Page 150

Bill doesn’t join me. His expression darkens.

“Then I suggest someone draws them. Very clearly.”

His eyes hold mine.

There is no need for further explanation.

Keep Jack away from Alice.

Nine days.

“Enjoy your weekend,” Bill says. “It might be worth you paying your friend a visit, just to reinforce the situation.”

Then he walks out. Not even a goodbye. The door closes behind him like a jury verdict.

For several seconds, I don’t move. Hardly breathe.

If only he knew I’ve been paying my friend a visit every single evening for the past week straight. And so has his treasured daughter…

I fight the urge to vomit all over my desk. My laptop case is still in my hand. Phone in my pocket, just like it was before. The same buildings standing outside the glass windows, filled with regular people finishing their week and heading towards lives that likely don’t involve secret relationships, arranged marriages, and casino owners receiving domestic appliances as romantic gestures. But he’s just sledgehammered me.

Trashed it.

Only this time, I don’t feel like chasing after him with promises and assurances. The bile in my throat tastes of rebellion. Of rage that cuts down deep.

Part of me wants to go charging after Bill right now. I want to yell at him that Jack will not be adhering to any stupid boundaries. I want to scream that Alice is not a family asset to be handed over in a wedding dress. I want to put on my battle armour and tell him Bryce Maddocks is no longer the boy waiting for permission to exist.

Instead, I stand there.

Because for fuck’s sake. I am still that boy. I am still the puppy dog on Bill’s tight leash, needing permission to so much as breathe. Without him… without this…

I look back out through the windows. The world I know. The world I exist in.

Nine days. That’s all that’s left until the abject carnage of Christopher Otley’s flight back to London.

I have to set the news free now. I owe it to everyone.

Not eventually. Not soon. Not when Bill’s welcome dinner is already underway and Alice finds herself seated beside a man she despises nearly as much as I do.

I’ll tell them tonight. Alice and Jack, the very second we’re all gathered together.

By the time I reach the pavement, I’m already rehearsing the conversation. Alice might spin out and start spitting rage, or cry about being trapped in her dad’s family cage with no way out through the bars. Jack will laugh, make a joke about Daddy Parker bollocks, then deliberately turn up at the family dinner wearing a tux and a cocky smile.

Please God, no.

I dread the thought.

Alice will ask how long I’ve known. Of course she will.

Jack will know I’ve been hiding it. Hiding something. He reads silence better than most people read words.

I’m in a midway zone of emptiness as I buy cheese on the way back to his place. Mature cheddar, Gruyère, and a smoked variety Jack will pretend is too pretentious before eating half of it. I get some sourdough from the bakery beside the Tube station. I grab some butter. Mushrooms. Onions. Domestic provisions to celebrate the toastie maker before the emotional apocalypse.

Wonderful.

Fuck the Tube. I opt for a cab instead. The closer I get to Chelsea Tower, the weaker my resolve becomes. Does it have to be tonight I break the news, really?

Yes, it does. But not imminently. Not straight through the door.