“You’d pick some boy over your own father?” Floyd asks. “And here I thought I was the only bad son in the room. Have it your way, Darius.” Floyd picks up his phone and brings it to his ear. Ihave no idea who he’s calling, but I know in that instant my heart is going to lose.
“Wait,” I say. “If I say no, and you release those files, you’ll get nothing.”
He sighs, crossing his arms as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
“Do you really want to take that chance?” Floyd waves his phone at me. “I’m game if you are.” I can’t tell if he’s bluffing, but something tells me that if he doesn’t get his way, he’s likely to fuck us over for the sake of it.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel the first tear fall. What choice do I have? The consequences for my family are too dire to say no. Not to mention what happens to the employees of a company built on fraud. My heart pinches painfully – I know the choice I have to make is going to shatter it, but worse than that, I know it’s going to break Oliver’s heart, too. I only hope he can forgive me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”
My father finally makes eye contact. “Thank you. I’m so sorry this is on you, Darius.”
“But there have to be rules in place,” I add, because I’m not having this man take control of my whole life.
Floyd narrows his eyes. “What is it you want?”
“We’ll live in one of my father’s rental apartments.” Floyd nods. “And I want separate rooms.”
“Is that it?”
“There will be no physical contact between us. At all.”
My father aims a steely gaze at Floyd. “You will not touch him.”
“Rest assured, Ralph, your son is of no interest to me. But that won’t work,” he replies. “In the company of others, we have to sell the relationship.”
“Fine,” I huff. “In those instances – of which there better bloody well be few – I’ll play along.”
“I also want to see a copy of these files before anything else goes ahead, and I want your reassurance that all of it will be handed to me as soon as your inheritance is in hand,” my father adds.
“You’re making a lot of demands for a man whose freedom is on the line here. But fine. I will agree. Now for my terms.” Rounding the desk, Floyd stands in front of me, a smirk plastered on his face. “You will keep this between us; no one else can know. We have to make it look believable.” He reaches out a hand, and I recoil when he holds a finger centimetres away from the mark Oliver left on my neck. “And get rid of him.”
I fight away the sob building in the back of my throat at the realisation of what I’m about to do to Oliver.
I’m not going to choose him.
Because as much as I love him, I can’t see my dad, the only family I have, go to prison. I am no better than everyone else who’s let Oliver down. I may even be worse.
Chapter 21
Oliver
Climbing out of the shower after a long day at work and a gruelling session at the gym, I wrap a towel around my waist and saunter towards my bed. I pick up my phone and note that Darius still hasn’t responded to my last message.
The last few weeks have been amazing. Darius went to his father’s place in Birmingham for Christmas Day and I worked a double shift at Bar La Vella. When he returned on Boxing Day, we met up at Caiden’s place to feed Ford while Caiden and Jamie were away in Devon, before heading into London to wander around.
I worked the days between Christmas and New Year, on a project that needed to be completed before the end of the year, but saw Darius as often as I could. On New Year’s Eve, I went to his party, then home with him, and only left – rather reluctantly – when I had to return to work three days into the new year. I made love to him in the morning, soft and sweet, before the sunrose, then kissed him goodbye with a promise to see him later in the day.
That was two days ago – when he’d messaged to cancel our plans, saying he wasn’t feeling well and that it was best I stayed at mine. I offered to go over and take care of him, but he said he needed to rest.
I didn’t push. As much as I want to cling to him endlessly, I know I need to give him space when he says he needs it. But in the time since he’s only replied to a few of my messages, and I am starting to worry that whatever made him ill is serious.
There’s a store on the corner of my road that sells homemade soups, and I decide that once I’m dressed, I’ll stop in and pick some up and drop it at his place. Even if he isn’t up for visitors, I can leave it with the concierge.
I also have a gift to give him. The day before his birthday, while we were browsing a market in London, I had this idea for a gift I wanted to make him. I needed a few tools from work to complete it, so it’s a little late for his birthday, but I finally finished it during my lunch break, and now it’s sitting on my bedside table.
The small penguin is around eight centimetres tall, sculpted from a soft butternut wood and finished with a wax polish. I’ve left the wood its natural golden brown, only painting the small heart the penguin is holding between its flippers a soft purple. It’s the smallest, most detailed item I’ve ever crafted, and I’m really proud of how it turned out. I know he’ll love it.
