Page 41 of Prince of Wrath

“Finally, Ella,” she sighs. “Finally, I get to meet the woman who managed to steal my son’s heart.” Her resting, impassive face softens into a kind, melancholic smile. “I’m Elizabeth Ashford, but please, call me Beth.” I bite my tongue. Of course the woman who created a being as fascinating as Tristan is herself a beautiful soul.

“Nice to meet you,” I sign, because Tristan told me she was fluent. “And I promise I have no plan on stealing him.”

“I was kidding, honey. You cannot imagine how joyful I am to know there is finally someone who sees him and loves him the way you do.” Loves him? How does she know that ? I have not even told him yet that I reciprocate his feelings. The thought of jumping off that cliff, vulnerable and bare of any shield around my heart, feels like diving without a parachute. “Oh, eyes don’t lie, Ella, and I believe that if my son could devour you alive, he would.” She purses her lips, sipping her drink again with a deep, rich sigh. “And I have never seen him so…outside himself as when you were gone. It seemed like nothing mattered to him anymore but getting to you.” She swallows, then gives a stiff shake of her head, chin high. “How are you, dear? I mean, really? This is all fun and games here, and I truly appreciate you being so kind and approachable, but.. it must have left scars, and you’re still at the very beginning of the healing process.” Straight to the point, like mother like son. No small talk, got it.

“It’s…” I pause. “It’s kind of one step forward and two steps back. It’s…complicated.” She hums, removing her sunglasses and staring at me like there is something hidden in my pupils that could answer a question she has not asked out loud.

“Isn’t it always the case?”

“I’m trying to… focus on the future.”

“And how do you see it? The future?”

“Hopefully getting back to university, keeping some work shifts, being there for my father, and…” I blush, not knowing how to describe a future with her son without sounding overconfident. Tristan and I are soulmates, Mrs. Ashford, and I believe that if we were to die today, we would meet again in another life. Oh, and I also think no other man could ever become the father of my children, but I digress. Where were we? No. That wouldn't work at all.

“Um,” her eyes narrowing slightly. “You know, Ella, there is something about you. A sadness, yes, but also something beyond your years.” Her gaze drifts to Maddie, and I turn too. “When I was young, people would always say, Elizabeth is so mature for her age. Wise beyond her years.” She huffs out a cold, contemptuous laugh. “My parents were rich socialites who had neither the time nor the desire to raise me. I was left on my own, with nannies and cooks and people who were kind, some less, but always, always alone. And I was praised for it, can you believe it ? My independence. My ability to learn things by myself. Until I met Theodore, Tristan’s father, and he took me under his wing. I was so desperate, so in love with the idea of love, perhaps more than the man himself. In the end, he never really even...” She stops, her voice tired in a way sleep could never fix. “I see myself in you. The same ability to stay calm and not react, because you have already experienced so much worse.”

She shakes her head just right as a butterfly flies above Maddie, the little girl trying to catch it. “So fleeting,” Elisabeth murmurs, waving her drink slightly. “Innocence. Once it’s gone, it’s…gone.” She looks back at me, one side of her mouth rising slightly. “You try to keep that innocence, Ella, even if it is only a speck of dust. The world could use a bit of that magic. Tristan could use a bit of that magic.” She repeats it to herself as the butterfly flies away, unaware of the parallel it has gifted us. With a royal tilt of her head that Grace Kelly herself could not have done better, Beth approaches Maddie, tapping her delicately on the shoulder and signing in perfect, unrushed ASL, “Love, what are you reading lately?” A sudden rush of tears knocks at the door of my lungs. A mother. She is a mother. I had one once. Every cell of my soul can still remember the warmth, the indubitable fact that I once belonged to someone who saw me, who knew me, who would have fought any battle, any war, and put herself between me and every bullet. Once, I had a mother.

A flash pierces this moment, suspended in time, stopping the clock.

One day, I will be one. And I will try my best. I will make mistakes, surely, but I will try my hardest so these little people who never asked anyone to be born know they belong. That they are loved. That they are held in prayers, wishes, hearts. That they impact others like stardust. I will give them roots and watch them fly away, and I will always be there, the human embodiment of home, to catch them when they fall or simply witness the marvelous blooming of their being.

“Ella.” Tristan’s voice shakes me from this trance, and I accept his lemonade, drinking in his outfit and how striking–no, mouthwatering–his fit is. He could have been a firefighter just fine. Our fingers brush. It is little, but a rocket ship launches inside me, and he swallows, his Adam’s apple betraying him too. The spark, the tension, stretches through the silence, where leaves dance in the soft wind just as Nate carries the cake to the round table in the garden. What a lovely backyard. Just enough to feel free and small enough to feel safe. The neighbors are not too close, but we can still see the borders of their homes next to Nate’s, with trees surrounding his garden, tall and full, adding to the privacy of this intimate family setting. A few red and pink balloons. A banner with Happy Birthday painted on it, looking like an adorable father-daughter art project. My favorite part is the table, covered with a pink tablecloth, navy-and-red plates, tiny plastic firefighter helmets scattered around for decoration, pearls and glitter, and napkins cut into princess-dress shapes. Not what you would expect from a multimillionaire’s birthday party. And still, it is perfect.

“You’re all right?” Tristan asks. I keep myself from confiding that yes, I am all right, because I think I saw our life unfold in my head and we will be okay.

“All good,” I mouth. “Who was it?” I ask about his phone call.

“You really want me to spoil the birthday?”

“Hey.” I give a small shake of my head, “Tell me.”

“Brenton and Deputy Garron want to capture Cole at my mother’s ball. They want…” He pauses, his jaw clenching. “They want you to be bait and lure him somewhere they could catch him without attracting too much attention.”

“Why there?”

“Because he’s in hiding right now, at a relative’s place, and they’re not sure about launching a potential raid without knowing what is waiting for them inside. The ball could lure him in, make him think he could get to you again and remain unscathed by it, hidden behind a mask.”

“I…” Speechless, I blink, my whole body remembering his hands on me, his voice channeling through every cell, warning me that danger is coming soon. “I can’t, Tristan. I’m sorry. I want to help, but…”

“No.” He stops me. “I wanted to tell you that I refused. I’m only telling you because I watched my father keep my mother out of the loop for decades, and it made her miserable. I want you to know my life. Everything you want to know, I’ll tell you. I will be an open book. But this…” He exhales. “I’m not sorry, sweetheart, because there is not a world in which I’m allowing him to get to you.”

“Then how will you pull this off?”

“I’m working on it.” He runs the edge of his index finger under his chin. “I’m sorry we had to discuss this in the middle of Maddie’s birthday.” His hand cups my face, and I blush at the display of affection. It will take some getting used to. Feeling loved and adored in public. “How did it go with my mother?”

“Better than I thought,” I sign. “I was afraid she would hate me like Mara.”

“No one could hate you, Ella.” We look at each other, and I want to rise on my tiptoes and steal a kiss, my eyes roaming over his lips, his whole outfit adding to his hotness and making my decision unusually bold.

“At home,” he says in a low voice, reading my mind. I look down, caught red-handed in the cookie jar. “Do you want a piece of cake? Nate’s not going to let us leave until we eat one,” he adds, a light chuckle easing us from the darkness back to the light as we approach the three of them around the table. All afternoon there’s laughter, chatter, sign language, games, cards, and tiaras, and I feel like I am stepping into a room full of sun without knowing where to look. All I know is that, for what feels like five minutes of my life, I am blinded by happiness.

Chapter Twelve

Tristan

“No, too soon,” I grunt, back in my white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up to my forearms as I sit across my woman with a chessboard between us. We are in the library, next to the bedroom. Two walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with books of all kinds, and I added more based on the research Kathy did into what twenty-two-year-old women currently liked, cross-referenced with what Ella told me she was into. I did not know if that was cocky of me. Already making room for her in my house. That is why I had not introduced her to this room before today. What if she thought I was just another jailer waiting to trap her in a golden cage? Hell no. The moment I opened the door, her pupils dilated, and she tilted her head adorably to the side, reading each spine, the tips of her fingers grazing the manuscripts. Fifteen minutes later, here we are.