After the dinner with Bianca’s parents, things started moving even faster on both the ring investigation and on Primrose House, which Bianca had renamed “The Prim.” My days blurred into each other as I worked from sunup until sunset. The relentless work was good, because it almost kept me distracted from the fact that I still desperately wanted Bianca, but I still saw no way to make that happen.

Almost.

In the mornings, I would head to the university library or local records office as soon as they opened to dig through the archives. Sometimes Anna would join me, giving me an hour or so of her wisdom while Luke watched the baby before hurrying off again to attend her motherly duties.

Anna’s presence made me nervous. Every time she glanced over my shoulder or asked me why I was still on the same document, I panicked that she’d figured out I was struggling to read. But she seemed too preoccupied with the baby – checking her phone every few minutes in case Luke messaged her – to put it together, which suited me fine.

I made slow progress. I dug through every piece of history on the Crooks Worthy monastery, Bartholomew Winthrope, and Bianca’s family, but there was no mention of the ring. I did discover a marriage announcement in the local paper for Sylvia and her Yorkshire Earl, as well as a pamphlet about the castle where she became Lady and gave birth to six children. I added that castle to my list of possible locations for the ring. Despite what Bianca’s mother had said about the Earl’s family not having the ring, I wanted to go up to York and look for it, but Caleb insisted he and Irvine would do it.

When I’d told Caleb about Rolf’s visit to the library, he didn’t seem fazed. “He’s in town because Irvine invited him to meet with us,” he said. “We’ve already had one discussion, and we plan to speak again in a few days. I’m not surprised he’s taking the time to investigate my pack. I’d do exactly the same in his position.”

“What are you discussing with a Wulfric alpha? You realise they—”

“—are the bitter enemies of the Macleans?” Caleb said. “Yeah, Robbo, I remember. But Irvine says they can help us, and I trust him. So does your mother. You need to trust him, too.”

I was never going to trust Irvine a single bit, but there was no way I could tell Caleb that. “I’ll try, man.”

“You do that. And you find that ring.”

The afternoons and evenings I spent at Primrose House, making repairs and painting and redecorating, readying for the opening of the art house. Bianca came after work to do her share of the work, but I didn’t stick around to socialise with her. I didn’t want to give myself any more false hope, and I had other work to do.

By reading late into the night, I was also able to start sorting through the boxes of documents stored in the attic. Bianca kept offering to help me, but I didn’t want her to discover my illiteracy, so I took the boxes back to Raynard Hall and pored through them on my own. So far, nothing had come up connected to Silvia Sinclair and the ring, but I was such a slow reader I’d barely made a dent.

At least one thing was going right – “The Prim” had taken on a life of its own, and Bianca’s dream was starting to take shape. I lived for our afternoons together working on the house, and I hated them in equal parts. Bianca’s sweet scent as she bent in front of me to put more paint on her roller nearly knocked me off my feet.

The memory of her lips haunted my dreams. That kiss … she said it was just for her parents’ sake, but how had she not felt what I’d felt? The electric charge surging through my body, the heat drawing us together, like two magnets desperate to be united. The force of our destinies trying to unite us at last.

If Bianca felt any of it, she hadn’t said anything to me. She kept up a steady stream of excited conversation about our wedding, the grand opening, the renovations, but about us … about the marriage, her parents … nothing. Sometimes, I’d look over at her and catch her staring back at me, her bright blue eyes focused hard, as though she were trying to see right through me.

The kiss hung between us, unacknowledged, but tainting every conversation, confusing every touch.

Despite the weird tension between us, we got a lot done on the house. Mostly, I worked during the afternoon on the manual tasks. I took some of the larger, clunkier antique furniture to Abracadabra Antiques, the local antique dealer, as well as some of the silver. That gave Bianca the funds to pay for the renovations, fresh bedding for the guest rooms, get a decent website built, and send out an enormous stack of promotional flyers to art communities, tattoo studios, and underground galleries she had connections with. We replaced the stiff rose-covered couches with a big squishy sofa that took up the majority of the drawing room.

Art started arriving. Bianca’s network of friends from all over the world wanted to donate paintings to hang on the walls. We painted over the garish wallpaper in most of the downstairs rooms, and started hanging the pieces in every available space. Most were for sale, with Bianca acting as a dealer taking a commission. She typed up a catalogue of the work while I unboxed each piece and we argued over where to hang it.

“Where do you want the hideous cow?” I held up a picture of a giant, fat sow, her wrinkled face rendered in excruciating detail. A lolling tongue hung from her lips, dragging the British flag into her mouth to be chewed into a pulp.

Bianca tilted her head, thinking. “Above the dining table?”

“I think it will put people off their food.”

“Perfect. That means we won’t have to order so much food. Even with Belinda doing the catering, that shit’s expensive.”

I grinned as I banged a picture hook into the wall and hung the painting as straight as I could. Bianca typed “Ugly Cow” into her catalogue.

“What’s next?”

I tore off the packaging on the next piece, revealing a large square abstract canvas. Black and brown lines crisscrossed a brilliant blue background, the paint so thick it stood out in high relief, it reminded me of the sitting under the trees in the forest, staring up at the winter sky through thick, leafless branches. A slash of black in the corner made me think of a raven poised to swoop down for it's next kill. “This one’s dead pure brilliant.”

“I agree.” Bianca hopped up from her place at the table and came over to look closely. “That’s my friend Odette’s piece. She’s this mega-hot German chick who does these incredibly gothic abstracts. I think this one’s supposed to be a scene from the Black Forest.”

“I love it.” The image invoked the forest, all right. For a moment, a strange yearning for the wilds of Aberdeen washed over me. I’d lived in that forest my entire life, sleeping in the open air and hunting in the frigid valleys. Now, I was indoors all the time, trying to learn how to be part of society and fit myself into Bianca’s life, and it wasn’t exactly going the way I’d hoped. At least in the wild, everything was simple.

“Odette’s coming to the wedding. I could introduce you if you like.” Bianca grinned. “I bet you’ll hit it off. She’s gorgeous, and she is an animal in bed. I know from experience.”

Don’t do this to me, woman. I dropped the box of picture hooks. They scattered across the floor. I squatted to scoop them up, turning my back to Bianca so she wouldn’t notice my cock springing to life.

It wasn’t the idea of meeting this Odette chick making my blood run hot, but the thought of Bianca in bed with another woman, their naked bodies rolling over each other, hands caressing each other’s breasts, playing with their nipples, tasting each other’s juices … I knew it was ridiculous, that Bianca’s bisexuality was part of who she was, not a party trick designed to make her more desirable, and yet, my most secret sexual fantasies involved her being with another woman …

Of course, in my dreams, I was in the room, too. And even though Bianca was totally hot for this other chick, she was really there for me. The two of them would slide their hands over my body, their tongues licking—

“Robbie, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” I gulped, hopping over the floor to collect a hook that had rolled into the corner. “Is there … anyone at the wedding you want to … hook up with?”

Bianca tilted her head to the side. “You know Willow, the wedding planner? That girl is so odd and shy. I just want to corrupt her.”

Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts … the vein on Dad’s forehead throbbing as he yelled at me, the sound of police sirens getting closer when I’m on a job, Irvine clipping his toenails …

That did the trick. The tightness in my jeans faded away, and the heat rushed out of my veins. I waited a few moments longer, fiddling with the hooks in the box, before standing up and facing Bianca again, happy that at least I wasn’t embarrassing myself in front of her any more than I already had.

“Sorry, a little clumsy today.” I stood up, clapping her on the shoulder the way friends who totally didn’t want to touch their friend’s naked bodies did. “Let’s get these paintings hung.”