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My disappointment fades as I soak into him, relaxing my body against his warmth and listening to his steady breaths.
“What was your life like growing up?”
The question surprises me, coming out of nowhere. I don’t move, uncertain what he’s looking for in this answer.
“Ain’t a trick, Skye. I want to know about you.”
That eases some of my tension. “Um… I don’t know. Kind of militant, I guess. When my mum was alive, things were better. She was… she was a good mother. She and I would read stories together. Well, she’d read, I’d listen. We had a big library in the house, with nice comfy sofas. It’s one of my favourite memories—cold, wintery days under blankets and drinking hot chocolate with her. As I got a little older, she’d lie on my bed, showing me the music she liked.” My smile is sad and my heart aches for her. It’s been years, but her death still is fresh.
“What happened to her?” He traces lazy circles on the top of my arm, keeping me close still.
“A brain haemorrhage. She fell while riding. She was bruised, but she got right back up, laughing about it. When we went back to the house, she complained of a headache and went to lie down. Dad found her that evening. She’d slipped away in her bed.” The memories of that day assault me, making my eyes swim. “Dad was hard before, but after she passed, he became worse. He spent more time away, threw himself completely into his work, coming home only for brief periods. I was raised by the staff until I was old enough to take care of myself. I spent a lot of my time with Tommy and Scarlett.”
“Who the fuck is Tommy?” His brashness has my head lifting off his chest.
“A friend… or he was.” Rage’s jaw ticks. “Are you okay?”
“You and him?”
“Oh, hell no. He and I were close, but not like that, Beau. I never wanted Tommy in that way. He was like my brother. I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him.”
His fingers tighten on my arm. “You ever been in love before?”
He’s jealous, and I’m not sure why that makes me feel so happy. “No. I’m not a saint, Beau. I didn’t come to you a virgin, but I’ve never had a relationship before. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
He snorts, but his body eases beneath me. My answer must please him. “You think I know any better?”
“We’re doing okay,” I assure him. “I think my father loves me in his own way, but there was always a sense he wished I was a son, someone to carry on his legacy.”
“Why didn’t he marry again?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know that much about my father.”
We lapse into an easy silence, and I let my mind wander to those weeks before Tommy left to join the Pioneers. Jack was still alive then, Scarlett too. Life had been good. I spent my days riding and shopping. I didn’t have two deaths staining my soul, and I wasn’t pregnant to a man who my father will want to kill.
“When’s your birthday?”
“You going to buy me a present?” I tease.
He snorts. “Maybe.”
“It’s the thirtieth of December. When’s yours?”
“Fifteenth of January.”
“Figures we’re both Capricorns.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
My laugh is easy for the first time in what feels like months. “It means we’re both sensitive overachievers.”
“You believe that shit?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe we should have a joint birthday party this year, though I’m still going to be pregnant, so you’ll have drink for both of us.”
His chest rumbles with his laugh. “Darlin’, that ain’t gonna be a problem.”
My belly flutters at the endearment. “You like drinking?”
