Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig
Rett
Emma’s gaze went up to the glass ceiling as her smile grew. “This room is absolutely magnificent.”
I tried to see it as she was seeing it, with the wonder that came from lack of familiarity. It wasn’t something that came naturally to me. After all, I’d been born into this house. And yet as I followed her line of vision, I saw the colorful evening sky, the shades of purple and pink through the glass. “I suppose it is.”
Emma’s hand remained on my arm until we reached the dining table I’d had placed in here, complete with the silver vase and single red rose.
Once we were both seated, I sat back and took in the view I found the most magnificent, my stunning wife.
“You’re looking at me like that again,” Emma said with a blush of pink filling her cheeks.
“What is like that?”
“I sometimes feel like you’re seeing me, all of me, as if my dress were gone.”
It was my turn to smile. “Oh, Emma, I do love that image, but if I’m again honest with you—”
“It’s all I want you to be.”
I nodded. “I’m looking at you with wonder at your presence.” I grinned. “I guess that word has plural meanings.”
She tilted her head.
“You see,” I went on, “your presence as in you’re here. There was a time earlier today that I wasn’t confident we would be here or anywhere this soon.”
Her neck straightened. “I had the same concern.”
“And also your presence as in there is a presence about you. You’re simply regal without trying.”
Before we could continue, Miss Guidry entered with a rolling cart and our meal. By the time she finally left, Emma and I both had plates and glasses before us with multiple courses present. Sipping my ice water, I watched as Emma took a bite of her salad and lifted her napkin to her lips.
Conversation came as we ate and drank.
The fear I’d refused to acknowledge—that things would be awkward between us—wasn’t realized. It wasn’t until our plates were taken away, coffee was served, and we were left alone that I broached the subject I’d been wondering about since I left the third-floor suite. I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine. “There’s no doubt that you’re far more forgiving than I. And while I am grateful that you are, will you tell me why?”
“I’m not sure you’re forgiven.”
My eyes opened wider. That wasn’t what I expected. I wasn’t certain what I expected; however, that wasn’t it. “Well, Mrs. Ramses, congratulations for surprising me at every turn.”
She looked to the side of the conservatory. “May we sit over there?”
I nodded as we both reached for our coffee and carried it to the table near the loveseat. When she sat, she was facing me. The way she searched me gave me an odd sensation. Maybe it was what she was saying about when I looked at her. My sensation wasn’t of being unclothed but unmasked. Most of my life had been spent building up to my coup, to my taking power. Once that power was in my grasp, there was a constant battle to hold it tight. The protection I enlisted wasn’t only my men who would risk their lives but included a shield surrounding me.
The shield was metaphoric but present and impenetrable nonetheless.
In Emma’s gaze, that defense eroded away, piece by piece and layer by layer. I’d tried to rebuild it earlier today and I supposed I’d succeeded, but I immediately realized the cost was more than I was willing to pay.
“I don’t know if you’re forgiven,” she said again. “I know I want to.”
“That’s a start.”
“But I realized something. After you left the third-floor suite, I had an epiphany.”
“Since you’re still here, I assume it was a good one?”
She grinned. “Was leaving the house an option I wasn’t aware I had?”
“No. I meant here as in having dinner with me.”
Pursing her lips, Emma looked down at her hands, twisting the diamond one way and the other before looking up. “I meant what I said about taking versus giving.”
She didn’t need to elaborate. The contraction in my chest meant I understood.
“I also recalled,” Emma went on, “the first night in the restaurant. That night you said what you expected if I were your wife. You didn’t sugarcoat it then, and I guess today was the manifestation of that.”
Exhaling, I leaned back against the soft cushions and stared up at the darkening sky through the glass ceiling. “This isn’t easy for me. I have what I have because I take what I want.”
I looked down as Emma reached for my hand.
It had been splayed on my thigh, but now she was holding it between hers. The difference in the size of hers and mine shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it did. In so many ways, she would appear inferior, smaller and weaker. And yet today she’d proven the opposite.
Emma Ramses didn’t crumple in the face of adversity. She didn’t run away or cry. No, this petite, intelligent, sensational sensual woman faced me with more vigor and spitfire than any man in New Orleans. She had a fire burning within her that beckoned such as a lighthouse on a rocky shore. I longed to get closer to the flame, not to extinguish it but to feed it and tend to it.
It was because of her fire that I craved her submission.
I turned her way. “I still want it, Emma.”
She nodded.
“Will you ever willingly offer it again?”
I said a prayer to my mother’s saints or Miss Guidry’s spirits that Emma wouldn’t ask me if I’d ever take it again as I had today because she wouldn’t like my honest response. While I didn’t plan it, I couldn’t promise that it wouldn’t happen.
Instead of asking or answering, Emma reached for the small purse she’d been carrying. “Miss Guidry reminded me that this is officially our honeymoon. And well, I have something for you.”
Our honeymoon.
Emma deserved a real honeymoon. And one day, I’d give that to her.
“Wait.” I reached into the pocket of my suit coat and pulled out a small box with a white ribbon. “I have something for you, too. We can call it a wedding gift.”
“Not an apology offering?”
“No, you know my thoughts on apologies, and that would mean I’m giving you this to make me feel better. I’m not.” I extended my hand with the box. “I’m offering it because you make me feel better.”
Her sweet grin grew as she took the box. Before pulling the ribbon free, she shook it and appeared to be contemplating its contents. “I will guess jewelry.”
“That would be the most plausible.” However, I’d given her jewelry repeatedly over the last month or more. This was something less monetarily valuable. I hoped it would be equally as precious.
Her smile faded. “You’ve given me so much. Tonight, I wanted to surprise you with a gift.”
“You will. Indulge me, please.”
Emma pulled the ribbon free and opened the box. Inside was another box, covered in teal velvet with a hinged top, and satin lining. “I told you—jewelry.” Emma tilted back the lid and her blue eyes opened wide. “What is this?”
“It’s a key.”
She lifted the key between her thumb and finger. “I can see that, Rett. A key to what?”
I would say my heart, but we both knew that didn’t exist.
“Your suite.”
Her forehead wrinkled as indecision showed in her expression. “The dead bolt Ian had installed doesn’t require a key. It only opens and locks from inside.”
“No, Emma, to your suite. The third floor isn’t your suite. You belong by me. That key now operates the new locks on the door from your suite to the hallway, the door to the hallway that connects our suites, and your door to the exercise room. There’s no way into your suite that you can’t secure.”
“And do you have a copy?”
“There is a copy for safety purposes with the staff. No, I don’t have one.”
Moisture came to Emma’s eyes as she wrapped her fingers around the key and hugged it to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I guess we can put it on a chain if you want more jewelry.”
Leaning toward me, she brushed her lips against mine. “It’s the best gift I’m not sure I’ll ever use.”
“I guess that decision is up to you.”
Opening her hand, she stared down at the key. “Really, all the doors?”
“That’s why Thomas was unable to remove the shutters. He’s had a busy day as a locksmith.”
Again, Emma reached for her purse. “I apologize, I didn’t wrap yours.”
“I don’t need a gift. I have you. And you decided to re-sign the marriage certificate and join me for dinner. I should probably quit while I’m ahead.”
Emma reached for my hand and turned it. “Open your hand, palm up, and close your eyes.”
A chuckle rumbled deep within my throat. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Do it, please.”
Exhaling, I did as she asked. I felt the sensation of something that weighed next to nothing, but with my eyes closed, I couldn’t decide what it was.
“Open your eyes.”
“Fuck, Emma.” I closed my fingers around the light blue blindfold. “Tell me what that means.”
“It means I want to trust you, Rett. I won’t give up on you if you won’t give up on me.”
“You know your way back to the third floor. This house is yours. Do you not want to see it?”
She nodded. “I do and I love learning about the furnishings and hearing stories of your family.” Pink filled her cheeks as her lashes veiled her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking that we would use it” —she gestured about— “...in public.”
