Once I’m seated with my legs crossed at the ankle and my hands folded in my lap, I can take better stock of my surroundings. This room possesses the same Dark Western concept as the rest of the house. Heavy velvet drapes are pulled over the windows. Tye winks at me from where he’s sprawled on a sofa the color of whiskey.
“Found your cat,” says Fort. He’s lounging in an overstuffed leather armchair and gestures to the far side of the room.
I turn my head and nearly fall down.
Getty is sitting in a chair that’s identical to Fort’s. He’s not alone.
Louisa, who disdains all human contact and hisses at anything that moves, is actually coiled up in his lap like she belongs there.
I’m speechless.
Ever since I brought her home, this cat feeds me a steady diet of withering glares. Then we come here and she immediately chooses the most unpleasant of the Tempesta brothers as her new BFF.
Seriously, what gives?
Has she been hypnotized? Did the air travel scramble her little cat brains?
Louisa tilts her head and eyeballs me with detached curiosity, as if we are complete strangers.
“Is she…purring?” I manage to sputter when I hear an odd rumble.
Getty smiles at my shock and scratches my cat behind her ears. He doesn’t answer, like he knows his silence is the response that will result in maximum discomfort.
Louisa kneads her paws on the arm of the chair. Her purring grows louder.
I’d be lying if I said the rejection didn’t sting just a little.
Meanwhile, I’m keenly aware that I’ve been scrutinized by Cass Tempesta’s cold eyes since I stepped into the room. It takes a lot of self-discipline not to fidget or rub my palm over my bad knee.
My grandfather used to yell sharply whenever he caught me squirming. If we happened to be at the dinner table, he’d smack my hand and order me to get out of his sight.
“What do you think of the ranch so far?” Cass asks. He tends to speak a few decibels louder than necessary, daring anyone in earshot to ignore him. Today is no different.
“You really do have a beautiful home,” I tell him. “I’d love a tour.”
The flattery isn’t completely empty. While the decorative scheme could use a significant makeover, the house is amazing and the surrounding view is awe inspiring.
I’m struck by the thought that I haven’t been in this kind of family setting in years. The Tempestas are daunting and unconventional but they are still a family.
Cass Tempesta has a way of studying people that feels invasive, as if he’s capable of probing the contents of your mind using willpower alone. Julian has the same trait, although it’s not quite as menacing coming from him.
But where is Julian?
I was sure I’d find him here. His absence in the room is both a relief and a disappointment. I need to remain alert and that’s difficult while grappling with a growing infatuation that could be dangerous, given the circumstances.
“Of course you can have a tour, Cecilia,” says Cass. “This is your home now.”
If he’d slapped me across the face, I’d feel less affected than I am by the casual finality of those words.
I picture my orderly little one bedroom apartment and feel a wave of despair that I might never again hear some college kid vomiting from the upper balcony after one too many tequila shots.
And what will happen to my furniture?
The tufted sofa covered in blush-colored suede is my favorite place to spend a restful Sunday while planning the week ahead. The chunky knit blanket folded over the back of the sofa was made by Alice. And just a month ago I was so excited to find chiffon rose throw pillows.
I really need to get a grip. Throw pillows are not a priority right now.
A sudden tap on the back of my chair jolts me back to reality. A big hand skims my shoulder long enough to feel both reassuring and possessive.
