Gant
“It isn’t a Rolls-Royce, ,” Bae says, crushing the hope that swelled in my chest as I walked into his flat. “I’m sure of it.”
I look over the paperwork he’s pushed in front of me. There are photos of similar models that killed my mother, but none are dark green. All are black, according to their registrations. Bae had printed them in case I’d been wrong, but both Elle and I couldn’t be.
I skim the pictures of the owners, their spouses, adult children and chauffeurs in case someone else was behind the wheel, but no one matches Elle’s description, a middle-aged white man with grey eyes. One so tall that his hat touched the ceiling of the car. An impressive feat given the height of the vaulted roof. He must be no less than one hundred and eighty-three centimetres, and of the men, none appeared particularly tall, even if I could let the eye colour go. Eyes can change and look different from afar. Well, if they’re light-coloured, that is. Mine can never be mistaken for anything other than black.
Springs.
Like pools of spring…
“Did you check the surrounding towns?” I ask.
Bae nods, his stick-straight black hair shining beneath the only light fixture in his flat.
He’d moved into the same building as me, Aria, and Etienne, claiming he needed real estate outside of South Korea. A place where he could relax on weekends rather than staying at Beaulieu and yet, it’s still nearly as empty as the day he got the keys.
“Twice. We even searched the coast. Nothing. There aren’t any dark green Rolls registered at all.”
“They could’ve changed the colour,” I mumble, eyeing the photos for signs of damage to the fender. Of course, they would’ve had it repaired, but nothing’s ever perfect.
Bae takes the paper out of my hand slowly.
“It’s not a Rolls, ,” he says firmly. “We pulled repair records for every auto shop in town. None in èze fixed a front left fender on a classic car like this in two years.”
“They could’ve fixed it hundreds of miles away.”
“Or maybe … Elle’s wrong about the hood ornament.” Reaching behind him, he pulls out another stack of photos. “Show these to her. Maybe she’s mistaken about some things. A lot of brands use wings. The flying B has wings. It could be the wings of an animal too, like a swan.” He taps a photo of a large swan with a bent head. “The head could’ve caused the indent. You said Elle’s scar is round?”
Elle.
E
L
L
E.
It could be El. Or L. Or Ll. It would all sound like Elle. Isn’t that funny?
“?” Bae asks, waving the papers in front of my face pointedly. “Have you slept? You’re eyes — ”
“Right between her ribs. The round scar.” I nod and Bae tilts his head, observing me in that annoying fuck ass way. “But if you have these leads, just run them all.”
“That’d take months, you told me you don’t have. If we can narrow it down, I can get you answers in days.”
“I can’t ask Elle. She’s hiding from me.”
My dove’s flown away from the hospital and left her phone behind. The one I gave her all those years ago. The one I installed a tracker on during her first day at Beaulieu. Had she ditched it because she finally figured that out? Or did she get rid of it because she simply doesn’t want anything from me?
I don’t give a fuck what she wants. I know what she needs.
Me.
Not Jaime.
Not some roach-infested motel.
Not sheer isolation to keep feeding her dark thoughts.
She says I’m an angel of darkness, which means I’m still an angel. I can be her angel, too, because she needs me like I need her. And the fact that I don’t know where she is compounded with… I roll the shredded pieces of my mother’s letter in my coat pocket between my fingers faster… this is sending me insane.
I told Dove I was cracking. Now I’m about to shatter. I just need one more fucking reason…
“You knew this would happen. But considering everything, I’d say you’re taking it well,” Bae says tentatively, observing my overly cool demeanour. “I didn’t expect you to be so…”
“Calm?”
I’m sitting like a normal person on a dining chair, my shoulders are straight, and my feet are flat on the floor. Poised. Reserved. Full of couth. What? Did he think I’d crash out and behave like a rabid dog, like the mannerless beast on the floor tearing into a plate of Zedd’s lemon pepper wings? All because I couldn’t sip from my pretty pussy, or sleep because I couldn’t hear her heartbeat and ensure that it never stops beating? Did he think I’d scratch like I had rabies? All because not being able to touch her has set my skin alight with an itch I can’t reach until I get her soft flesh back beneath my palms?
I can’t break. Not yet. Not when I still have so much to do. Find this missing heir and appease Bart. Get on my deathbed. Win Elle back.
Elle.
El.
L.
Ll.
Elle.
My eyeballs are on fire. The red blood vessels creeping across them feel like tiny cracks threatening to rupture.
Blink left. Blink right, I tell my eyelids that cooperate a half-second too late.
“I’ll hunt her down,” I say, feeling the uncontrollable twitch at my temple quicken its pace. “She’ll be with me. In the penthouse. Tucked in my bed by week’s end.”
A slurp to my left alerts me to Jarett drinking sloppily from a glass and not his bowl. The sound grates on my ears and rips up my spine with its already frazzled nerve endings.
Bae looks unconvinced as he shakes his head slowly. “The only thing she cared about before you was ballet, and she thinks you’ve potentially taken that away from her. Nothing will convince her to run back into your arms. Not in a week.”
“You have no faith in me?” My fingers pick at my trousers, pinching the fabric so hard that I can feel the hairs on my leg ripping out from the root.
“I have more faith in Hale’s grand opening. Have you seen his progress?”
“What progress? He sent me a text two mornings ago. A final call to lend him more money for the repairs. Which means he hasn’t started them yet.”
Bae lets out a low whistle. “He says he wants to get away from Pierrot’s trashy reputation, but if he’s passing the club’s torch to Beaulieu’s next king after graduation, what does it matter if it’s just a cash grab? Who’s he trying to impress?”
“We both know the answer to that.”
A wicked smile cracks Bae’s lips. “It’s not Stassi. More like Zaddy Zedd and their father.”
“Good luck. Alistair Beaumont has their diamond dynasty, their family tree printed onto wallpaper in their fucking dining room. There’s Marquises, Vicomtes and Comtes. Princes and a Duc. There’s no space to incorporate the son of a second-generation, immigrant strip club owner. I don’t know why he’s even bothering.”
Bae looks surprised. “So you’d just give up?”
Like fucking hell I would. “On Alistair Beaumont. Not Stassi.”
“Easy for you to say. You have no respect for your own father, much less someone else’s.” He gazes pointedly at Jarett, who is chewing on the wing bones. “Hale comes from a fragmented home. He won’t fracture Stassi’s. He doesn’t want to be the reason for the discourse.”
“I’d fracture it,” I say without a hint of hesitation. “I’d shatter it, pulverise it if it meant getting what I want.”
“I don’t think anyone’s confused about that. Least of all, Elle.”
Jarrett’s eyes fly to Bae at the last word. Those fucking eyes…. Eyes of spring. He’s finally becoming more cognizant of what’s happening around him. Good.
“We all have our methods. You have yours after all,” I say, gazing around the empty flat. “Too bad you’re a step too late.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She doesn’t live in the tower any more. You won’t accidentally run into her.”
The tower Bae clearly doesn’t give a rat’s ass about, but then again, why he cares about her is beyond me.
He doesn’t even ask who. “I already knew that.”
I arch a brow. “Then?”
“She wants to live in the tower again.”
And baby gets what baby wants.
“I got you a departure gift,” I say, digging into my coat pocket and fishing out a small bottle. “The perfect size to pass through the airport’s security screening.”
Bae turns Rin’s signature perfume over in his fingers, and I can see the gratitude in his blank expression. He won’t buy it himself because buying it would mean admitting what’s already so obvious.
“You said Elle was wearing her coat?”
I nod.
“If Elle’s not at the hospital any more, she isn’t either.”
“And yet, you’re leaving the country,” I say.
“My halmeoni is sick again.”
“For real this time?” I ask. Bae’s grandmother is the most dramatic grandmother I’ve ever met, and she’s probably my favourite.
Bae sighs. “Who knows? But I’m going anyway. I’ll always go for her.” He tosses me a set of keys. “I need a favour, neighbour. My houseplant requires daily watering until I get back. The housekeeper will handle it once we return to Beaulieu.”
I eye the keys, then the massive plant on the balcony, then him. He knows damn well I don’t have time to water plants, but we both know who has all the time in the world now. Or at least the remainder of the break because once I find Elle, I’ll find her new bestie too.
Jarett, clumsily resting down his beer glass, gets both of our attention. At least he’s upgraded from the bowl.
“He’s progressing, but how does Bart expect you to get answers out of him? He won’t say more than a few words.”
“That’s not our concern. She’ll handle the babying. It’ll be her life’s mission to get him into good shape, and once she does, I’ll get Bart the information he needs.”
Hopefully.
“You’re going to put Elle in that situation with him all over again?” Bae asks, the disappointment evident despite his monotone.
“Who said anything about Elle?”
Elle.
El
L…
Again, Jarett looks up at the name.
A pleased smile cracks Bae’s lips, but as I get to my feet and whistle to Jarett that it’s time to go, Bae’s voice, suddenly so quiet, stops me midway to the door.
“How are you doing it? Not going insane?” he asks, his eyes burrowing into mine with a hopelessness I’ve never seen in them before. “With not knowing where she is?”
“Who says I’m not?”
Who says we’re not?
“I make a lot of tea.” I eye Jarett, who shrinks. “It’s extremely soothing.”