Page 97 of Making Choices

“No,” Cherub giggles. “She wants me to look into the legality of keeping snakes as pets—specifically carpet pythons. My brief is to make the poor clerk regret ever being born.”

“Payback’s a bitch,” I quip. “I’ll take a first-row seat to the fireworks when you pass this idea by Gabriel.” With her middle finger, Cherub shoves her glasses up her nose. When I don’t react, she uses the same finger to scratch her forehead. “Not sure what I was thinkin’ only grabbin’ two.” It takes every ounce of acting ability I possess to bite back the laughter that bubbles in my throat as I feign ignorance of her wandering finger to clear myself a spot on the floor. “I’ll get you more racks when I head into the city next Monday.”

The atmosphere in the bedroom becomes heavy as tension radiates from my duchess.

I drop to my backside, ready to tackle the shoe crisis.

Hopefully, if I leave it, Cherub will tell me what’s wrong when she’s ready.

In a tentative voice, she offers, “I’m busy on Monday.”

Passing her a pair of black heels that look identical to the three pairs Cherub’s already lined up on the first rack, I ask, “What’re you up to?”

“Um… just… an… um… a thing with Bebe.”

At the mention of the crazy bitch who’s currently blackmailing me with a video of the day I broke Jack’s arm, I stiffen. The shoe I’m clutching drops to the floor. Irritation at being temporarily cornered by a conniving woman who’s motives I can’t decipher meanders up my spine. With Cub and Hunter busy searching for Joker, Bear, and Honey, as well as attempting to untangle Brutus’ web of deceit, I’m not willing to bring them into my personal drama. Being trapped in a corner by a civilian, no matter how sly Bebe has proven to be, is embarrassing as fuck.

I’d rather suffer in silence while I sort it out myself.

“What thing?” My duchess jerks at the annoyance in my tone. I try to keep my voice steady as I continue. “Shit’s still up in the air with the club, the cops, the Bishops, and the Maddisons. If you’re leavin’ the house, I’m goin’ with you.”

It’s clear from the curiosity in her eyes that Cherub doesn’t completely believe my deflection. It’s a testament to how uncomfortable she is at whatever she’s doing with Bebe that she doesn’t argue the point, instead offering a lukewarm explanation. “It’s a doctor thing. You don’t need to come. We’ll be fine at the clinic.”

We reach for the same shoe. I snatch it out of Cherub’s grip. She recoils like I was going to hit her, and my aggravation dies in the next heartbeat. My tone is brittle as I tell her, “How about you give me some details so I can make up my mind about how fine you’ll be without me.”

Every atom of colour drops out of Cherub’s face as she mumbles, “Bebe’s taking me to get a procedure to stop the bleeding. It should only take a few hours.”

My remorse is as immediate as my response. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” It kills me when Cherub looks at the floor rather than at me. “Without Zeke… after Zeke… I’m trying to stand on my own two feet.”

“Fuck Venom,” I grumble from between teeth that are gritted so hard my jaw flares with pain. Capturing Cherub’s chin with my fingers, I tilt her head until she’s facing me. “You’ve always stood on your own feet. With Venom. Without Venom. That fact’s not gonna change. And things like this don’t require you to show how tough you are by facin’ it alone.” Her throat works as she swallows down the agony that’s turned her gaze glassy. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to prevent myself from dropping my hand to cup her neck so I can feel her throat move beneath my palm. “I’m comin’ with you and I’ll be lookin’ after you when you get home.”

“You don’t mind? I know the club’s crazy right now.”

Shaking my head, I lean closer and press my lips to her forehead. “I don’t mind, at all.”

The sigh that leaves Cherub is drawn out and filled with a type of all-consuming sorrow that not many people walking the planet are intimate with. Thankfully. Because I couldn’t imagine a world where the majority of us are walking around with souls charred to ash by third degree burns of the heart-break kind. Humans are mean enough to each other without the creation of a broken preponderance of the population who deserve to lash out indiscriminately.

“I’m dreading it,” Cherub confesses in a ghost of a whisper.

Like they have a mind of their own, my palms slide around the curve of her waist. I link my fingers at the small of her back and tug her into my lap. She comes without a fight, and I breathe my own sigh—only this one is filled with relief.

Over the last week, she’s been trying to put space between me and her grief, and I’ve tried my hardest to let her go, in order to honour my agreement with Sander to give his twin a chance to find herself without Venom. But now that I know the distance is due to Cherub’s misguided idea that she needs to stand on her own two feet to be strong, I won’t hold back any longer. Strength isn’t found in exile or self-sabotage. It’s the culmination of a little madness, a whole heap of openness, and unrestrained vulnerability.

A trio of traits my duchess has in spades.

“After the D&C,” she murmurs. “Every connection to Zeke will be severed. All I’m going to have left is a bunch of painful memories and a bad taste in my mouth every time I think about him.”

Tightening my grip on Cherub, I rest my chin on top of her head. We sit in silence while I contemplate how to respond to her admission. Eventually, I decide that the truth is the best option. “He’s lucky all you have is a bad taste in your mouth after how he’s behaved, ’cause the next fuckin’ time I see him, he’s gonna feel the business end of my fist… know that mosta the Shamrocks plan on the same too.”

“Part of me wants to laugh because Zeke deserves a good throat punch,” she admits. After extricating herself from my embrace, Cherub crawls over to the closest pile of shoes. I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, so she doesn’t catch me staring at her arse. “Unfortunately, I know that he’d prefer punches over sympathy, so all we’re doing is playing into his hands with our anger.”

As we settle into a rhythm that makes quick work of sorting her shoes, Cherub sings along to the playlist I selected. Somehow, she’s managed to quiet her turmoil over Venom and the baby and find a level of composure that’s a testament to the strength she can’t yet bring herself to acknowledge. Every day I grow a little more awestruck at Cherub’s capacity to force herself to push through her pain when giving up would be easier.

I haven’t shared her bed since she moved into the room next to mine. Even so, I’m aware that Cherub sets an alarm each night and allows herself thirty minutes to cry. Outside of that designated period, she keeps her poise with an air of quiet determination around her as she embraces her new normal. How much of it is an act, I figure none of us will ever know because that’s just the kind of woman she is.

Notwithstanding her brave front, we’re all keeping an eye on her—keeping her busy and never leaving her alone with her thoughts too long.

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