Page 88 of Devil's Iris
Or maybe it’s just Romero that I don’t understand.
He’s a very confusing man.
Actually, scratch that. He’s not just confusing—he’s completely impossible to read.
One minute I’m falling asleep in his arms feeling like the luckiest woman alive, basking in the afterglow of a week where he worshipped my body like I was something precious. The next, I wake up and suddenly he’s distant, cold, telling me our honeymoon was a ‘waste of time’.
What did I do wrong? What did I say?
I’ve replayed every moment from our last night together, searching for some clue, some misstep that would explain his sudden transformation. But there’s nothing…
Then he fucking abandoned me for the entire flight back home. Five agonizing hours alone, my thoughts twisting deeper and darker, obsessing over what I’d done to deserve his icy distance.
And as if the universe is mocking me, we arrive home andan adorable little tabby cat comes running to greet us. A cat that definitely wasn’t here when we left for our honeymoon.
“Kitten, what did I tell you about wandering off?” A dark-haired man strides towards us with an annoyed frown on his face.
Sandro. I met him briefly at the wedding, though I’m still not entirely sure what he is. Romero’s bodyguard? Secretary? Investigator? Honestly, it’s hard to tell.
I drop to my knees without thinking twice and scoop the tiny orange furball into my arms. He’s warm and soft and exactly what my heart needs after hours of Romero’s silent treatment.
“Hey, baby. Have you been giving Uncle Sandro a hard time?” I coo, glancing up in time to see Sandro’s face go pale at the word ‘uncle’. My lips tug up, and I can’t help but chuckle at his horrified expression. Poor guy looks ready to file a formal complaint about his new family title.
The kitten squirms for about three seconds before finding the perfect spot against my chest, letting out this cute yawn that makes my ovaries practically explode. His whiskers tickle my wrist as he settles in, and I’m already completely smitten.
“Well, now that you’ve arrived, my job as a cat-sitter is officially over. Thank God.” Sandro dusts his hands down his clothes. “Good luck with that furry tornado and all the destruction she leaves in her wake.”
She. It’s a girl.
My chest does this weird fluttery thing when he confirms what I already suspected—this little princess is all mine. “What’s her name?”
“No name yet. Romero wanted you to handle the honors yourself.”
My eyes snap to my husband, who’s been standing there watching this whole scene unfold without saying a word. Hisjaw flexes, and when his green eyes finally meet mine, something unreadable flickers there. “It’s a gift,” he says gruffly—then walks off.
Sandro’s frown deepens, his gaze bouncing between us like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. After a moment’s hesitation, he follows Romero, leaving me alone with my new companion.
A gift.
I stare down at the kitten in my arms, and despite the confusing ache in my chest, a wide smile spreads across my face. He remembered our conversation. The fabric of my shirt brushes the diamond in my navel as I walk, and the thought hits me:He seems to remember everything about me.
My heart squeezes as I glance up at the direction he disappeared. Maybe something horrible happened with work? That would explain why we had to leave the island so suddenly and why he shut himself away the entire flight home. He did mention important work…
I cradle my kitten as I climb the stairs towards my—well,our—bedroom. “Now, what should I name you, sweetie?” I murmur, stroking her impossibly soft fur. She shifts against me, a low purr vibrating through her body.
“You like that?” I keep petting her until I reach the room, then gently place her on the chair. She immediately starts exploring her new cozy lookout while I grab clean clothes. “Hold on, I need to take a shower and change. After that, we can get to know each other properly, okay?”
Lady Heathcliff.
That’s what I call my cat. Named after my favorite fictional character—a character who reminds me painfully of myhusband. But as the days pass, I realize how perfectly fitting that name is, because she apparently thinks she’s some sort of anti–hero and I’m her devoted servant.
Every morning, without fail, she climbs onto my chest at some ungodly hour, meowing indignantly and pawing at my hair until I surrender to her demands for breakfast. And boy does she eat. In a single week, she’s nearly doubled in size.
But I’m so grateful for her demanding presence. She distracts me from obsessing over my husband and wondering what the hell crawled up his ass and died.
Is he tired of me already?
Should I have never suggested marriage, just stayed with him for the two months he asked for?
