I recognize the murderous glint in my father’s eyes.
It’s going to be a long night, but the man brought it on himself.
He knew we’d retaliate.
Hours later, my blood is still pumping when I go upstairs and step into the guest bathroom. After running my fingers under warm water, I turn the past few hours over in my mind. In the kitchen, I retrieve an ice pack and press it against my hand. Onmy way upstairs, I hear a few hushed whispers coming from my study.
Frowning, I move in that direction, and Olivia steps out with Carlisle on her heels.
I melt into the shadows and watch them gesture furiously.
Carlisle looks up and spots me, and some of the color drains from his face. Olivia wheels around and scowls. I stride toward them and give Carlisle a meaningful look that has him hurrying off. Once he’s out of earshot, I turn back to Olivia and ignore the knots in my stomach.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do than spy on me?”
“Livvy—”
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m not stupid. I’m being careful.”
I blow out a breath. “That’s what you said last time.”
There’s too much shit going on for me to add worrying about Olivia to my list.
Having her here is supposed to make things easier.
Fucking hell.
When did Olivia start keeping secrets from me?
Probably around the time you started hiring a team to take shifts, keeping an eye on her in Paris.
“I’m here,” Olivia says. “That should be enough.”
“Be careful around Carlisle.”
Olivia raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on London? Don’t look so surprised that I know about her. You know how Mathew likes to run his mouth, especially if it involves one of your screw-ups.”
I huff and say nothing.
Olivia takes a step in my direction and lowers her voice. “You know that Dad is waiting for the slightest whiff of trouble to get rid of her?”
“I don’t need you to fucking remind me of what’s at stake,” I snap back.
A few moments later, after retrieving a bottle from my study, I storm upstairs. The door to my room creaks open. London is on her back, hair splayed behind her, and her fingers linked together. Her chest rises and falls evenly, and she doesn’t stir when I slowly let the door click shut behind me.
I reach for the dresser chair and brace it against the door.
Then, I use my teeth to pry open the bottle and take a long swig.
London stirs.
I watch her through hooded eyes as she flips onto her side and curls against the pillow. Then, she releases a deep breath and goes still again.
I know I’m supposed to give her space, but I can’t leave her defenseless.
All it’ll take is one look at us coming out of different bedrooms for my father to sink his hooks into her.
