7:45 a.m.
Testifying against an old, frail, and repentant Sinéad and a loathsome, rage-spitting Geoffrey, and the dismantling of their fake cult, which had tentacles all over Europe, had not been easy, yet it brought a relief and a closure to Laetitia’s life in a way nothing else could have.
It was an agonizing two-month-long labor, only made possible to endure by Tavish’s powerful, loving presence at her side and the protection of his united family, who had embraced her and revealed profound respect and unwavering love.
On December 23, surrounded by Tavish’s family, her grandfather, and her few friends, in a small, heartfelt ceremony at Atwood House, “Laetitia Camden” had been born into the world, exactly twenty-four years from the day she was birthed from her mother’s womb.
Her hours were now filled with perfect moments: talking with critics; meeting with Maddox and Tatiana; shopping with Sophia for nonsense she was sure she didn’t need, but Sophia insisted she did; spending weekends at the MacCraigs’ country houses, where with wooden swords and shields Tavish played Highlander with his nephews, Michael and Peter Liam, while his nieces, Gabriela and Ariadne, braided her hair with flowers and dressed her in fairy costumes; laughing at the jokes his brother-in-law, Leonard, made at everybody’s expense; learning to swim with his amazon of a sister, Alice, and to ride with his father, Lachlann.
And the best ones, the ones she treasured most, were the hours she spent with Tavish: sharing the top floor; watching him shape his bonsai; carving her paintings; playing with Dog and Cleopatra; cooking new recipes in his kitchen; reading; watching films; all of which would inevitably end in a hot heap of mouths and limbs until they fell exhausted and sated by lovemaking.
They were moments that many would take for granted.
But never Laetitia.
And today was the opening of her exposition, Carving Out Life. The Blue Dot’s schedule had been modified to fit this huge exposition, occupying the two main floors of the gallery, with a VIP opening night and five days for the public. Five hundred selected guests had each paid five hundred pounds, to be donated to the Sophia Leibowitz Foundation for Women and Children, in the name of Laetitia Galen, and the Queen would be visiting at six o’clock. Tavish, Alistair, and Sophia promised her they would maneuver the press into asking only what was necessary.
At last, she yawned, stretched, and forced her eyes open.
Beside her, Tavish, already showered, was stretched out, leaning on his elbow, watching her through his long lashes.
He chuckled when she clamped her mouth shut.
“Morning.” She smiled at him. “Are you not going to stop spying on my sleeping?”
“Nae, I like looking at you,” he said, wondering if he would ever tire of it. His fingers traced the contours of her pale-brown eyebrows, and her eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh leaving her mouth. Her white-blonde hair spread over his pillows, her pixie face, and beautiful body; it was nothing less than perfect.
He’d had many women, but none held a candle to Laetitia. Not in body or face or aura. She shone like a beacon in his mind, eclipsing everyone else.
And when she smiled, her face lit up, and his world was brighter.
“What time is it?” she asked, stretching again.
“Time to get up and eat.”
“Good.” She rolled off the bed and walked to the bathroom. “I’m feeling like having breakfast on the terrace.”
He tilted his head. “What?”
“Terrace. Breakfast. Served by a fifteenth-century barbarian alpha-macho Highlander,” she said over her shoulder with a sassy smile. “In fifteen minutes.”
He chuckled. “Coming up, ma’am.”
His lips quirked when feminine arms came about his waist, followed by a warm, lithe body against his back.
Tavish clasped her hands and pulled her tighter against him, blood firing directly to his groin. “What took you so long?”
“Today is our big day,” she said, disentangling herself from him and pushing at his waist so he would turn toward her.
“Your big day.”
“Ours.”
“Yours.”
“Ours, and don’t gainsay me.” Laetitia’s hands brought his head down, and her lips took his.
He savored the delectable lips and met her thrust of tongue with his own.
A purr interrupted them.
“Cat.” He scowled down at Cleopatra, who was rubbing herself on his legs. “You do realize we are occupied now, don’t you?”
Laetitia laughed.
“Out, Cat.” He pointed to the stair. “Go find Dog.”
She looked at him and meowed a complaint but obeyed.
“How do you do it?”
“Women like dominating, commanding men.” Tavish pushed her against the wall and took her lips in a searing kiss. His hard and ready body set against her, bringing a whimper to her lips that fueled his raw need to take her.
She broke the kiss, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and gave him a mischievous smile. “I have . . . a surprise.”
Tavish met her eyes. “A surprise?”
“Yes,” she said, then pulled him by the hand to the reclining chair, and went to the closet where she kept her paintings. When she came back with a box in hand, she corrected herself. “In fact, I have two surprises.”
He lifted an ink-black eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”
“Well, they are not exactly unexpected, but the . . . their circumstances are.”
His eyes widened, and he wiggled his fingers at her. “Come here.”
She sat on her legs, facing him. “I’ve considered our wedding, as you asked.”
“Good, good.” He pulled her to his lap and smiled mischievously. “Your grandfather was going to shoot me sometime soon. When?”
“Sophia promised she’ll have everything ready for next Friday.”
“What!” He straightened in the chair, and she slid closer to him, the box sandwiched between them. “Why? You doona have to rush just because he is an overbearing—”
“I didn’t do it for him. I did it for us.” Her trembling lips opened in a smile so beautiful he was floored. “We can’t have Air Marshall Camden killing the father of his great-grandchild.”
Father of the—? “Oh, Snowdrop!” Blood thundered in his ears, and he gazed inside the box she had opened, where a pair of tiny, white baby booties lay, and then back at her. His hand covered her belly. “I’m going to be a father.”
“Most definitively. I’m already two months along.” She bobbed her head, excited. “Happy?”
He kissed her, because there were times when words were mere threads, completely inadequate to contain the enormity of happiness the future held for them.
This was one of those moments.
Just one of them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I live in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, with my husband and two teenage daughters. I’m a lawyer and have always loved to read and write. In 2010, I decided to give writing a go and began writing the Trust Series. I didn’t expect to publish it, but as time went by and the story grew, I was persuaded to do so.
Since then I have been hooked by this magical craft, and I don’t want to be freed.
I hope you enjoy reading Laetitia and Tavish’s story as much as I loved writing it, and please consider leaving a review.
I love to connect and hear from readers, so feel free to stalk me online! And if you want to receive my very, very sporadic e-mails about new releases, you can sign up on my website.
Cristiane Serruya Website
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You can also find my other books on my Amazon page
TRUST series: Entwined Fates; Second Chances; Dark Obsession; Unveiled Memories; Untamed Passion; Dangerous Illusions; Pandora’s Box; and, Eternal Hope.
THE MODERN MAN: A Philosophical Divagation about the Evil Banality of Daily Acts.
Soon to come:
THE KINGDOM OF PERFECTION, my first children’s book.
THE ESSENTIAL WOMAN: A Philosophical Divagation on the Perennial Good of Daily Acts.
Cristiane Serruya, Unpredictable Love
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