She doesn’t respond, just looks at me with hollow eyes.
“I’m sorry. Now isn’t the time. What do you need me to do?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I need to get home. I need to hear that you’re not pregnant with his child because that was what I heard. I heard you were pregnant. Someone said it was his.”
There’s a moment of silence. A pause where I have absolutely no idea what to say. And then I laugh.
“I’m not pregnant with William’s child.”
She looks at the floor.
“And you need to sort yourself out. I’ll help you. But you’ve got to start helping yourself. Find yourself and stop trying to be something you’re not.”
“I thought…”
“That he could replace Lennox. I know. But he’s not Lennox. Stay here tonight; I’m going to have my press team make a statement to curb the media storm.” I turn to leave because as much as I’ll open my house, my patience isn’t there. The days of sleepovers where we talk about boys have long since gone.
“Thank you, Blair.”
It’s three words I don’t think she’s ever said together.
I give her a smile and leave the room, walking straight into Amelia. “Start with making a donation to a domestic abuse charity.”
She nods. “Consider it done. But you need to know that a vote of no confidence is being called about the English Prime Minister. You also need to know that Isaac is the favourite to replace him.”
Chapter Fifteen
Three years previously.
William Goldsmith watches his son give a speech at his party’s conference. He isn’t there in person, but he can see him via camera. He smiles as he turns off the screen, hearing exactly what he wants to: his son pushing for a reunification between England and Scotland, just not in those words. He’s listened and digested what his father has said, and that kind of makes William proud, because he has at least one son who will try to please him.
The other doesn’t have the same use.
His phone rings and he sees the name on the display; his colleague in Norway, a business partner who is starting to project his earnings based on a decision that truly is in the hands of the gods.
William ignores the call. He knows it will be about what his son has just said and that his associate will just be checking he isn’t reneging on his word. He isn’t. Dreams of his own island and a life of having more money and power that he’s ever dreamed of, even as Prime Minister, are enough for him to sell his soul to the devil, so throwing his son under a bus to achieve his dream isn’t a problem.
But Scotland has to agree to the trade deal with Norway. Then the oil industry could be privatised and the current king, Paden, wasn’t for turning. There were other ways, a longer plan. One that involved more chess players than William would like, but he had bought their loyalty.
The man in the bed next to him stirs. He’s been sleeping, catching up on rest William knows he needs because he knows how hard he works.
His longest partner. The person he can rely on most. He never had such faith in his wife or any of his lovers, until the man next to him.
He stirs, reaches for him. Makes him feel needed. A hand grabs his leg tenderly, as if its holding glass. William knows he won’t break. Neither of them will because if they were breakable, they would’ve cracked before now.
“You should sleep longer,” William says as his lover opens his eyes. “You’ve had a hard week. They work you too hard.” He slinks back down under the sheets and pulls the man’s back into his chest, spooning him, holding him. “You should come work for me. Or not work for me. Just be here.”
“Then who would get you your information on the Stewarts? And you’ll need me more in the next few months. Change is on the horizon.” His voice is sleep induced and hazy.
William kisses his neck. He’s in no rush to be anywhere this morning. He can stay in bed all day, which will be his preference if he has a choice, but when the man comes to stay, he likes to explore London. See some of the sights and dine in restaurants where he doesn’t have to be the one serving. Not that he’s ever condescending or judgemental; he’s too nice a person for that and that’s what William likes.
“What changes?”
“The children don’t know but Paden has been diagnosed with liver cancer. It can’t be cured.” He’s to the point and exact, although his words aren’t without feeling.
“How long?”
“The prognosis? How long’s a piece of string. And he’s a good man, William. This isn’t something to celebrate.”
