Shaking my head, I kiss her cheek. “Talk to you later.”
Walking to my car, I’m torn between irritation and exhaustion. This family and its obsession with love. Not everyone feels it.
Not everyone can. I will still be a good husband in every other way.
***
Afton…
I’ve been pacing through every square inch of this house since Mason texted me with a cryptic message.
Please, stay home. Do not leave under any circumstances. Talon and Vincent will be there with you.
It has been such a good day, too! Up until that text.
Talon and I visited The Red Poppy and our barista Niles greeted me with, “Well there ye are, ye savage little sprinkle doughnut!” Niles actually got Talon talking when he brought over our drinks, and it was possible that Talon smiled at him. Or, maybe it was indigestion. I haven’t seen my bodyguard smile enough to be sure. Plus, I’d made an appointment for a private lesson from a MacTavish-approved Krav Maga training center.
Then Talon received a text that turned his face to stone and just after his ‘ding!’ my phone did the same with that text. We were out of The Red Poppy and back home before I could take a sip of my mint tea.
Pacing our bedroom, I keep opening the curtains every time a car passes by, hoping it’s him.
The front door finally opens and I’m flying down the stairs from the second floor, my anxiety making my feet move like an Olympic sprinter’s.
“Are you okay?”
Mason’s standing in the entryway and he looks up from his phone. “I’m fine.”
Oh, hell. This is Cold, Composed Mason. The chilly alternate universe version of the husband I’ve been getting to know.
“Well, something’s gone sideways for you to send out a text like that. What happened?”
When he looks at me, I don’t recognize the expression. I’m not an expert in all things Mason yet, because he’s usually so seamless. But this look is new. Regret, a little. Concern. A bit of pity?
God, I hate that last part.
“Sit down.” He pulls me to a set of chairs by one of the windows in the living room. Turning his chair to face mine, he takes my hands. “I have information. It will hurt.”
My heart somersaults in my chest. “Who’s dead? Wait, is Lucia okay? Is it my mom?”
“They’re fine.” He pulls slightly on my hands and I realize I was about to leap out of my chair. “Your brother called me today, he’s in town. I met him at his hotel.”
My brow furrows. “Sam? Sam is here? He hates Europe. He says it’s because it’s where all the history comes from and he hates history. He failed that class in school like three times.”
“Your father hired that hit on you.” Even he looks surprised at how fast the words come out.
“Dad tried to kill me?” Can you be sweaty and cold at the same time? I feel like I’m tilting sideways. Or maybe the planet is.
“I’m sorry.” He gives me a minute, just rubbing my chilly hands between his.
“Sam told you.” It’s not a question.
“Yes. He claims he didn’t know before hacking into your father's phone yesterday. For what it’s worth, I believe him. Your brother looked like hammered shit,” he smiles wryly. “He says Cavendish has been making all kinds of stupid, reckless decisions. The Matsumori Yakuza is pulling away. Your father thinks he can disgrace us and pull them back in by declaring war on the MacTavish Clan after claiming your tragic death was by my hand.”
Choking out an incredulous little cough, I say, “That’s why my dad- that’s whyheforced me to spy for him. You said it that night when you took me to the beach house. That your family would kill anyone else for what I’d done.”
“Your brother asked me to kill him.”
It’s a collection of seven simple words. They shouldn’t sound so horrible all squished together. He frowns, lowering his head to catch my gaze. “That seems to upset you more than your own father wanting you dead?”
