“She’s working under a deadline, you know.”
“She is?”
Harvey nods. “Father’s reinvestigating what really happened to our youngest brother.”
Vincent had a third kid?I really don’t need another uncle as insane as Mom and Harvey.
“You never met him. He died young, before Zoe married your father. Was the baby of the family, theappleof our father’s eye. The golden child who could do no wrong.” No hint of grief passes over Harvey’s face. He’s probably happy that a potential rival was eliminated so early, without his having to dirty his hands. “Could be she had something to do with the helicopter crash that killed him. Father doesn’t want to jump to conclusions—’cuz, you know, I could’ve set her up, a lot of things could’ve happened—so he’s going to do his due diligence. But Zoe…” A shrug. “She isn’t known for her patience or finesse.”
No. She prefers blunt force. Seducing Dad and getting immediately pregnant. Kidnapping us. Trying to get in the way of Ares’s marriage. And Red last night. If what Harvey said is true, Mom isn’t going to play nice. She needs a quick result—something to save her ass when Vincent finds out that she caused the crash and killed her own brother.
Harvey shifts, a hint of triumph glinting in his eyes. “Right now, she’s here to see if the girl she picked is full of your cum, except”—his eyes flick upward—“that girl you left up in the suite isn’t the one she sent you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Fiona
Soon after Bryce walks out, the doorbell rings. I shrug—ow!—into a bathrobe, all my muscles protesting, and then stand up.
My legs almost give out.Thank God Bryce isn’t here to witness this.His head would never be able to squeeze through any door. The bathroom mirror shows hickeys all over my neck and chest. I pull my hair forward, then yank the lapels tighter to hide the red marks.
The second I open the door, a uniformed server pushes in a beautiful cart laden with spotless, shiny silver domes. The elderly man opens each with a flourish, only to reveal a bowl of cornflakes and a jug of milk in a gorgeous crystal jug. There is also a small bowl of fresh berries and whipped cream on the side and a fresh pitcher of coffee.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, crossing my arms. I still sound hoarse, and I wince inwardly. Given how much I screamed last night, it would’ve taken a miracle for me not to damage my voice.
“Mr. Huxley did.” The man hands me a lavender silk and satin satchel. “And some Epsom salts for you.” He shows me a slip, and I scrawl my name on the paper.
I keep my arms folded and stare at the food and Epsom salts with apprehension. What’s this about? Act nice and confuse the opponent?
If it is, he’s succeeded. I am completely confused. He talks like acomplete asshole, then does little unexpected things like this. Like the cereal in his house. Like having clothes and shoes for me delivered to his place.
And last night, he clung to me desperately, like he couldn’t bear to let go. Then he cajoled, wheedled and coaxed me all night long, trying to get me to kiss him, growing more determined each time I turned away. It’s almost as though he needed some sort of confirmation that I still care about him. If I’d sensed even a hint of vindictiveness in his dark gaze, I might’ve scoffed and pushed him away. But he seemed sincere without the usual shield he put up around him—or the asshole-worthy snarks. When he looked wounded at yet another rejection, I almost forgot myself and kissed his eyes.
Don’t,I tell myself. It wasn’t Bryce—it was the drugs talking. Whatever he had last night must’ve taken down his inhibitions. Part of me wants to believe his behavior under the influence last night was the real deal, but I’m not gambling with my emotional wellbeing. It took a lot of therapy and healing to feel normal after leaving Cambridge. And although I’d like to believe I’m stronger after the ordeal, it isn’t entirely true. Whatever is keeping the fragments of my heart together now isn’t strong enough to withstand another onslaught.
Exhaling, I sit down and start on the cereal, remembering when we first met. It’s so silly how I thought maybe my life could be different just because Bryce said, “You don’t seem like Finn. The name doesn’t fit you somehow.” Such a small thing, but in that moment I felt seen—like I wasn’t just Finley’s shadow, just a tool to soothe Sherry’s pain. I didn’t realize until then how uncomfortable and stifled I’d been, living in that identity.
And on our first date, I automatically ordered grilled halibut, but Bryce noticed I’d eyed a steak and baked potato on the next table and asked if I didn’t really want that instead. That was when I realized I didn’t even let myselflikethings unless Finley had loved them too. And it was also the first time anyone had told me to take whatIwanted. My heart melted. I think that’s when I started to really fall for him, because he didn’t measure me against Finley. I was just Fiona.
Tears prickle my eyes. It was the most wonderful time of my life, when I felt loved…except it shattered at the end.
You never deserved that kind of love.
I wipe the tears away and laugh at myself. Yeah. Who am I to think I could do better? If Finley hadn’t drowned, nobody would’ve looked at me twice. I would’ve been passed from one foster home after another and probably fallen through the cracks like so many unwanted kids. Or gotten abused by some asshole like that man my first adoptive parents whispered about.
I finally managed to get out of the toxic situation and went to Wisconsin. But now I’ve been dragged back, where things are so much worse than before. Zachary told me the harder I worked, the better my life would be. But in my experience, it’s the opposite. The harder I work, the worse my situation becomes.
I sip coffee to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth and check my phone. Nothing from the loan sharks.How strange. Aren’t they eager to get their money back? Why so silent now?
Maybe they got arrested by the police. Or better yet, run over by a truck…
Three knocks at the door. I sigh. What did Bryce send now? I put down my phone and open the door. “You should tell Mr. Huxley—”
“Finally!”
Aaron!
My heart in my throat, I try to slam the door in his face, but he’s faster. He pushes the door open, shoving me hard as he invades the suite.
