“You’re sure this isn’t a hassle?” Bree sounds muffled over the phone line, but I hear the anxiousness in her voice. “Because if it’s a pain, I can just call Austin’s mom—”
“I’d be honored to do it.” I sound much too enthusiastic about changing diapers, but it’s the first time my sister has asked me to be solely in charge of her child. I’m nervous, but also flattered beyond words. “I love Brian, and besides—his daddy will be right next door.” That’s one reason I’m agreeing to watch my nephew this evening. “It’s only for a short time, right?”
“Exactly,” Bree says. “And I don’t even need you to put him to bed. Just keep him entertained until Austin comes to get him.”
“He won’t need a nap or anything?”
“Definitely not.” She laughs. “Honestly, I need you to keep him awake so he’s not a holy terror at two in the morning.”
“I can definitely do that.” I’m working hard to sound confident, but the truth is that I’m terrified to be in charge of Bree’s baby. “I just bought a bunch of new picture books for us to read together.”
“Perfect.” My sister laughs. “This is way better than having Austin keep him at poker night. The last time we did that, Brian came home with a toy cigar. No one fessed up, but you can probably guess which of our brothers did it.”
My brain skims the catalogue of possibilities, concluding Sean and Jonathan are the most likely pranksters. “I’ll take good care of him,” I assure Bree and myself at the same time. “I’ll head over as soon as I spot Austin’s car out there.”
“No rush,” she says. “Brian loves getting passed around to all his uncles, and it’s good for him to have adult interaction. I just want to make sure Austin has a chance to enjoy adult time, you know?”
“Absolutely. How’s the conference going?
“Ugh, never ending.” The phone goes muffled again, and I hear Bree saying something about influencers. Then she’s back giving me her undivided attention. “I can’t believe it’s already two hours behind schedule.”
“Just enjoy.” As much as anyone enjoys a marketing conference. That might be a lot in Bree’s case, since it’s her specialty at the resort. “Brian and I will have an exciting evening of Baby Shark and Peek-a-Boo.”
“I love you, Izzy. Thanks again.”
“Love you, too.” How easy it is to say that to all my siblings here. Those words, they’re a rarity back in the royal court. “Enjoy the conference.”
I’ve barely clicked off when my phone buzzes again. Glancing at the readout, I hurry to take the call. “Mother. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Honestly, Isabella. I’ve been busy. It’s arena polo season, you know.”
“Of course. I just—did you get my message?”
My mother sighs, and I picture her thousands of miles away studying her manicure. “You know how your father is. He’s being protective.”
Which doesn’t answer the question of what the hell Dante is doing here, though it does raise another one. “Does this have something to do with Cort Bracelyn?”
“Isabella!” She responds like I’ve cursed in church. “Of course not. I’ve asked you not to bring up his name.”
I roll my eyes, which feels good since she’s not here to chastise me for it. “I just thought maybe the Duke had concerns about me being here with all the other Bracelyn siblings. Feeling threatened or something.”
Could that be the reason he sent Dante here? It would be an extreme overreaction, but that’s hardly out of character for the man who once fired a butler for spilling water on my gown.
“Your father is not threatened by anything.” Her emphasis on my paternity makes it clear she’s eager to end this line of discussion. “Perhaps Dante’s merely vacationing. You said the resort is lovely this time of year.”
I don’t even try to keep the eye roll from my voice this time. “He’s following me around like some creepy stalker. I hate it, and I want you to summon him home.”
“Talk to your father about that.” A pause, a pregnant one at that. “Are you doing anything there that would be cause for concern?”
“For whom?”
She huffs out a breath. “For any of us. I’m counting on you to be good, Isabella. You know there’s a plan in place. If Oliver had lived, things might be different.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through the pain that hits me square behind the breastbone anytime she brings up my dead baby brother. I touch three fingertips to the spot, recalling how softly Bradley kissed it the other day.
“I understand.” I force the words through a tight band of guilt, knowing it’s my own fault I’m in this position.
My mother is quiet on the other end of the line. “Do you recall our discussion right before you left for boarding school?”
I gulp back a second guilty wave, wondering if she knows I thought of that very conversation just days ago. If she knows Bradley’s hand was on my breast as I recalled our mother/daughter chat on the chaise back then. “Yes,” I manage to choke out. “You mean the one about not waiting for marriage to have sex?”
She makes a muffled sound of assent. “Be discreet.” She whispers it like the Duke is standing nearby. Maybe he is. “A lady employs good taste at all times.”
I open my mouth to protest, unsure if I’m about to insist I’m always discreet, or that I don’t want to be a damn lady. But the sight of Austin’s car pulling in next door pulls my attention to more important matters.
“I have to go, Mother.” I choose my next words with care. “Give my love to Father?”
“Of course, dear.”
I can tell by her tone I’ve appeased her. That I’ve bought myself just a little more time in America. The clock is still ticking, and I know there’s no stopping it. But perhaps just a little while longer…
“Be well, darling,” my mother says. “And above all, be discreet.”
Be good.
Be discreet.
Be a lady.
There’s never any mention of being happy, being fulfilled, being my own person. I press my lips together and breathe deeply through my nose before answering. “I will.”
I switch off the call and take a few moments to collect myself. There’s a flutter of snowflakes drifting dreamily past my window. By morning, the trees will be swathed in white with a carpet of fresh glitter laid out at their feet. White twinkle lights blink in the ponderosa trees lining the path to the lodge. I take it all in, hoping to absorb some festive flair, but my mood stays dark.
I feel alone and trapped and burdened by the weight of the world. Then I feel like a jerk because I’ve led a life of privilege. What more could I want?
Autonomy.
Love.
A life that’s entirely my own.
A white truck glides past, and my pulse ticks up a notch. Bradley’s arriving for poker night, and my silly, irrational heart goes from canter to gallop in just one breath.
Standing up with a sigh, I make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. There’s no reason at all I should put on makeup to spend an evening with my infant nephew, but vanity gets the best of me, and I reach for my mascara.
Ten minutes later, I’m striding out the door wearing Luscious Spice lipstick and another bright sweater, this one royal blue. It was Lily’s personal favorite from our shopping trip.
“This makes your tits look fabulous,” she said as she adjusted the deep V neckline. “Throw your shoulders back when you wear it and walk into every room like you own the place.”
I take her advice, straightening my spine as I step onto the front porch of Mark’s cabin. I rap once, braced for my burly cousin to answer. Instead, I hear a shout from inside.
“Door’s unlocked. Come in.”
Taking a deep breath, I push my way through and head for the dining room.
My eyes land first on Bradley, and that’s all it takes. My heart stutters to a halt in my chest as I stumble over my own feet.
He’s cradling Brian in his arms, cooing down at him like the baby is his own flesh and blood. His attention’s fixed on my nephew, which gives me a moment to stare as he sings what sounds like a baby-talk rendition of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.”
So this is what happens at guys’ night.
“Hey, Izzy.” Jonathan’s voice pulls me from my trance, and I do my best to drag my eyes off Bradley to where Jon sits grinning at the other end of the table. “You here to whoop our asses at Texas Hold ‘Em?”
Mark frowns beside him. “No swearing in front of the baby.” His gaze skims his nephew’s slumbering form and softens before swinging to the archway between the table and the living room. He stares at someone standing behind my shoulder. “You found him.”
I look over and freeze. Dante looms at the threshold of the room holding a brown and white bunny. Countless times I’ve seen Long Long Peter in the arms of my siblings, but never like this. Never with a bald, scowling killer cradling him like an infant.
“Damn nice rabbit,” Dante murmurs with undisguised reverence.
I wait for Mark to jump on Dante about cursing, but he holds his tongue. Maybe anyone who looks this blissed out over a bunny gets a free pass. I don’t know.
All I know is that when I glance at Bradley, he’s not smiling. “Hey, Iz. You’re here to steal my little friend away?”
“Wait, not yet.” Sean scoops the infant from his arms, earning a soft whimper from Brian. “I haven’t gotten my turn.”
Austin shakes his head and gives me a bemused look. “Here’s what you can look forward to someday, Izzy—the instant you procreate, your spawn becomes the most popular person in the room.”
Everyone chuckles except Jonathan, who shoots me a worried look. I know what my kidney donor is thinking since we sat through many of the transplant consults together. “It’s okay,” I murmur as heat floods my cheeks. “The doctors seem confident my equipment is still in working order.”
I watch Bradley’s brow furrow as his face transforms into a look I recognize as his doctor mask. “You’re past the one-year mark. If your doctors say your kidney function is stable, there’s no reason they couldn’t switch up your meds if you wanted to get pregnant somewhere down the line.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Dante stiffen. “Who’s getting pregnant?”
“No one!” I hate how fierce the declaration sounds coming out of my mouth, but I can’t stop now. “Well, Chelsea’s pregnant. That’s Mark’s wife. And with all these marriages, I’m certain it’s a matter of time until all your wives are expecting.”
I’m trying to deflect attention, and thank God James takes the bait. “Not me,” he says as he shuffles the deck of cards. “Lily’s adamant about maintaining our childless-by-choice lifestyle.”
Mark scrubs a hand over his beard. “You’re cool with that?”
“Absolutely,” James says. “Not like there’s going to be any shortage of children around here.”
Sean grins and rocks Brian in his arms. “Just means you have more free time for babysitting.”
Speaking of which, I should do what I came here to do. I step in to ask for the baby at the same moment Dante makes his own move forward. The result brings the two of us toe to toe at the edge of Mark’s dining room.
Dante stares me down, blue eyes cold. “No.”
I blink but manage not to step back. “No what?”
“You can’t have a turn with the rabbit.” He looks down, stroking Long Long Peter with one blunt finger. “Not yet.”
“Aw, shit.” Sean laughs and blows a raspberry on Brian’s cheek, making the baby giggle. “You’re never getting your bunny back, Mark.”
My brother scowls. “Don’t swear when you’re holding a baby.”
I stare at Dante, not sure if his protectiveness of Long Long Peter is a coded threat or a genuine fondness for the rabbit. Call me crazy, but I swear there’s more warmth in his eyes than I’ve seen the entire time I’ve known him. Ignoring me, Dante runs a hand down the bunny’s back, relishing the softness of his fur.
“So, Dan.” Austin clears his throat. “I understand you’re also from Dovlano.”
Bradley sits up straighter and gives me a look I can’t read. He shakes his head once, a gesture I assume means he didn’t tell the others what I told him. If my brothers know he’s a bodyguard, they didn’t learn it from Bradley.
Dante gives a curt nod. “Correct.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, which American custom dictates should be filled with elaboration. Dante sharing what brings him to Oregon, for instance. It’s a question I’d also like answered, but the man stays infuriatingly silent.
Mostly. He’s murmuring some sing-song words in Dovlanese as he rubs the rabbit’s ears. It takes me a moment to recognize the lyrics of a traditional children’s lullaby.
Baby, baby, darling baby, time is fleeing faster than a wild badger.
I swear it sounds lovelier in my native tongue. Did the song spring to Dante’s mind because it’s a common song for children, or is it meant as a message for me? I don’t dare look at Bradley for fear my face will give something away.
“So you and Izzy know each other, right?” It’s Sean speaking this time, though he’s distracted by the baby. “Mark said something about you working with the royal family?”
I dare a glance at Mark, whose expression is masked behind the big beard. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning, and his eyes hold no clues. I wouldn’t put it past him to have Austin run a background check on Dante, though I’m doubtful they’d find much.
This time when Dante looks up, he holds my gaze for a few beats before answering Sean. “That’s right.”
“Okay, give us some dirt on Izzy.” Jon throws me a wink. “She’s always so proper, but I know she’s got a badass streak buried in there. Ask her about the time she dragged me into a public bathroom to read me the riot act.”
“I did no such thing.” I draw myself up straighter. “I simply saw you were floundering in your conversation with Blanka and wanted to make certain you didn’t lose sight of the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“And I’m grateful.” Jon grins at Dante. “Seriously, man—I’m guessing you’ve seen her in action.”
Dante holds my brother’s gaze for an uncomfortably long stretch of time. Even James starts shifting in his seat, his brow furrowed as the men await a response. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t say something horrid. That he doesn’t ruin everything with a few careless words. Maybe I should take the baby and just—
“Yeah.” Dante clears his throat and it sounds like gunfire. “There’s this one time Isabella got angry. She was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and some boy wouldn’t leave her alone. A damn viscount or something. At least five years older than her and an entitled piece of shit.”
My gaze flicks to Mark, who is too engrossed in the story to mention the cursing. I glance at the other men—James, Austin, Jon, Sean, Brandon—and see they’re hanging on Dante’s every word.
I’m listening as well, though I’m not sure where this story’s going. I remember the viscount, but not this particular tale.
“Duchess Francesca,” he continues. “That’s Isabella’s mother. She instructed her to ignore it. That the boy came from a prominent family. You know how it is.”
I’m not sure they do, though it’s possible. Some of these men grew up attending elite boarding schools. Perhaps it’s similar.
“Law school was full of douchebags like that.” James flicks a glance at Mark. “D-bags like that.”
Mark gives a grudging nod, but doesn’t take his eyes off Dante. I dare a glance at Bradley and see he’s watching me instead. Heat rushes down my arms, and I fight back memories of his hands on my breasts, his tongue moving between my—
“Anyway,” Dante continues, “the little prick cornered her in the rose garden. I was close by, but not too close. Don’t think she knew I was there.”
I shake my head mutely, dumbfounded to realize where he’s going with this story. “He grabbed me,” I say. “The viscount. If he hadn’t, I never would have pushed him into my mother’s rose bush.”
Dante nods, and I could swear there’s a glint of respect in his cold blue eyes. He holds my gaze a few seconds before continuing. “By the time I got there, Her Ladyship was long gone. Took an hour to pull the little asshole out of the thorns.”
Sean laughs. “I’m guessing you weren’t in any hurry to make it happen.”
One edge of Dante’s mouth twitches. “He may have fallen in a few more times.”
He also may have vanished from the royal court not long afterward. Another memory hits me, a conversation I overheard between my father and the young viscount’s father.
“We think it would be best if you refrained from visiting the palace again in the future,” the Duke said stiffly from within his study. “If you return again with Viscount Archibald, I will not be held accountable for what my man might do.”
My man.
As I study the side of Dante’s face, I wonder for the first time how that felt. Was it just part of the job, or did it bother him being addressed as property?
I know how I felt being treated that way. Like a cocker spaniel or a floor lamp instead of an actual person. Maybe we’re more alike than I thought, Dante and I.
Bradley stands up and gestures to the fridge. “Can I get anyone a beer? I grabbed a half-rack of Black Butte Porter.”
“I’ll take one.” Sean coos at the baby once more before handing him off to Jonathan. “Which of us is next to make one of these?”
Jon grins as Brian gurgles up at him and bats his chin with one chubby hand. “Breeding, you mean? Let me get through the wedding first.”
The conversation flows to a discussion of family planning, and I stand there wondering if this is what all American men talk about at poker night. Maybe it’s just my brothers. Bradley chimes in with a statistic about male fertility declining after age forty and I catch myself wondering if there’s a message in there for me.
Not everything’s about you, Izzy.
But I’m nearly thirty and childless and maybe a little in love with the man I can’t bring myself to look at as he returns to the table with three bottles of beer. He hands one off to Sean and another to James before reclaiming his seat. I feel him watching me, and I wonder if that’s my cue to grab the baby and leave.
“Hey,” Bradley murmurs softly enough the others don’t seem to hear. When I look at him, he’s smiling. “I kinda want to high-five you for pushing that viscount kid.”
I keep my eyes off Dante, though my peripheral vision tells me he’s slipped fully into the room, claiming the seat beside Jonathan. “Yes, well, there’s more to the story.”
“Oh?” Bradley pries the cap off his beer, and I force myself not to stare at his hands.
I press my lips together, hesitating. “My mother was displeased.”
“At the jerk who grabbed you?”
I swallow hard and shake my head. “A little.” But the bulk of her anger was directed at me, at my inability to play nice with the viscount to keep his interest in me piqued.
“Isabella,” she scolded, shutting the parlor door behind us. “You know what’s at stake here. If you develop a reputation for being difficult—”
“He never came back,” I say now, interrupting my own dark turn of thoughts. “The viscount. Last I heard, he married a baroness from London. Or maybe Luxembourg, I forget.”
At least it wasn’t me. That’s all I cared about, though I see now I was short-sighted. The things I know at thirty that I didn’t know at fifteen could fill the entire Ponderosa Resort lodge.
Bradley’s watching me like he knows there’s more I’d like to say. Like he realizes there’s something I’m not telling him, which is absolutely true. I square my shoulders and turn to face my brothers.
“All right, gentlemen.” I hold out my arms and try not to notice my hands are shaking. “This baby’s mother tasked me with keeping the young man entertained. Time for me to do that.”
There’s some grumbling as the baby gets passed between uncles, his cherubic face creasing into laughter as Mark grabs him for one last bounce on his knee. Then I’m wrapping my arms around the sweet, fragrant bundle and pulling him to my chest. He feels wonderful in my arms, all warm and snuggly and full of sweet baby sighs. For an instant I get lost looking down at that darling little face.
As I move away to take him back to my cabin, I hear footsteps behind me. “Iz, wait.”
I turn to see Bradley on his feet holding a green and purple diaper bag. “Want me to carry this next door for you?”
It’s more than an offer of service. It’s a chance to steal a few moments alone with him, to leave my brothers here speculating about what’s happening between us.
But I feel Dante’s eyes on me, so I shake my head. “I’ve got it,” I tell Bradley. “Could you just tuck it over my shoulder like that? Perfect, thank you.”
His hand grazes my shoulder as he draws back, but his gaze doesn’t leave me. Not right away. He smiles down at me. “That looks good on you.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard and try not to flush. “Yes, well, the doctors aren’t entirely certain I could conceive, so—”
“The sweater.” His grin widens as he lowers his voice. “That sweater is sexy as hell.”
“Thank you.” I wish the floor would swallow me up. What an idiot to presume he’d be talking about me as a mother or anything in that ballpark.
I have no right to think that way, and I can hardly meet his eyes as I turn to go. “Right, well. Thank you for your help.”
I turn away before he can respond, but I feel eyes on me as I walk down the hall. Bradley’s? Dante’s?
I don’t know. I hold the baby tighter, wondering how much longer I can keep this up.