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“Do you think that’s reason enough to come after you?” Savannah asks.
“No. But I get the feeling that Julietta likes to get her way. Julietta craves power more than diplomacy, and Alex and I are in the way. Alex is next in line of succession, with me following close behind. If she takes us out, then Aaron, she can do whatever she wants. My dad renounced the throne and can no longer resume those duties per our bylaws.”
Charlie asks, “Do you think she would do that?”
I hesitate, but that is an answer in and of itself. I don’t know what Julietta is capable of or how far she is willing to go.
Patrick simply takes it all in. “It’s probably safe to say that loan shark thugs and democracy advocates aren’t at the top of our suspect list since we have Jordain and Julietta’s guard crawling all over Montana right now,” he says.
Well, at least that narrows things down a bit.
Chapter seventeen
Patrick
The pitter-patter of little feet wakes me up long before the cannonball on my bed does, but it doesn’t stop the oomph! from escaping my lips as Alex’s body lands on mine. “Rise and shine, sleepy head! Grandma made hashbrown casserole for breakfast!” he says enthusiastically.
“I’m up! I’m up!” I tell him, laughing. I snake my arm around his waist and flip him to the other side of the bed, tickling him mercilessly. His giggle can be heard down the hall because, eventually, his gorgeous mother stands in my doorway, smiling at the two of us.
“Help me! Help me!” he calls out to her, yet continuing to laugh uncontrollably. Unable to resist the siren call of a pleading child, Ariella tries to help. When she gets within arm’s reach, my free hand grabs her waist and pulls her to me. I roll her over and begin to tickle her instead. Alex, free from the assault, turns on his mother and pokes her lightly in the ribs.
“No fair!” she yells playfully.
“All’s fair in love and war,” I tease.
“And we love you lots!” Alex exclaims. After tickling her a bit more, he runs out of steam. He kisses his mother’s cheek before hopping off the bed and racing out of the room. “The last one downstairs is a rotten egg!” he shouts, not caring in the slightest that neither one of us is following him.
I cage Ariella underneath me, an elbow on each side of her head. Her breathing is rapid, and her smile is wide. I lean down and place my lips on the crook of her neck, my morning stubble causing her to giggle more. When my teeth scrape along the edge of her ear, the laughter stops and turns to a soft purr. It’s a sound I remember fondly. Slowly, I trail my lips across her delicate jawline until I reach the corner of her mouth.
“I love you, Ariella,” I say tenderly.
“I love you, too,” she says back without hesitation. Her eyes close as my lips mold to hers, my tongue tracing her lower lip and begging for entrance. I’m about to deepen the kiss and show her how much I’ve missed her when I hear Alex running back down the hall toward my room.
“Grandma told me to tell you to ‘stop the smoochin’ and get movin’!’”
Groaning, I get off Ariella and roll out of bed, wearing nothing but my sweatpants. Seeing that his job is complete, Alex runs down the hallway and stairs toward the kitchen. With my back turned, I reach for my shirt that’s folded neatly over the chair. “I’d be a gazillionaire if I could harness his energy, bottle it up, and sell it,” I joke. Expecting to hear at least a small chuckle but getting none, I look over my shoulder at Ariella to see what has her tongue-tied.
She’s sitting on the edge of my bed, her eyes dark with desire and slowly roaming my body from head to toe and back again. Her voice is husky when she says, “Now, that is a view a girl could get used to.”
I swallow hard. “Do you want to get used to it, Ari?” I ask vulnerably.
She stands up, tracing her finger over my heart. I feel as though she is branding me, the heat of her touch scorching hot. “I do, Patrick. We have much to discuss, but I want to make this work.”
I bring her hand to my lips, kissing it tenderly and reverently. “Let’s have breakfast first. It’s better to talk on a full stomach.”
Her mouth quirks up. “Don’t think you have me fooled for even one second, Mr. Kent. I remember you going on and on about your mom’s hashbrown casserole. I bet that if she had made oatmeal, you wouldn’t be making me wait to have this conversation.”
I put on my T-shirt and give her a quirky grin. “I promise you’ll agree it’s worth the wait once you take your first bite.”
We make our way downstairs and head toward the kitchen. “Mom, what can we do to help?” I ask when I see her scrambling around.
“Can you carry the casserole into the dining room, please? And no sneaking a bite on the way!”
My mom knows me all too well because I had planned on doing just that if the opportunity had presented itself. Ariella grabs the large bowl of fresh fruit while my mom brings the carafe of coffee.
Everyone is seated around the table, which is loaded with food. I make a show of looking for an empty spot to set the casserole dish, ignoring the open space in the center and placing it in front of me instead. Grabbing my fork, I ask, “Who’s ready to dig in?”
My father grabs his own fork but holds it like a weapon instead of a serving utensil. “Son, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll place the casserole dish where it belongs. Which, for the record, is not directly in front of you.” His tone is serious, but the mischievous twinkle in his eye gives him away.
