‘Exactly. Awful plan. Although it’s resulted in numerous orgasms so far, so again, I’ll reiterate that I’ve had worse plans.’
The feral noise Roman makes at that statement has me considering abandoning the screwdriver for a screw. But, being that Roman’s not mounted that particular obstacle, I feel he might not want to go there. With me at least. As he has with. Half of the rest of London.
Tempering my jealousy, I ignore my wanton pussy and turn back to the matter at hand. If I can’t get into the cabinet, I have no proof. And without proof, Dad will keep brushing me off. I can’t let the wedding go ahead while Priscilla is trying to kill the bloody groom. No matter how hard-headed he is.
My gaze flicks up to Roman.
To those ridiculous arms. Rolled sleeves. Forearms corded with muscle. Veins standing out a map to follow right up into his shirt. Roman isstrong.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ I hiss. ‘You’re the one with muscles. Get your arse over here.’
His mouth curves. ‘Are you hitting on me, Miss Hamilton?’
I roll my eyes and hand him the screwdriver.
‘You’d better be, because I might end up dead for this.’
‘Let’s hope whatever is inside is worth it then,’ I say.
He braces himself and forces the screwdriverbetween the doors, grunting as his muscles tense. I’m just about to launch into an ‘It’s no use’ spiral when I hear a resounding crack.
My heart leaps into my throat as I wait for someone to find us, to bring me to Priscilla the demon-woman who will probably lock me in a dungeon and tell Dad I’ve fled back to London.
Nothing happens.
Dramatic much?
Roman eases the cabinet open, and we peer inside.
Bottles and boxes all neatly arranged. I recognise some labels, while others are foreign to me. There are painkillers, bloody strong ones too. But other medications, too. I don’t even have my phone at hand to Google the names.
I grab a bottle and read the prescription. My dad’s name is there, clear as day. And the physician is the private one my family has used since I was born. The one who asks no questions.
No poison.
‘Oh,’ I whisper.
Roman leans in close, reading over my shoulder. ‘Not what you were expecting?’
My brain stumbles off into a new maze of possibilities, and I feel a headache at the edge of my vision, like a gathering storm.
No poisoning. No villain. But, what?
‘I need to talk to my dad,’ I say, already making for his office.
Roman follows. ‘Maggie, it’s probably not the best time.’
‘Now. Before I lose my nerve.’
We findDad in his bedroom, already dressed in his kilt and long socks, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking shattered.
His aftershave clings in the air, melding with the scent of furniture polish amongst the sea of dark wood. It wasn’t a room I’d entered often. While I was closer with my family than many other families I knew in our arena, there has always been a tiered system. And parental spaces were off limits to us children.
Rightly so, I guess. The three of us were absolute menaces growing up.
‘Dad. We need to talk. Right now.’ Adrenaline propels me forward.
His eyes snag on the handful of pill bottles I hold. To my surprise, his shoulders sag, and he lets out a weary sigh.
