Convicted - Romig Aleatha (мир книг .TXT) 📗
As minutes ticked by, Claire lay silently in his embrace. She didn’t need to see his eyes—the color didn’t matter. If she wanted to go, then she was going. Claire could’ve yelled or fought to make him understand; instead she waited. Tony needed to justify this reality on his terms. When his arms squeezed her tighter, she knew his decision was made. With a sigh, Tony acquiesced, “I’ll call Phil. We’ll see what he can do; however, I’m confronting Catherine alone. I don’t want you or Nichol in her presence—unless she’s in police custody”—he kissed the top of her head—“Hell, even then—no, I’d don’t want Catherine to ever be near Nichol!”
Claire nodded in agreement. He believed he’d made a compromise. Truthfully, she’d won, yet if making his declaration helped Tony accept her company—she didn’t care. Claire didn’t want Catherine near Nichol either. Her priority was keeping both Nichol and Tony safe. After they assured Emily and John’s safety, Claire wanted her family back in paradise. Eventually, Tony would need to surrender to the FBI—it was inevitable, but she wanted her nine more months of paradise.
The last five months had been magical. Tony and Claire were finally partners with all the ups and downs accompanying those roles. They didn’t always agree; however, after a life with false conformity, they learned disagreeing wasn’t negative. It didn’t mean disobedience or insubordination; instead, it meant discussion, voicing opinions, perhaps arguing, and then making up. Even this last conversation illustrated their recently established equality. They’d faced the demons of their past and chosen a future.
Parenthood was an excellent induction—it took them both into uncharted waters—and evened the playing field—which admittedly had at one time been tilted in Tony’s favor. Every day with Nichol was an exciting new adventure. Claire didn’t want it to end any sooner than necessary. For the first time, she had her dream. It was the relationship she witnessed with her parents and grandparents. At one time, she believed happily ever after was outside of her reach. Now, it was her reality. She wasn’t ready for that to end. After all, it wasn’t supposed to end. The fairy tales her dad read to her as a child ended with—they lived happily ever after.
Claire wanted to believe that was the end of their story, but she feared it wasn’t.
That night, Claire lay in bed and listened to the sounds of her paradise. Unless she concentrated—the ever present surf, no longer registered. What brought the smile to her face and peace to her heart were the sounds coming from the attached nursery. The rockers of the chair creaked against the bamboo floor. Claire closed her eyes and pictured Tony holding Nichol.
Tonight, their daughter had made it all the way until 3:00 AM, before waking to eat. Before her cries registered to Claire, Tony was out of bed. Minutes later, he brought a freshly changed, cooing bundle to Claire. The middle of the night feeding was their special time. It was as if their room—their bed—and their family existed in a bubble which no outside force could penetrate; then, as was their routine, when Nichol’s belly was full, Tony told Claire to sleep, took their daughter to the attached nursery, and rocked her back to sleep.
Normally, Claire would drift away as his deep baritone voice spoke softly in the other room. Some nights, she’d try to listen to his words; however, sometimes she felt like an intruder on their private talks. Tonight, she gleaned words here and there as he lulled Nichol back to her world of slumber. The words that registered were Tony’s affirmations of devotion. She couldn’t help but notice that the word safe seemed to be tonight’s reoccurring theme. Claire twisted on the satin sheets realizing that hearing him repeat that word had the opposite effect on her.
When Tony finally climbed back to bed, Claire nuzzled against his chest. The lingering scent of cologne combined with a faint aroma of baby powder overpowered her senses. Her voice cracked as she tried to sound strong, “I love you.” She didn’t want him to know how scared she was. After all, she was the one who demanded to accompany him to the States.
Tony stroked her back and whispered, “I love you, too.” As if to reassure not only Claire but himself, he pulled her tighter and proclaimed, “It’ll all be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you or her.”
Claire nodded into his chest. She knew, even with his hushed tone, he meant every word, but at this moment, it wasn’t hers or Nichol’s safety Claire doubted. “What about you? Who’s keeping you safe and assuring your return?” Her tears ran onto his chest as she no longer attempted to feign strength. “I’m not just worried about Catherine”—her words came in snippets, interspersed with deep painful sobs—“what about the authorities?” “I don’t want to lose you,” “I don’t want this to end.”
Tony’s head fell against the headboard as he continued to rub circles on the soft exposed skin of her back. “I don’t deserve to be kept safe.”
She sat up and stared at him through the darkness. “Don’t you dare say that!”
“It’s true. I’ve done awful things, and I deserve to pay for them.”
“Tony, please stop.”
He sat taller, pulling Claire close and tried to explain. “The thing is, if this had all come down years ago—before you—I would’ve thought it was undeserved—an injustice. Like how I used to see my grandfather’s consequences, but now—now I know I deserve it. Back then, I would’ve gone away concerned only with Rawlings Industries. Now, everything’s different. The idea of being away from you and Nichol kills me. That separation—no matter if it starts sooner or later, will be worse than anything they could’ve done to me, before.”
“You’re turning state’s evidence against Catherine. With Brent, Tom, and all your legal team, maybe you can avoid jail time?”
“Damn it, Claire! You don’t deserve any of this. Maybe we shouldn’t have remarried; then you wouldn’t be married to someone who’s discussing jail time, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be harboring a fugitive.”
Claire smirked. “I don’t know. You’re married to someone who’s been in a federal prison.”
His head fell to hers, as if he couldn’t allow any part of him to not be in contact with her. “You’re so much stronger than I.”
“I hardly think that’s true.”
“I don’t know if I could survive what’s happened to you.” She felt him stiffen as he corrected, “What I’ve done to you.”
She let her fingers swirl through the soft hair on his broad chest. “It’s over, and you will survive it—we’ll survive it—we’ve made it this far.”
“I’ve never asked, and you’ve never said, what was it like?”
“Tony, please—”
He rolled her over to her back. From the faint light of the nursery and the moon over the sea, Claire saw the emotion in his eyes—she saw regret, sadness, and perhaps even fear. Instead of making that pain worse, she wanted to take it away. Swallowing her memories of prison—the memories of loneliness—the desperate need for fresh air—and the ever threatening depression—she answered, “It was very routine.”
He raised his brow.
Claire reached up and caressed his cheek. The stubble made her smile—she loved the sensation of that stubble on her skin. “Every day is the same. You wake at the same time, eat, go from place to place, shower, sleep—everything is scheduled.”
“You’ll never know how sorry I am that I’ve ruined your life. You deserve so much better than me.”
She arched her back so that her lips contacted that same stubble. After a lingering suckle, she replied, “Are you saying you wish we weren’t here—right now? That you wish we weren’t together?”
Tony shook his head. “You know I’m not.”
She pressed her breasts upward. The sensation of his hard chest brought her over sensitive nipples to attention. “I’ll admit there were parts of the journey I’d prefer to forget; the destination is”—she suckled the rough skin—“worth it—and—amazing.”
