“I’m fine,” I force a smile. “It’s going… all right.”
“Are you really going to bring that weak shit into my house? It’s me, your best friend. I still remember that first day of middle school, you’d already done all the assigned reading over the summer instead of doing something about that terrible hair.”
“Rude!” It was true. Marcus had given me a very thorough makeover.
“You just lost your mum and dad and I know you’re the one keeping the family together.” He reinforces his concern by pouring me another glass. “You must be exhausted.”
I know what Marcus wants, for me to cry and let out all the sorrow and anxiety I’ve been hiding since my parents were murdered. “It doesn’t change anything if I break down and cry,” I finally manage, “there’s only… lurching forward and knowing the grief will always be just behind you, waiting for you to turn around so it can envelop you again. Right now, my only focus is protecting Zed and Elana.”
“Shouldn’t Zed be protectingyou?”Marcus scowls. “After all, he is the anointed heir to the throne, is he not?”
“Not right now.” I rub my forehead. The headache that disappeared with three glasses of wine is back. “Uncle William somehow moved into the position. He convinced Zed that he‘had so much to learn,’” I said, lowering my voice to a growl that sounds just like my uncle’s.
“Well, there’s a major cock-up,” he sighs. “So, you’re trying to hold the line with the evil uncle-”
“Ah, he has an official title,” I say, “Uncle Bastard.”
“Oh, I like that!” he says approvingly. “Now, you have to deal with the grief while holding the line with Uncle Bastard and keeping him from making any moves that you and Zed can’t roll back, eh?”
“That pretty much sums up my life right now,” I agree, rubbing my temples. “Do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Of course, darling. I bought an extra big bottle when I knew you were coming. You need your rest, too, so time for bed.” Marcus rises from the couch, groaning. “When you stand up, are your knees supposed to sound like a goat chewing on a tin can filled with radishes?”
“You’re too young to use that line,” I laugh as I take our wine glasses to the kitchen.
“Whatever. Get some sleep, I expect quality time with my girl this weekend,” he says, leading me out of the living room. We separate in the hall with a kiss on the cheek and he promises to show me around Glasgow tomorrow.
Lying in bed and staring at the shadows on the ceiling, I try to calm down. Whether he’s a MacTavish or not, Mr.Bluetook the job.
This has to work.
Chapter Four
In which Lachlan teaches us that if you want a job done well, you have to do it yourself.
Lachlan…
Three days later…
“I can’t make the meeting tomorrow.”
I’m lounging behind my desk, looking over the information that pretty Aria King left for me. I hear Cormac’s irritable sigh in my headset.
“This is important, Lachlan. Why can’t you be here in Edinburgh?”
“Business commitments,” I say absently, looking at a picture of Aria and her family. I did some digging of my own after taking the job, and I compiled a stack of photos and more background on the Kings. In this image, they’re laughing together as they exit a restaurant. She has her arm through her mother’s and it looks like they’re sharing a secret. There's another picture of the three siblings at their parents’ funeral. They’re all devastated, Uncle Bastard is standing behind them, looking suitably grave but there’s something about how he’s hovering over the siblings… like a vulture ready for his snack.
“Business commitments?” snorts Cameron, “Who’s bouncing on yer dick right now?”
Aria will be. Soon.
“This may shock you brother, but my life isn’t all about fucking.”
Dougal’s laughing, the arsehole. “Are you sure we’re talking to the right Lachlan? You’re Lachlan MacTavish, correct?”
“Not that I’m not enjoying this useless round of fuck talk,” Cormac interrupts, “but let’s focus on business.”
I’m glad he’s Chieftain of the MacTavish Clan and not me. There’s a lot of boring administrative shite and not enough stabbing.
