Nila #2
Power shot into my blood; I sat straighter. Pinching my cheeks, I willed colour to paint my skin and dispel any sign of weakness. “True love is a curse, don’t you think?” I smiled for the first time, shoving aside my worries and throwing myself into this new challenge.
You want me to play my part, Jethro Hawk?
Fine.
I would play it so well, I would have the press eating out of my hand—not the Hawks’.
“I agree. Falling in love can be the most dangerous thing anyone can do.” Sylvie smiled.
Stealing Jethro’s hand, I looped my fingers with his and brought his large palm to my lips. I kissed him. I breathed in his scent of leather and money. I grew strong again.
He didn’t move. Didn’t inhale or twitch.
It doesn’t matter.
I’ll get him back.
“So your brother felt so strongly that the Hawk family wasn’t good enough for you, he spread vile rumours of debts and deaths...all to break you up?” George asked, his eyes gleaming.
Jethro faded into the background.
Please forgive me, Vaughn.
“Yes. V and I were very close growing up. I would tell him everything. But then I met Jethro, and I didn’t want to share my secret. I kept our affair hidden. I suppose that was a betrayal in my brother’s eyes. He felt like he lost me. And took it out on my love.”
Jethro smiled like the doting partner. “I will admit, it’s been hard.”
“I can imagine.” George grinned. Conferring to his notes, he perched higher. “How about, before we discuss other topics, we clear the confusion about those rumours. Would you mind?”
Jethro answered before I could. “By all means. We have nothing to hide.” His lips stretched over his teeth in a cool smile. “It would be beneficial to clear the air on the disgusting rumours Vaughn Weaver spread.”
My shoulders rolled at my twin’s name. I should’ve listened to him—not about running away, but arming myself with weapons and fighting the Hawks with violence rather than my idiotic idea of getting pregnant.
That’s over anyway.
I didn’t know how long the contraceptive would work, but I remembered a staff member having the injection and saying it lasted anywhere from three to six months.
I won’t be alive in six months.
Sylvie pulled an Elle magazine from her satchel beside her. Passing it to me, she asked, “Have you seen this particular article?”
I leaned forward, taking the glossy weight and forcing myself to remain detached as I stared at the cover.
The model pouted for the camera, eerily close to my dusky colouring and black eyes.
However, where I had long hair, hers was cut short—a sleek bob revealing the full impact of the heavy stones around her neck.
The intricate design of the choker was missing the barely noticeable W’s hidden in the rows of diamonds, and the filigree work around the stones was ordinary compared to the workmanship in mine. Plus, my diamonds were bigger.
I smiled smugly, stroking my collar as if it no longer heralded my death sentence but linked me to a man who belonged to me.
“No, I haven’t seen it.”
“Would you mind if you read some of it aloud, Ms. Weaver? Elaborate on a few key points?” George pointed at a Post-it note sticking from the pages. “I’ve bookmarked it for you.”
Flipping the magazine open, I gasped as the same model from the front smouldered in a centrefold. She wore a dress very similar to the feathered couture I paraded at the Milan show.
The title blazed in diamonds:
‘The Truth Behind the Weavers as told by Daphne Simons, Employee at Weaver Enterprises.’
“Do you know that employee?” Sylvie asked.
I looked up, shaking my head. “No. We hire too many people to know them all.”
The room turned silent as I skimmed the ridiculous article.
Nila Weaver, the daughter of the conglomerate company Weaver Enterprises has recently been spotted back in London after a stint outside the limelight.
Gossip has spread over the past few weeks that her family are victims of an age-old dispute that defies all logic and rationality.
A world where promises are kept and oaths are never broken.
Her brother, Vaughn Weaver, recently broke his silence when his efforts to have his sister returned went unheeded.
Turning the tables on the leaked photographs depicting Ms. Weaver with a young man unknown at the time, and the rumour that she’d had a mental breakdown and run off with her mystery lover, the world was shocked to discover the man in the photographs wasn’t her lover, but her kidnapper.
How could they print such heresy?
Upon Nila Weaver’s return to London High Society, she’s been repeatedly asked to tell her story, but has remained silent on the matter. However, here at Elle, we have an exclusive interview with one of her employees.
Elle: Thank you for meeting with us, Daphne. Care to tell us what you know?
Daphne: Well, all I know is she returned to work last month. She’s always been rather quiet. Too work focused and always stumbling into things. But now, she’s even worse.
Elle: You mentioned she seems different? Can you elaborate?
Daphne: It’s common knowledge about the collar. She never takes it off. She’s constantly touching it. The staff room is a buzz with conspiracies that she suffers that problem when a captive falls for her kidnapper...you know what I mean?
Elle: You’re saying she’s in love with the man who collared her?
Daphne: Yep. For sure. My theory is the debt stuff is just a cover up. I reckon she’s into that freaky business...you know like S our very own textile heiress has returned bearing a collar, bruises, and a history of intolerable cruelty. I suppose we won’t get answers or know the full story until justice has been served.
“So, tell us,” George said. “Is any of that true? Are you in an S&M relationship?”
Jethro sat taller, chuckling under his breath. “You honestly expect us to answer questions about our sex life?”
Sylvie laughed. “Sorry if it sounds like we’re prying, but our readers love to know that stuff.”
Stroking my collar, I smiled coyly. “All your readers need to know is Jethro completes me both in and out of the bedroom.”
George laughed, slapping his thigh. “Now, that’s a politically correct reply, if I ever heard one.”
Jethro reclined, spreading his arm over the back of the loveseat. “The rumours about death and debts are complete lies. However, some parts are indeed true.”
I didn’t know how he did it, but in a few short sentences, he’d enraptured George and Sylvie.
“Oh, how so?”
“People no longer accept the idea of arranged marriages. They like to think we’re all free to do what we like, when we like, but realistically, we are all still governed by class, income, our family tree.
” He ran a hand through his hair. “My family has known the Weavers for six hundred years. We’ve effectively grown up together, crossing paths and healing feuds, and ultimately agreeing to come together to form a strong alliance. ”
George frowned. “So you’re saying this so-called Debt Inheritance is what? A marriage contract?”
Jethro shook his head. “Not quite. It’s an agreement of debts between two houses that strive to support each other with payments in different forms throughout the years.”
I blinked stupidly, unable to believe the way Jethro spun three weeks of rumours. It made people seem ridiculous—clutching at straws and jumping onto a witch-hunt they knew nothing about.
He sounded so reasonable, so justifiable.
His speech was too perfect not to be scripted...perhaps by Bonnie.
Bonnie.
Did she tell Jethro to come and collect me, or was she against this development? After all, she’d kicked me out. She was the one who wanted me gone.
“And you, Ms. Weaver. That’s how your family sees this Debt Inheritance, too?” George pinned his baby-blues on me.
“Yes, of course. What else could it be? To think that one family owns another is completely ludicrous. We support one another. Sure, at times there’s some unrest and rivalry, but for the most part, we’re one big happy family.”
Maids arrived with fresh tea and a three-tier cake stand with cucumber sandwiches and éclairs.
George grabbed one, jotting down a few notes. “So really...it’s the age-old ‘mountain out of a mole hill’ kinda thing.”
Jethro crossed his ankles, ignoring the finger food. “Yes. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but our two influential families have always prospered by linking our history. It’s such a shame that after centuries of friendship, it’s come down to Mr. Weaver spreading such terrible lies.”
I sucked in a breath. I wanted to tell the truth but what good would it do? Would it stop the Hawks from breaking countless laws—would it save my life?
Vaughn had told the world, yet even with so much gossip, it was still his word against the Hawks. And they sounded so much more believable than him. A sure way to disband the Twitter posters and bury old Facebook shout-outs under new intrigue.
George swallowed a bite of cucumber sandwich. “Are you happy to be back? After the time away?”
This was it. My turn to lie as spectacularly as Jethro.
Swooning into Jethro’s side, I snuggled against his chest and sighed dramatically. “Oh, yes. Every night we messaged each other. And every night we professed our belonging and knowledge that we wouldn’t let lies come between us.”
Jethro stiffened then slowly wrapped an icy arm around my shoulders.