Page 14 of Unruly

“It’s not like Cross to not call me back, Ma.”

Catrina’s brow raised as she stared at her daughter over the magazine. “What are you suggesting—he’s busy with someone else?”

Catherine barked out a laugh, and pushed off the bed. “Never.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Cross Donati was many things. Difficult. Combative. Stubborn. Introverted. Criminal. Sexy as sin. Dark in his soul. Sometimes a little too restless for his own good. A wonderful son, according to his mother and father. The perfect father, if you asked anyone else. Her very best friend, first and last lover, and her husband. He was not, however, unfaithful.

Ever.

“No, I’m just concerned,” Catherine said, staring out the window of her hotel room down to the cobblestone street below. “Or, starting to be. It’s odd for him not to answer me.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Do you miss them?”

“All the time.”

Catrina set her magazine down. “I felt that way too when you and Michel were young. I felt like I was never home enough.”

“You were gone at most, a week a month, Ma.”

“Still.”

“I’m gone two weeks, sometimes three.”

Catrina pursed her lips, and surveyed her painted-red fingernails. “Is that why I haven’t been given more grandchildren yet?”

Catherine stiffened. “That’s a nice way to ask if we’re having more kids.”

“Curious.”

“Cross wants more,” Catherine admitted. “Like tomorrow. As soon as I could get pregnant, he would be perfectly happy. He doesn’t say it, but I know it. I see it.”

“He’s a good father,” Catrina replied, “and it would make sense that he wants more children. Cece might even calm down a bit if she had a sibling to model her behavior for.”

“I know.”

“I hear a but in there, Catty.”

“But I feel like I barely see my daughter as it is. And what, I should have more just to be away from that child, too?”

Catrina cleared her throat, drawing Catherine’s attention to her mother’s soft smile. “Well, you will have time. You will learn to make time. You will not be so busy once all you need to learn in this business is plugged into that brain of yours, and you begin to put it to use. There will be time, Catherine.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Mrs. Donati?”

Catherine smiled at the approaching concierge of the Four Seasons. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man’s English was colored heavily by his Italian accent as he said, “Your mother called down to ask that I let you know she is suddenly feeling unwell.”

What?

Catherine tried not to let her panic or nerves show. “Did she?”

“She sent her apologies and asked that you attend your dinner meeting without her.”