Dennis was foolish enough to protest. “This isn’t your house. You have no authority—”
Dustin eased the pressure off her brother’s throat, but still stood distressingly close, folding his arms. “I am her husband, and it’s on that authority that I speak.” He pointed at the doorway. “Thirty minutes. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the steps.”
Flushed, humiliated, struggling to breathe past his own rage, Dennis crab-walked around him and scurried out.
Dustin looked at Chantelle, as if trying to read her response to what had just happened, but, unable to do so, simply cocked his head a little and followed Dennis outside.
Chantelle plopped into her seat, utterly bewildered. What had just happened? And how did she feel about it Dustin protecting her?
The answer came as a surprise. Good. It felt kind of good.
Chapter 27
Good riddance, Dustin thought as he watched the luxury car disappear past the front gates. He half wondered where Dennis, Tom and Samantha would go, but then reminded himself he really didn’t care. Although, to be honest, he did feel a little sorry for Samantha, who looked utterly bewildered as they dragged their bags outside.
He’d surprised himself by the ferocity of his reaction, but the sight of Chantelle being manhandled like that had hit him between the eyes. He had been this far from losing his grasp on his temper.
He wanted to convince himself that he’d respond that way if he’d witnessed such an obnoxious display toward any woman. It would certainly be true if anyone had spoken like that to Arabella or Kim.
But the fact remained that it was Chantelle this time, his wife. The woman who was carrying his child. And if there ever was a reason to respond the way he had, it was that.
And now, to face Chantelle. How would she respond, he wondered. What would she think?
As he walked towards the stairs, he spotted Sienna on the landing, making no secret of the fact that she’d been present throughout the eviction, and delighted with it. Minerva was standing next to her, tail wrapped companionably around her ankles.
He nodded towards her and gave her a half smile.
“You the man,” Sienna whispered as he passed, gave him an evil grin and a thumbs-up.
He chuckled. He’d found an ally in her.
He found Chantelle sitting up in bed, propped up on many pillows, even though it was still rather early. Immediately he was at her side, fearing the worst. “Are you—!”
She lifted a calming hand. “I’m good. Just catching my breath. That was…” she searched for the word, “intense,” she finished, but he got the impression she didn’t think the word adequately conveyed how she felt.
He sat on the edge of the bed, searching her face. Wondering if he should ask what she thought about what he’d done. He didn’t need to.
“I can handle my brothers, you know.” Her words were firm, but without rancor.
He touched her hand lightly, running his fingertip across the backs of her fingers, feeling the hard metal of the simple wedding ring he’d put there weeks ago. A ring she’d bought for herself. “I know.” Then he added, “but a man steps in when he has to. There was no way I’d stand there and allow you to be bullied.”
“My hero,” she said dryly.
“Just because you don’t need a hero doesn’t mean I can’t be one.”
To his surprise, she laughed. A sound that had been growing less and less rare, as she became less tightly wound. He knew that for the most part it was thanks to being once again in the land of her birth, but he also hoped that his presence had a little to do with it as well.
Without asking, he crawled in next to her, and with her proximity and warmth, the massive bed felt mighty small. He was painfully aware of her presence.
They were quiet for a while, enjoying each other’s company, it seemed, as the sounds outside the window slowly died down. The birds were coming home to roost, and night was easing her way in.
“Do you want to know a secret?” she blurted unexpectedly.
He tilted her head in her direction, indicating without words that he would be delighted to hear her secret, even if it was a confession of an embarrassing pregnancy craving or something equally trivial.
“My father wasn’t really my father.”
“What?” He reeled mentally as if struck in the head by a pop fly.