Page 68 of The Devil’s Lair

“I’m sorry we haven’t been around more. Work’s been manic. Soon, it should start slowing down a little for a month or two. I hope we can spend more time together.”

I dip my chin. “I’d like that. I’ve never had many girlfriends.”

I’ve no idea what made me say that. It just came out. Before Imogen can react to my oversharing, the door opens and Grace and Saskia enter, giggling.

Grace drops onto a lounger across from mine. “Saskia’s pulled.”

“I have not pulled.” She grabs the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and pours herself and Grace a glass.

“She has.” Grace grins. “Go on. Tell them.”

Saskia plops down at the foot of Grace’s lounger. “I had a male masseuse, that’s all. And he was bloody good.” She rolls her neck. “Got all the kinks out.”

“Kinks, you say?” Vicky waggles her eyebrows. “A male masseuse. You lucky thing. Although Nicholas would probably have him killed if he’d been my masseur.”

I flash a glance at Vicky. She’s joking, right?

“So would Alexander.”

“And Christian.”

I shift my gaze between the three of them. “Not actually kill them.”

“Probably.” Imogen chuckles. “The De Vil men have jealousy rather than blood running through their veins.”

Vicky nods. “True story.”

Oh, my God.

“Don’t scare her,” Saskia says. “This is supposed to be a welcome to the family female bonding session, not a fright-a-thon. My brothers are a little overprotective, that’s all.”

I get the feeling she’s underplaying it, but I refrain from asking. I’m not sure I want to know all the gory details.

Imogen meets my eyes, her expression open. “We don’t know much about you, Rebecca, other than what Tobias has shared, which isn’t much. If you’re comfortable, we’d love to know more.” Her tone isn’t gossipy. It’s gentle, genuine.

The other girls nod in encouragement.

“It’s not a fairy tale.”

“We’re not interested in fairy tales,” Vicky says. “We’re interested in you. The real you.” She touches my knee. “There will be no judgment here, just quiet support from your family.”

Family. God, that’s it, isn’t it? I have a family, and they’re right here. I scan the sea of faces filled with warmth and understanding, and a dam bursts.

“I grew up in a small town in Suffolk close to the border with Essex. My father left when I was a baby, my mother was an alcoholic, and my older brother was regularly in trouble with the police.” I shrug in faked nonchalance, like my background didn’t deeply scar me. “I couldn’t wait to escape, to find a better life than the one I’d been born into. Academically, I wasn’t gifted. I left school with little to no qualifications. Deep down, though, I believed I could claw my way out of poverty if I worked hard enough.”

I reach for my champagne glass and take a sip. This is oddly empowering. Freeing. Maybe Jane is having more of an effect on me than I thought. First, Tobias in Cornwall. Now, here with the girls.

“I didn’t have many friends at school, too embarrassed of Mum to bring them home in case she was on one of her benders, so I pretty much kept myself to myself. I left at sixteen and got a job waitressing at a pub not far from where I lived. I enjoyed working with people and making them feel special. I was good at it. Returning customers would often ask to be seated in my area.” I pause. “I’d completely forgotten that, but it’s true.”

“I can totally see why,” Imogen says. “You’ve got such a warm personality, the kind that draws people to you.”

I do? News to me.

“I’d been working there almost two years when, one night, a group of guys came in. They were rowdy. You know, guys being guys. I went to take their order, and one of them shoved his hand up my skirt. I froze, horrified. That’s when Marcus stepped in.”

I close my eyes and let the memory come. “He was sitting at an adjacent table with his brother. He grabbed the guy by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the table. There was blood everywhere. I thought he was a hero, my savior. He asked me out on a date. I agreed.” When I open my eyes, all four women are engrossed.

“At first, he was a perfect gentleman, my perfect guy. He took me to expensive restaurants and the theater. He bought me bottles of perfume that cost more than Mum’s monthly rent. He love-bombed me, and I fell for it. A short while later, we married. I felt like I’d made it. I’d escaped my miserable upbringing and married a man with prospects from a wealthy middle-class family.” I laugh bitterly. “How wrong I was.”