Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ALEXANDER
The slog up four flights of stairs takes what little energy I have left out of my legs.
By the time I make it to the suite of rooms I share with my wife, it’s only the wall that’s keeping me upright.
I feel as though I’ve been picked up and tossed about by a tornado, and it’s just spat me back onto the ground.
Imogen rises to greet me the second I stumble through the door, concern etched into every beautiful inch of her face. She flings her arms around me and buries her nose in my neck. “I was so worried.”
I hold onto her, my rock, my anchor. Truly, I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have her to come home to. She makes the worst of days feel manageable, and today is definitely one of the worst.
Or is that yesterday? Ever since Grace called Christian and told him where George and Alice were, time has ceased to exist. I don’t know what day it is, what time, what fucking year. All I do know is that I’m confused. Confused, angry, and so fucking bitter that the acid in my throat is choking me.
“Come and sit before you fall down.”
“I will in a minute. Let me kiss Sasha goodnight first.” I have an overwhelming urge to hold my son, to smell his special baby smell, and remind myself that the world isn’t all shit.
The flash of understanding that crosses my wife’s face is just one more thing I love about her. She’s not here demanding I tell her what’s happened with my uncle, just offering her solid support and giving me the space I need to process.
The nursery is bathed in a soft, buttery glow from a lamp in the corner.
I cross over to Sasha’s cot, and the smile that etches across my face as I peer at him comes easily.
He’s my world. Him and Imogen and, one day, I hope a brother or sister.
It never ceases to amaze me how I fought for so long not to have kids and now…
I could not imagine a life without them in it.
“Hey, baby boy.” I lean over the cot and kiss his forehead, breathing him in. I let my lips linger for a second or two. “You make everything worth it.”
I’m tempted to pick him up, but I don’t want to wake him.
I run a hand over his mop of dark hair, then straighten, but I can’t bring myself to leave just yet.
I lose track of time as I watch him sleep, his little chest rising and falling with every breath.
I could stand here forever and never get bored.
Imogen silently comes to join me, resting her head on my shoulder as we stare at the baby we made in abject wonder.
I thought I knew what love was. I thought my deep-rooted grief at losing Annabel and my mother was proof I loved profoundly and fiercely.
But the love I have for my wife and son is something else entirely.
If anything happened to them it would be the end of me.
“Do you want to talk or go to bed? I’m okay if you want to sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted, but I think I’m too wired to sleep.”
“Then, at least come sit on the couch. If you fall down in here, you’re sleeping on the floor. I’m not putting my back out trying to lift you.” She grins at me, and my heart squeezes.
I slide my hand around the back of her neck and steal a kiss. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” she whispers. “Now, move your ass, mister, because if you wake the baby, I am telling you now, I will not be happy.”
“I love it when you scold me. Turns me on.” I turn her to face the door and slap her backside as she moves off.
She lets out a tiny squeal, then gives me one of her power glares over her shoulder. I chuckle, following her into the living room.
While I sit, she fetches me a glass of brandy. Alcohol probably isn’t the best idea, but as the warm liquid trickles down my throat and settles in my stomach, the tension riding my shoulders eases off, and I can breathe that little bit easier.
Imogen sits beside me and lifts one of my hands into her lap, brushing her thumb over my knuckles. “Well, there are no bruises, so I’m guessing he’s still alive.”
“He is. For now.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m happy to sit here in silence if you prefer.”
“No.” I rub my lips together. “Talking will be good. Gets the poison out, you know?” I set the brandy glass on the coffee table and rub my eyes again. “He swears he had nothing to do with the kidnapping, nor with Mum’s suicide.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know.” My head pounds, my brain running too many scenarios at once. “You know how he discovered that we knew? He planted cameras and had an IT script running to listen for certain keywords which would alert him that we were onto him. In here. In our fucking home.”
She scans the room. “Here. In here? So, we’re still being spied on?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have someone sweep through here first thing tomorrow. And he doesn’t have his phone, so it’s not like he’s watching us right now.”
She shudders. “I should hope not.”
“Oh, and the other thing. He swears he didn’t know he’s my sperm donor, either. Apparently, once the alert came through, he figured we knew about the rape, and he ran based on that. He never heard or saw the rest of the conversation. Or so he says.”
“Why would he lie about that?”
“A man who can lie to his family for thirty-odd years, who can rape his brother’s fiancée, can lie about anything. I’m not taking a single word at face value.”
“That’s fair. So, what happens now?”
I shrug. “Dad’s left it up to me. My decision.
There’s a part of me that wants to beat him until his face is mush and every bone is broken.
But there’s another part of me that thinks that would be too easy.
Maybe rotting in the cellar is what he deserves.
Gives him time to live with the consequences of his actions.
Or perhaps we hand him over to the Russians—let them put him in one of their hard labor camps. I honestly don’t know right now.”
“You don’t have to make any decisions until you’re ready. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Yeah. At least as long as he’s alive, I can keep questioning him. I don’t buy this innocent act. He knows more than he’s letting on.”
“What about Alice?”
“Completely in the dark. Not a fucking clue. Can you imagine that? You’re married to someone for more than three decades, yet you don’t know them at all.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dad let her go home.”
“That’s good.”
I rock my head back, resting it on the squishy cushion behind me. “I’m so fucking tired.”
“It’s been an intense few days for all of you.” She squeezes my arm. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Okay.” I struggle to my feet and put my arm around my wife’s waist. “But you’re going to have to go on top.”
She laughs. “God, I love you, even if you do drive me insane from time to time.”
“That’s love, Little Pawn.”