It took Nora’s presence here to make me realize I didn’t hate the estate after all. This place was never the object of my hatred—it was always the person it belonged to.

My father.

Nora nestles closer to me in the backseat, interrupting my musings, and yawns delicately into my shoulder. The sound is so kitten-like that I laugh and wrap my right arm around her waist, pulling her closer to me. “Sleepy?”

“Hmm-mm.” She rubs her face against my neck. “You smell good,” she mumbles.

And just like that, my cock turns rock-hard, reacting to the feel of her lips brushing against my skin.

Fuck. I blow out a frustrated breath as the car stops in front of the house. Ana and Rosa are standing on the front porch, ready to greet us, and my dick is bursting out of my pants. I shift to the side, trying to ease Nora away from me so my erection can subside. Her elbow brushes against my ribs, and I tense in pain, mentally cursing Majid to hell and back.

I can’t fucking wait to heal. Even sex earlier today hurt, especially when I set a harder pace at the end. Not that it lessened the pleasure much—I’m pretty sure I could fuck Nora on my deathbed and enjoy it—but it still annoyed me. I like pain with sex, but only when I’m the one doling it out.

On the plus side, my erection is no longer quite as visible.

“We’re there,” I tell Nora as she rubs her eyes and yawns again. “I’d carry you over the threshold, but I’m afraid I might not make it this time.”

She blinks, looking confused for a moment, but then a wide smile spreads across her face. She remembers too. “I’m no longer a new bride,” she says, grinning. “So you’re off the hook.”

I grin back at her, unusual contentment filling my chest, and open the car door.

As soon as we climb out, we’re attacked by two crying women. Or, more precisely, Nora is attacked. I just watch in bemusement as Ana and Rosa hug her, laughing and sobbing at the same time. After they’re done with Nora, they turn toward me, and Ana sobs harder as she catches a glimpse of my bandaged face. “Oh, pobrecito…” She lapses into Spanish like she sometimes does when she’s upset, and Nora and Rosa try to soothe her, saying that I’ll recover, that the important thing is that I’m alive.

The housekeeper’s concern is both touching and disconcerting. I’ve always been vaguely aware that the older woman cares about me, but I didn’t realize her feelings are this strong. For as long as I can recall, Ana has been a warm, comforting presence at the estate—someone who fed me, cleaned after me, and bandaged my childhood scrapes and bruises. I’ve never let her get too close, though, and for the first time I feel a twinge of regret about that. Neither she nor Rosa, the maid who’s Nora’s friend, try to hug me like they did my wife. They think I wouldn’t welcome it, and they’re probably right.