She realized the comment had been offhand, but it resounded in her head.
She wasn’t that far gone. To trust him would be to make herself vulnerable to him, and that would never happen.
As he guided her past the iron gate and up the walk and front steps, the cold, intimidating grandness of the place struck her again as it had the day of Barron Farrell’s funeral. White stone with large bay windows, lit sconces and turrets that reminded her of a castle, the postcolonial mansion overlooked the Public Garden like a silent sentinel.
“I can’t believe you grew up here,” she breathed. Yes, she sounded like an awed tourist, but so what. It wasn’t every day a person encountered something straight out ofGame of Thrones. “This house is...wow. I heard someone mention—” okay, so it’d been her father “—that it’s been in your family for generations.”
“Yes, four generations of Farrells have dwelled in these hallowed halls,” he said, his voice so flat, so...careful around the obviously mocking words, that she jerked her head from the inspection of the iron flower boxes to study him. Nothing.
That’s what greeted her—nothing.
Not a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. Not one of his patented jaded smiles. Not a flicker of emotion as he stood under the mounted glass lamp next to the front door. Just a blank, impenetrable mask. Her stomach twisted with unease. She was missing something here. Something important...
“Over the years, each generation has added to or renovated it. Now it has six bedrooms and bathrooms, four powder rooms, ten fireplaces, an elevator, a rooftop heated pool and garden. There’s also a covered patio, three decks, library, media room complete with a home theater, a gym and wine cellar.” He rattled off the details and amenities matter-of-factly, impersonally.
“What did you add to it?” she whispered.
He dipped his head, meeting her gaze for the first time since they’d approached the house. “Nothing,” he stated, the blunt declaration inviting no questions.
Her heart thudded against her chest, and the same dark sense of dread that had swamped her in the library the night of their engagement party welled up, wrapping its fingers around her throat. Because before Cain turned from her to unlock the front door, she’d caught a bleakness in his eyes. The sight of it stole her breath, sent alarm pounding in her veins.
Something is not right here...
Cain clasped her hand in his and led her into his home and the foyer that could’ve graced any palace. Marble floor, crystal chandelier, artwork, beautiful but impractical furniture. It was a showplace that testified to the wealth of its owner. And Cain didn’t appear fazed by any of it. His lack of reaction—pride, pleasure, admiration—could be attributed to him growing up here and being immune to it.
But she doubted that was the reason.
An older man in a black suit and white shirt appeared seemingly out of thin air. Even though he didn’t stand much taller than her five foot four inches, his military posture lent him the height of a giant.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to open the door, Mr. Farrell,” he apologized, holding his arms out for their coats. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
“Because I didn’t ring it, Ben,” Cain replied, his tone and gaze warming. “I have a key, and I’m sure you have more important things to do than running to answer a door I’m fully capable of opening myself.” He settled a hand between Devon’s shoulder blades, and as if her body recognized the claim her mind rebelled against, she shifted closer to him. “Ben, let me introduce you to my fiancée, Devon Cole. Devon, I’d like you to meet Benjamin Dennis. He’s been with my family longer than I have. And he’s calling me ‘Mr. Farrell’ just for your benefit. Usually it’s something else less flattering with more colorful language,” Cain teased with a snort.
“If you say so, sir,” Benjamin drawled, and Devon grinned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cole.” He inclined his head, draping their coats over an arm. He swept the other toward the long corridor to the right of the grand staircase. “Your guests are in the great room.”
Guests? She frowned. Hadn’t Cain said they were having dinner? She’d assumed it would be the two of them.
“Thanks, Ben.” Gently applying pressure to her shoulder blades, Cain guided her forward. “This way, Devon.”
Still confused, she nonetheless slipped into her polite, social mask—the one she donned when placed in the position of having to talk to people she didn’t know. The one she wore while silently counting down the seconds before she could escape.
But the moment she stepped into the entrance of the huge room that could double as a small ballroom, that facade crumbled like dry leaves under a boot.
“Zio Marco. Zia Angela,” she breathed, her gaze roaming over the beloved faces of her uncle and aunt. She blinked. But no, they still stood there. More lines around their mouths and eyes, a little more gray hair. But here. Still not believing she was seeing their faces after more than six years, she shifted to the others in the room. “Carla. Beth. Manny.” Her cousins. And all of her parents’ brothers and sisters and their children. Happiness, shock and a fear that if she glanced away from them, they would disappear swirled inside her. It grew and grew, spinning faster and faster until her chest ached, her throat seized and her eyes stung. “I can’t believe... What are you doing here?”
“Devon,” her aunt Angela said, dark eyes shining with tears as she moved forward, arms outstretched.
Devon almost ran forward, meeting her halfway. Angela drew Devon close, hugging her. The scent of powder and spices embraced her as well, transporting her back to her childhood. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to Angela’s shoulder, her arms tightening around the woman who looked so much like her mother both joy and grief pulsed inside her veins.
“We’ve missed you so much. So much.” Leaning back, her mother’s sister clasped Devon’s face between her soft palms and smiled wide. “When your man called and told us you were engaged, then invited us to see you and meet him, how could we not come?”
Cain...Cradling her aunt’s hands, she drew them down and whipped around to face Cain, who remained in the entrance. “You arranged all of this? For me?” she whispered.
“Arranged it?” Zio Marco boomed, appearing beside his wife and throwing an arm around her. “He flew all of us in, put us up in a hotel and provided a limo to bring us here. This one must really love you to shell out money like that just to see you smile, eh?”
God, she’d missed her uncle’s lack of filter. She grinned, tears tracking down her cheeks even as a sliver of pain slid between her ribs.
This one must really love you to shell out money like that just to see you smile...
