Page 125 of The Tower

Thirty-Eight

Betrayal

My days blur together now. It’s odd, this freedom—waking when I want, working whenever inspiration hits, speaking honestly without fear of getting slapped down.

Without trying, Liam and I have fallen into sync, like we’ve been dancing this particular dance for years. It’s warm and wonderful, but sometimes the ease of it scares me. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You’re being paranoid,” Ruby says, during one of our morning calls that have become almost a ritual. “No,” she corrects herself. “Not paranoid. Symptomatic.”

I pour a fresh cup of coffee and settle onto the couch. “Symptoms of what?”

“Post-traumatic stress. I mean, hello? Your father was like a walking virus, and you caught PTSD from him.”

“Was?” I like to think he’s dead. That an enemy killed him or he took a nosedive off a high building or jumped into the ocean after booking an around-the-world cruise.

He didn’t though. He’s still out there—I’m certain of it. He’s the other shoe I’m still fearing, because when it drops, my world will shatter.

But for right now, at least, I’m happy.

“Enjoy it,” Ruby tells me. “Revel in how well it’s going with Liam and don’t stress yourself out worrying about your father. He’s a lot of things, but not an idiot. He has to know that if he comes back, the shit will hit the fan. The whole world knows what he did to you.”

“You’re right,” I say, standing to look out the window as the security system beeps once, indicating that someone has turned into the long driveway. “Listen, I think the books I ordered just arrived. Talk later?”

“No prob. Just ping me if you need me.”

As soon as I’m off the call, I start across the room. I’ve ordered several books that Grimm recommended about the strategy and philosophy of running a business. I have so many thoughts about marketing Elysium and about what direction to take my mother’s company that I was having trouble organizing them. And while Grimm has said over and over that he’ll hold my hand through the whole process if I want him to, he also said that I’ll get more satisfaction if I take the reins myself, and only bring him in when I’m truly lost or stuck.

But it’s not the familiar delivery truck that pulls into the gravel parking area. It’s a sleek red Ferrari convertible. And Leo Grimm is behind the wheel.

He gets out, and I watch as Liam approaches from around the side of the house where he’d been talking with the groundskeeper.

They do that thing brothers do—half handshake, half hug, with Liam messing up Leo’s hair just to annoy him, the same as he’s done since they were kids according to the stories he’s been telling me about growing up as the black sheep of the Grimm family.

Something squeezes in my chest as I watch them—this easy brotherhood is nothing like Liam’s stiff, formal interactions with his other siblings. These two actually like each other and always have.

I go into the kitchen, nursing mixed feelings. Good that Liam has one ally in that screwed-up family. Not so good that it’s Leo—the same Leo who made Ruby cry for weeks after he revealed himself as the biggest shit on the planet.

The memories of those late-night talks and Ruby’s tear-stained face, make my smile stiffen whenever he turns my way.

They come in through the kitchen door together, with Leo giving me a nod as I sip my coffee. He glances back to Liam. “You two really are still playing house. Never thought I’d see it.” His tone lacks the bite it would have coming from Alexander or Elliott—just brotherly ribbing.

Liam pulls down two mugs. “Are you just crashing my morning or is there a point to this visit?”

Leo’s easy grin fades and he looks from Liam to me. “Bane’s stirring the pot.”

Ice trickles down my spine at the name. I see Liam tense beside me—pouring coffee with a tightly clenched jaw.

“Define stirring,” he says, his voice deceptively casual.

“The pissy kind.” Leo accepts his coffee with a nod. “Apparently wiring him the cash value didn’t soothe his bruised ego.”

I hug myself, hating that any of our precious time in this beautiful home has to be tainted by talking about the vilest man on the planet, second only to my father.

“He’s lucky he’s getting anything,” I say. “But it would have been better to have retrieved the stupid ring and shoved it down his throat.”

My tossing of the engagement ring into the garage had turned into more of a problem than I’d anticipated. It slipped down the drain and apparently was washed away to who knows where. Unfortunate since New York law allows a jilted groom to get the engagement ring back.

Leo looks at me with a grin, apparently appreciating the visual my words conjured.