Chapter 24
Darius
“What if I broke into his place or his office and stole the files? I could destroy them and we could pretend none of this ever happened,” Darcey suggests, sitting down on a sofa in the conservatory of the home she shares with her fiancée, Eva.
I’ve taken to hiding out in her place since I finally moved my things into mine and Floyd’s shared space.
The first thing he did was invite his mother and grandmother over to introduce me as his fiancé.
To say they were shocked is an understatement.
It seems my husband-to-be has a track record for being a perpetual bachelor.
It was interesting to watch the way he switched on the charm for them, going from cold and demanding to overly kind and attentive the second they walked in.
His grandmother spent her time quietly assessing us, asking questions that Floyd answered rapidly, sounding completely rehearsed.
Whether she left believing us is still to be seen.
His mom was sweet and seemed genuinely happy for us.
I struggle to see how she and Floyd are related.
“Calm down, James Bond. You and I both know it wouldn’t be that easy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Far simpler than marrying someone you don’t know or like. Do you even know for sure this evidence exists?”
I nod. “Yeah. He showed it to us and made it clear there were copies.”
“There has to be another way. Give me a few more days to think of something,” she offers and I am so grateful for her and how much she cares but also exhausted because it’s not like I haven’t played every angle in my mind repeatedly.
When I don’t respond, Darcey reaches out a hand and places it on my knee.
I hadn’t planned to tell her the truth, but I should have known she’d draw it out of me.
I did what Floyd wanted, and I sent out invitations.
The people who barely know me had nothing but congratulations to pass along.
Florence eyed me, a question burning on her lips, but I begged her not to ask, and to come and smile and pretend she’s happy for me.
Lachlan and Finch were surprised but didn’t push for answers either.
But Darcey was another story altogether.
She didn’t believe a word I said and wouldn’t let it go until I was in tears and blurting out the truth.
I’m fairly confident she’ll keep my secret, even if she’s threatened to give Floyd a piece of her mind.
I feel better not having to lie to Caiden or Darcey, but at the same time, there’s this heaviness in my chest that feels a lot like guilt because I’m forcing them to live this lie with me.
“I love you D, so when I say this, know that it comes from the heart. Your father is a criminal. He should be the one paying for his crimes. Not you.” She puts an emphasis on the words as if to force home her point.
It’s not like I haven’t considered backing out and letting my father get whatever punishment comes his way.What he did was wrong and there’s a part of me that thinks he should pay for it.
I’ve spent hours searching online for information about likely sentences for his crimes.
Ten, maybe fifteen years in prison. A hell of a lot longer than the two years I need to give up.
The other part of me – the part that is ruled by my heart – says he’s my father and I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.
No matter how much he may deserve it. But it’s also not just him at risk, it’s everyone who works for him too.
“I know, Dars.” I hang my head. “I know.”
“What if you told Oliver the truth?”
I look up at my friend, pushing my fringe off my forehead. My hair could do with a cut, but I haven’t had much energy to care how I look lately. Getting up in the morning has become a chore. Dread weighing me down. “I’ve told you why I can’t.”
She sighs, takes her hand off my knee and adjusts her position on the sofa. “And you have very valid points. He won’t let you go, won’t let you marry someone who is blackmailing you. I get that, but what if you told him the truth and there was some way you could still be together?”
I scoff. “Sure. So do I ask him to be my secret lover while I pretend to be in love with my husband? Or do I ask him to wait two years for me?” The sarcasm is thick in my voice. “Cause both sound like really fucking awful choices.”
“At least you would have given him the choice,” she retorts. “Fuck load better than leaving him thinking you cheated on him. That was a dick move no matter how sound your motive was.” God, I’m a terrible person. I can still vividly picture the betrayal and heartbreak on his face.
I stand and pace the sunny room, stopping to look at one of the large potted ferns in the corner. Outside, it’s grey, thick clouds covering the sun.
“Let’s say I tell him and he takes me back. Then what? We steal time together every day before I go home to another man? He becomes my little secret on the side? It would never be enough.”
Darcey huffs. “I get that it’s not ideal, but it has to be better, surely? Or you know, you could just say fuck it and not get married.”
“Darcey, please. I’m barely hanging on by a thread here.
I miss Oliver so much it physically hurts.
I’m scared for my father and I’m sad for myself and in two days I’m going to stand in front of people and make promises to a man I detest, all to save my father and the hundreds that would be impacted if the truth got out.
” I move to her side and crouch down, my hands on her knees.
“I need you by my side, Dars. I need to know that even though this choice is probably the wrong one, that you have my back. I need that. I need you.”
There are tears stinging at my eyes again, but they don’t fall until Darcey kisses my forehead.
“Okay. I don’t like it at all, but I’ll do anything for you.”
When I leave Darcey’s place, I replay the conversation over and over until I’m walking into the flat I’m sharing with Floyd.
He’s not home and I don’t know when he’ll be back.
We don’t communicate unless it’s for him to tell me about the wedding plans he’s made or to quiz me on the stories he’s fabricated to make our relationship believable.
He is well aware that he will never see that money if anyone finds out Floyd coerced me into marrying him.
But at the end of the day, I have more at stake if this goes wrong.
The apartment is cold, but I don’t bother turning up the heating.
I hate the place. It’s not comfortable and holds nothing that resembles the person I am.
It’s all fake plants, fabricated photos of the two of us, and art I would never have picked.
The only place I feel remotely at ease is my room, which holds the things that matter most to me.
Norman. The photo of me and Oliver and a little wooden penguin that is the most valuable thing in my life.
Though I’m not hungry, I make myself a sandwich, carry it through to my room and lock the door behind me.
Sitting crossed legged on the navy sheets that could do with a wash, I take a bite of the sandwich then open my phone and scroll back to the first messages Oliver and I shared.
I read them all once, then again, before typing out the same message I draft every night but never send.
Me: I know you won’t believe a word I say, but I need you to know a few things. I’m sorry. I love you. In this lifetime and the next, you will always be it for me. One day, I hope you understand the choice I made.