later, after we’d finished the champagne and heard the story twice—once from Genevieve then almost entirely again from Chandler with Genevieve frequently interjecting to comment, the conversation began to die down and the couple made innuendos about calling it a night.
“Thanks again for the bubbles,” Chandler said, setting down his empty glass. “They really stock the good stuff here, don’t they?”
“No, actually, they don’t,” Edward laughed. “I’d purchased it Friday for other celebratory reasons.”
“Oh. Did we…?” Chandler’s ears went red, obviously afraid he’d made some gaffe. “I feel bad about taking your champagne. Not if you were saving it for something important.”
“Stop it,” I said, feeling pleasantly tipsy. “We’d rather share it with family. We can get another bottle, or better yet, we’ll wrap that celebration into this one and call it good.”
Genevieve was the one who thought to ask. “What was the occasion?”
Edward looked to me, giving me the opportunity to decide what I wanted said. I appreciated it. And I also didn’t. There had been a time when he would have made these decisions for me, when he would have taken more of a dominant role in our relationship. He still cared for me in all the ways he once had, choosing my clothes and helping me with my agenda, just now he deferred more to me for my opinion. He didn’t command anymore, he suggested.
Maybe he thought he was being a better man by giving me more space of my own. It was true that I’d grown stronger and more capable since the days after he’d broken me down. This might very well be the next step in building me up again, and I was forever grateful for that. But I missed the way we used to be and desperately hoped we would find our way back to some form of that eventually.
Meanwhile, it was up to me to answer. “My uncle’s trial is over. Or, it’s almost over. The Crown Court found him guilty on several charges on Friday. Now we’re just waiting for sentencing.”
God, it felt better to say than I’d realized it would. I hadn’t had a reason to verbalize it since I’d found out since Edward had been with me when the verdict had come through. He’d been the only person I’d discussed it with at all so far, partially because I couldn’t imagine who else I would talk to about it. I’d avoided my parents, not wanting to hear my father lament about injustice that I related to far better than he ever could. Edward had called Camilla, but I had let them talk alone rather than jumping in.
Beyond not having anyone to speak to about it, I hadn’t quite known how it would come out if I did. It felt like a weight had been removed that I hadn’t realized I was still carrying. I’d thought that I had unloaded everything Ron-related by now, so it was surprising to feel I still had more to set down. And as good as it felt to finally be free of that, it also made me strangely sad. I’d spent the better part of Saturday crying off and on about it, and Edward had been a saint, taking care of Cleo by himself since it was Elsa’s day off, bringing her only when she needed to nurse, and I needed to cuddle.
Today, I felt much better. The grieving was over, and now there was only release in its place. It sort of felt like floating, like a feather in the wind, rising and falling with each gust, never touching the ground.
“Will the US extradite him?” Genevieve asked. We hadn’t told her much about my past with Ron, but she was a smart cookie. She knew.
“Not unless the sentence he gets is minimal. Which it could be, and that would be a whole other nightmare, but there’s also a real good chance it will be severe.”
“Oh, Celia. What a relief!”
Chandler seemed still in the dark, but he was gracious all the same.“You must be gratefu
l to have that media circus finally done with.”
“I am. I am.” Tears pricked at my eyes, much different than the ones that had overtook me the day before. I blinked them away. “But I’d much rather focus on your celebration instead. Have you picked a date yet? Please, say it isn’t too soon. You have to leave time to let me throw an engagement party in your honor.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I don’t have to. I want to.”
“I’m so flattered.” Her own eyes looked glossy. “And, after the amazing event you threw for my graduation, I would be a fool to turn you down. But don’t you want to be getting back to London now that the trial is done? I don’t want to keep you here any longer than need be. I know you’ve been quite homesick.”
“It’s true, I want to get home, and we will. Soon.” I felt Edward’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him without giving myself away, and I wasn’t quite ready for that. “There’s some other things we’re tying up here first, and neither of us want to miss out on the fun surrounding a wedding. Please let me plan something. It would be my honor.”
Another quarter of an hour later, with permission granted to throw a dinner party in their honor, the couple made their goodbyes. I slipped away to check on Cleo in the adjoining suite, then, finding her still asleep, I returned to the living room where Edward was settled on the couch, his legs crossed and his arm draped across the back of the sofa, waiting for me. “Would you come sit with me, bird?”
A sharp ache pierced between my ribs, a longing for the order rather than the request. The dominance had even been toned down in our sex after we’d come to our truce. I’d hoped it might spice up again after Cleo, but the handful of occasions we’d found time and energy to make love since her birth we’d done exactly that—made love. I wasn’t complaining, I really wasn’t. I enjoyed what we had, and if we kept the status quo for the rest of our lives, I would die a happy woman.
Rising: Slay Four Page 10