Chapter 3

CELINA

Joren came to take me home the next day.

Home turned out to be a two-story house at the end of a cul-de-sac on the edge of town. No neighbors. Fresh paint. The SOLD sign was still lying in the side yard, waiting to be hauled away.

"Why not Ashby House?" I asked.

A flicker of guilt crossed his face before he masked it with tender concern. "You just got out of the hospital. The doctors said you need absolute peace and quiet to recover. Ashby House is too chaotic right now. I wanted a private sanctuary just for us."

Chaotic. Right. Ashby House sat on twelve secluded acres. It was plenty quiet. But I suppose a sprawling estate gets a little cramped when you move your mistress and her kid into it. Big enough for them. No room for me.

I didn't argue. Instead I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close enough to see his pupils.

"Where's Rafe?"

His pupils blew wide. Under my knuckles, his heart kicked.

Then he covered my hand with his and smiled, gentle and indulgent.

His thumb stroked my wrist. "After the accident, Rafe took it hard. He's not young anymore, Celina. I was scared it would kill him. So I sent him home to Sicily to retire. Gave him enough money to live like a king. When you're stronger, I'll take you to see him."

Sicily. My brother's island. Where Rhys would have heard about it within the hour.

I let go. When I turned away, my face was ice.

"You must be bored out of your mind," Joren said quickly. "Let's go shopping. Get you some new clothes."

Fine. Every minute in a crowd was a minute I wasn't alone with him, thinking about the knife block in that brand-new kitchen.

At the boutique, Joren pulled dresses off the racks like he'd done it a hundred times. Pale chiffon, soft pastels, little floaty sleeves.

I frowned. "I don't wear this stuff. Did you forget?"

He froze, then waved a salesgirl over. After that, he let her do the choosing. He sat on the velvet couch, patient as a saint, and complimented every single thing I tried on.

The perfect husband.

Except that in all our years together, Joren had never once gone shopping with me. He'd always been too busy clawing his way up inside the Ashby family to waste an afternoon on something so small. Now he knew exactly where to sit, how long to wait, what to say.

Someone had trained him.

It just wasn't me.

When I came out in my own clothes, he was gone. Three salesgirls were huddled behind the counter.

"That's not Miss Blythe. Who is she?"

"A side piece, obviously. Can you believe it? Mr. Ashby, of all people. He acts like Miss Blythe hung the moon."

"Please. Men with that kind of money all do it. Poor Miss Blythe, she's so sweet. He already popped the question—the wedding is right around the corner."

I planted my hand against the towering glass display of crystal decanters and shoved.

The whole rack went down. A small fortune in hand-blown crystal exploded across the marble at their feet, sending all three of them shrieking.

I didn't even blink. "Put it on Joren Ashby's account."

When Joren returned, the salesgirls were white as sheets, while I casually flipped through a rack of gowns.

He didn't notice a thing. He looked nervous. "Celina, I just got a call—my car's blocking someone in the garage. Can you shop on your own for a few minutes? I'll be right back."

He was gone before I could answer.

I gave him a head start. Then I took the stairs down to the parking garage.

A red car parked crooked in the corner, rocking gently on its suspension. A woman's breathy voice leaked through the glass.

I kept to the shadows and moved closer, until the breathing turned into a sob.

"Are you cheating on me? I was at the mall today—everyone's saying you're upstairs buying dresses for some woman!"

"It's not like that. It's Celina. She woke up with nothing. I'm just getting her some clothes."

Joren. Which made the other one Romina Blythe.

Some woman. My knuckles cracked.

"Do you still love her?" Romina was really crying now. "I don't care if you do. I'll get on my knees for her if I have to. Just let me stay with you!"

"Hey, don't talk like that." His voice dropped, turning low and coaxing. "I don't love her. It's just guilt. Once she's recovered, I'm cutting ties."

"Promise?"

"Baby, you’re the one I want. The only one who can actually give me a family."

She let out a wet laugh through her tears. "Obviously. She lost hers in the crash, didn't she? Practically bled out. She couldn't give you a kid now even if she tried."

Joren chuckled, a dark, husky sound as he pulled her over the center console. "Exactly. Which is why I need to put a few more in you."

"Joren, stop—not in the car," she giggled, her voice dropping into a breathless purr.

The rustle of clothing and a heavy groan answered her. A moment later, the tinted vehicle began a slow, rhythmic rocking.

I let out a long breath and walked away.

Something inside me had been scooped out.

I'd been pregnant. I'd had a child. And it was gone before I ever knew it existed.

My phone buzzed. Rhys.

Caught the last rat in the family. He talked.

The Blythe girl doesn't move Locatelli's men just because she's wearing your ring.

Blythe is her mother's name. Her father's was Grassi.