Chapter 10
10
Dmitri
Family lunch turns out to be just me, Dani, and our grandfather.
“It’s been quite some time since I had my favorite grandchildren over,” Granddad remarks from his favorite armchair.
Neither Danica nor I put much weight on “favorite grandchildren” because he’s always said the same thing to Rachel and Patrick. Often in front of the other set of grandchildren. The conclusion we arrived at, years ago, is that he has four favorite grandchildren.
So we sit in his fine living room and eat. We talk about nothing, really. I try to talk him out of the sports car he wants to buy. Some modern abomination.
“A classic Mustang,” I argue, “is classic for a reason. It’s timeless.”
“It’s a fuel drain.” He sips his coffee, raising his bushy gray eyebrows at me in challenge.
The debate continues, with Danica looking up stats on her phone so she can take one side or the other. Eventually, we run out of arguments, and Danica and Granddad move to the chess table.
I close my eyes and lie on the couch, listening to the faint wooden clicks of the pieces moving. I never loved chess. I can play, but if I’m going to battle someone, I’d rather throw them down on a wrestling mat.
The doorbell rings. I sit up. The three of us look at each other.
I head toward the front door. “You expecting someone, Granddad?”
“No.” His brows draw down in concern.
“Are you expecting trouble?” I ask.
He shoots a cautious glance toward Danica. “No, why would I be?”
I turn toward the door and roll my eyes. He doesn’t know that I’ve told Danica everything, and there’s no reason to tell him now. This whole situation is fucking stupid.
The sidelight next to the door is frosted, so I can’t get a good look—other than I can tell it’s two people. I peer through the peephole.
Are they fucking serious? It’s Edmund fucking Layton and his buddy. I looked up the friend after that night I saw them both at Patrick’s party. Troy Manchester. He’s the muscle, the best-friend-slash-bodyguard to the Layton heir.
I yank open the door, already pissed off.
“Montrose, good to see you.” Layton smirks.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Layton holds up a giant gift basket, stuffed full of fruit, of all fucking things. “We heard Sergey was under the weather. We’re here with a get-well gift.”
“Nope.” I shake my head and start to close the door.
“Please.” Layton’s voice is firm, but there’s a vulnerability underneath. “It’s a gift from my grandfather to yours. It’s a gesture of goodwill.”
“Let them in,” Granddad says from behind me.
I turn around to scowl at him. He’s standing close and he’s abandoned his cane, probably as a show of strength.
“Edmund, right?” My grandfather is all sincere hospitality, and Layton is fucking basking in it. “Ed Senior’s boy?”
“That’s right.” Layton puts on a genial smile. “And this is my best friend, Troy Manchester.”
Granddad shakes each of their hands. “Would you two boys like some coffee?”
Boys . Jesus fuck. They’re both at least five years older than me.
Layton gives Granddad an aw-shucks smile. “Yes, sir, we’d love some coffee. If it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Of course not.” Granddad leads the way into the kitchen.
“What the hell .” Danica glares at the guys.
Granddad shoots her a reproachful look. “Don’t be rude to our guests, Dani.”
Layton grins behind his back, but Manchester looks uncomfortable.
I don’t know what game my grandfather is playing. The Layton family is, and always has been, enemies of the Aseyevs. Edmund is the prince, the grandson of their leader. Seems like Granddad should be throwing fists, not making him coffee.
I’d probably understand better if I’d gone into the family business like Granddad and Mom wanted.
Granddad hands me the tray to carry to the living room. He walks ahead of me with Manchester. He’s already getting into his longwinded spiel about the history of the house—a lecture he gives to every new guest.
Behind me, Danica is walking with Layton.
“Seriously, asshole, you have some nerve.”
“What? Your grandfather had a hospital stay. My grandfather wanted me to send his respects.”
“With a motherfucking fruit basket?”
She’s being so mean, it almost makes me want to be nice to them. Almost.
“You have such a filthy mouth.” Layton says it with affection, a tiny bit of censure.
I nearly stumble. The tray of coffee and cups clatters in my hands. I recover, but I can’t un-think the thought that just tore through my brain like acid: Edmund Layton is a Dom and he has his eyes on my sister. From the sound of it, this has been going on for a while.
I turn around and glare. I don’t want to think about what I just heard, but I don’t like it.
Danica looks guilty, Layton looks smug, and I have to get out of here.
I make my excuses to Granddad. “Sorry, I have some work I need to get done at home. Thanks for lunch.”
Danica sends me don’t you dare leave lasers with her eyes.
I’m not worried about her—she can take care of herself.
Layton is the one I should be worried about. My sister will wreck him. But oh, look at that, all my fucks ran out. I have zero left to give.
* * *
Leah
Gage didn’t come home last night. Or if he did, it was after I fell asleep.
Something’s wrong. He wouldn’t leave in the morning without a note, or without waking me up.
Over the course of the afternoon, I text back and forth with Dmitri. He’s done with his family lunch and now doing some work at home—errands and odd jobs he’s been putting off, from the sound of it. He works at Low Vice later.
He also sounds incredibly grumpy, so I’m steering clear.
Danica and I exchange a few texts also—and she’s in a similar mood to Dmitri, sprinkling F-bombs like confetti through the conversation, ranting about asshole boys who think they own the fucking world, fuckers who stick their nose in everyone’s business, on and on.
I gently tell her I have to get to work, and leave her last rant on read.
I have a couple of students today. We move one to a video call because the kid has a cold and doesn’t feel like going out.
Overall, it’s a pretty chill afternoon.
It leaves me way too much time to think. And I’ve been thinking a lot about forever. With the right person, or people, maybe it’s possible.
No, I’m not going to run out and marry Gage and Dmitri tomorrow. But I’ve been rushing to turn down the idea because of the house I grew up in, the example I internalized and kept repeating.
Gage’s penthouse— our penthouse, I remind myself—feels very empty when I say goodnight to today’s bodyguard and close the door.
Part of the problem is, I haven’t even spoken to Gage since he asked me to dinner yesterday. Then, he couldn’t make it—and didn’t even tell me himself.
If I did something wrong, I’ll fix it. I just need to know what I did.
I know what I did, though—what I’ve been doing. I haven’t believed in him, or us.
Well, there’s one thing that we’ve always done well, Gage and me—and that’s sex.
I shower in the giant bathroom, taking my time with shaving and shampooing and basically giving my body the princess treatment.
Gage still isn’t home when I get out, even though it’s getting pretty late. I call him, it goes to voicemail. “Gage, it’s me. Um, I hope you’re coming home soon, because I’m waiting up.”
I put on a soft pink nightie that makes my boobs look amazing. I find silk scarves in the “toy drawer” in his room, so I get them out. He hasn’t tied me up yet, and I think I’d like it.
An hour passes. Another. It’s getting cold in this nightie, but if I get under the covers, I’ll fall asleep.
Midnight comes and goes. I call Gage again. I go to voicemail, again. Why isn’t he answering?
“Gage.” I grasp the phone tight, hoping it will ground me. “I’m sorry for not believing in us. The thing is, I just figured a few things out. I grew up looking at my mother’s version of forever , and it was pretty fucking bleak. I drew some conclusions about how it would be for me, and, well. I was wrong. That’s all. I’m sorry.”
My heart hammers in my ears by the time I finish speaking. I pause, wondering if Gage will miraculously start talking back to me, telling me that he understands, and I’m doing the right thing. But of course, he isn’t there.
A robotic female voice says, “You’ve reached the end of your message,” followed by a long beep .
Why isn’t he here, tugging me into his arms, cupping the back of my head to draw me closer to his heart? It hurts that he isn’t here, that he isn’t communicating with me.
Finally, a text appears—and it’s from Gage. Working late again. Don’t wait up .
I stare at the words, my vision blurring. Then I type back, Seriously? Is everything okay?
A moment passes before he writes back. Everything’s fine. Just busy here .
I wait for a follow-up text, something explaining why he’s so busy, or an apology for not being around. If there’s anything Gage is good at, it’s reassuring me when I’m feeling off-balance.
I wait so long, my phone dims and goes black.
He knows. He has to know I’m freaking out over here. He has to have listened to my message. And if he isn’t saying anything about it, it means he doesn’t care.
Fuck this. Fuck him . I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, ignoring me like this. If he’s mad I won’t marry him, fine. Seriously, fine. He can be mad. But he has to at least talk to me about it.
If he won’t talk to me on the phone, I’ll hunt him down at Low Vice and make him talk to me in person.
I pull on a pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt, covering up the pretty pink nightie. Asshole. I can’t believe I got all dressed up for him. I’m halfway to the door before I remember I’m supposed to let my bodyguard know if I want to go somewhere. I send a quick text to my Ironwood contact. Going to Low Vice. Is someone here who can go with me?
Squid is stationed in the hall. He’s ready whenever you are .
I pause in place, thinking. No. I’m not going to Low Vice. I don’t want to see Gage. As much as I miss him, as worried as I am, I’m still pissed.
I jam the silk scarves into my hoodie pocket, then open the door to see Squid, the red-haired guard, is back on duty.
“Hello, Leah.” He makes no comment about my casual attire. “We’re going to Low Vice?”
“I changed my mind.” I give him Dmitri’s address.
* * *
Gage
The sensuous bass notes of a Bastian Crown song weave through the hall and seep through my office door. I stare at my text conversation with Leah. I’m behaving abysmally, I know this.
I’m sorry for not believing in us. Her words echo in my ears, tinny and flat through my phone’s speaker.
But my knuckles bear scabs from punching Harvey Billings in his disgusting mouth. My chest is hollow and empty, my brain is dull with repressed memories.
Javi and Nic are dead. Todd is still undergoing multiple surgeries from his car accident. Jess and Claudia are recovering. I’m a mess, unable to maintain a real relationship with the woman I love more than life itself.
The Shinies have been tarnished. Everything I touch becomes tarnished.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave Leah, but I can’t go to her, either. Not right now.
* * *
Dmitri
Gage’s car is parked on the street in front of my house when I get home from work. It throws me for a minute, because he was at Low Vice when I left. Then I remember—Leah has been using his car.
This is a nice surprise. I get out of my Mustang. At the same time, Leah gets out of Gage’s car and hurries up my driveway. She has on sweatpants and a hoodie with flip flops. Her hair gleams. She rarely wears it down, and I love the look.
“Hey.” I can’t help the smile on my face. “This is unexpected. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you.”
“I could’ve come to your place—” The words die on my lips as she gets closer.
She’s upset. Not sad, but…angry?
“Shit,” I say. “What’d I do?”
She’s right in front of me now, and she throws her arms around me, stands on her tiptoes. I have no choice, really, but to lift her into a big hug.
She kisses my ear and whispers, “Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me hard.”