Chapter 28
28
JADE
With all the mourners gone, leaving only Evangeline and her mother, who are still waiting for Owen and Stanley to reappear from the office down the hall, I have listened to Camilla make mindless chitchat about garden parties, charity work, and all the grand balls they’ve been invited to this year.
I wish Owen would come back.
What the hell are he and Stanley talking about?
While Evangeline’s mother, Joyce, has sat talking to Camilla politely, Evangeline on the other has been staring at me from across the room, shooting poison-tipped daggers my way for the last twenty minutes.
I realize that simply breathing the same air has made her despise me. After all, I am the woman whose arms Owen ran into while running away from her unwelcome ones.
It’s clear what Owen meant about Evangeline being a child. She’s too young to get married. From her looks to her need to be the center of attention, everything about her—including the threatening glare she’s giving me right now—only highlights her immaturity .
I throw her a gigantic smile while peeling the uncomfortable black patent heels off my feet.
Easy, little girl, don’t play with the big girls.
“Excuse me.” I give a gentle nod in their direction, cutting through Camilla and Joyce’s conversation. “I’ll go check on the men and see what the holdup is.” I hope I don’t bump into Gideon or his father, who slipped away only a minute ago. Those two are slimy as hell and give a whole new meaning to the word creepy.
Evangeline continues to examine me, dropping her disapproving glare down and then up my body as I rise. Holding my head high, I make my way out of the room.
“Thanks, Jade.” Camilla gives me a curt nod.
Walking out of the drawing room faster than intended, I travel down the narrow stone hall in my black stocking-covered feet, taking in the vast tapestries and oil paintings lining the walls.
My gaze lingers for a second too long on the stuffed wall-mounted wild stag’s head and a cold shiver runs down my spine, making me run for a couple of steps in the hope of getting to Owen quicker. I’m not easily spooked, but this place gives me the jitters.
In contrast to this dark gothic castle, Owen did a really good job of playing down how beautiful and welcoming his hometown is. It’s a place I could see myself retiring. My mom said the same thing, too. Since we’ve been here, she’s spent hours with Poppy and Aunt Babs on the beaches, exploring the cobbled streets of the town and ancient ruins. We’ve also had dinner at both Lincoln and Violet’s, and Jacob and Skye’s. I thought it would be awkward with Skye being Owen’s ex, his high school sweetheart, but it wasn’t. Not even a smidge.
I have bonded with those girls and their smitten with them men quicker than I thought possible, and can see why Owen loves his friends, and they love him back just as hard.
I can see why Owen spent hours away from home and more time with his friends when he was growing up.
Almost at the office at the end of the corridor, I tiptoe further along and the faint voices of both Owen and Stanley drift my way.
Moving closer, I am just about to push the door open when Stanley’s next words stop me in my tracks. “They are dangerous men. You need to be very careful. Your father was a fool to get himself involved with Sanderson Shipping. They are not good people, Owen.”
“I know Gideon and Richard are not to be messed with, Stanley. I warned my father time and time again. Since my return, they haven’t mentioned anything about any debt or discussed money. Nor has Camilla.” Owen sounds astonished. “How do you know my father still owed them money? And how much was it, do you know?”
“I heard a rumor it was millions,” Stanley replies.
I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle my gasp.
He lowers his voice. “He made promises he couldn’t keep.”
“My father lost billions. Owing them millions is insignificant by comparison,” Owen remarks dryly as I spy on them through the gap in the door.
Sitting at the desk, in the seat across from Owen, Stanley then goes on to say what I feared. “But how will you pay off that debt and with what?”
“It’s not my debt. Surely the insurance payout from the fire will cover it?” Owen looks exasperated as he unbuttons his shirt and loosens his black tie.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Does the debt not die with them? ”
Stanley scoffs. “These are not normal people you are dealing with here. This is the Sandersons.” He pauses. “And what the Sandersons want, they get. They may not be mafia, but they are the closest thing to it.”
Owen scratches his beard, appearing agitated, as Stanley adds, “You know your father’s finances better than anyone. Surely you knew what he was up to.”
Owen’s frown deepens. “Although I worked for the business, he never shared his personal investments with me and I was given a finance director title in name only to head the finance department and only for the printing side of the business. I had no clue about anything else he got up to. My job title made him look like he was doing the right thing by his son. It was all for show. I may have worked for the family business, but I was no more than a glorified bookkeeper who sometimes won a contract for him here and there. I am not like my father. I am not a liar or a gambler.”
“But you are a coward,” Stanley fires angrily. “You left my daughter at the altar.”
Shaking his head, Owen disagrees. “I never wanted that marriage, neither did she, and you and I both know it. Let her marry Adam Blumenthal, who she was screwing behind my back when we were supposed to be engaged.”
Stanley winces at that news. “And who were you fucking about with?”
“I was faithful to her.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He shakes his head.
“Believe what you want.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that you weren’t already fucking that woman you brought with you today? It’s a little convenient, don’t you think?”
Owen’s nostrils flare. “Unlike your spoiled little princess, that woman is worth one hundred of her and I met her after I left your daughter. I won’t say this again, so listen carefully. I was faithful to Evangeline, and I tried my best to please her, but ice queens don’t appear to have hearts.”
Stanley holds his hands up as Owen defends himself. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”
I hold my breath, watching my powerful man, and wait for his next words.
With elbows on the desk, he threads his fingers together and looks up to the left, as if deep in thought. “We can’t keep revisiting the past. What’s done is done between our families. But humor me because I’m curious. In return for some contact names to help us break the American publishing market, the fancy marketing plan you pulled together to win my father over, and of course, how can we forget the lovely Evangeline that was thrown into the deal, what else did he offer you in return exactly? Because the way I see it, and before all of this shit with my father began, we didn’t need the money. But you and your business did. You were, or still are , a much smaller business than ours.” Owen eyes him suspiciously. “You must have thought all your Christmases came at once when our print business burned to the ground? Did you get much business from that tragedy?”
I almost punch the air at Owen’s confidence as he asks all the questions he’s been mulling over with me since the fire.
“Your father needed a wife for his son,” Stanley justifies, looking nervous as he plays with the tail of his black tie.
“My father lives in the shadow of his ancestors. But if you do the same, you always get the same, and he thought he needed a wife for his son. He didn’t. You’re lying, Stanley.”
When Stanley doesn’t reply, he pushes him. “So what was it?” Owen clears his throat. “The cultures of the business weren’t aligned. The printing market for newspapers and magazines is in decline and job losses were inevitable when we merged. So what exactly did he offer you to make you want to merge your company with his and sell your daughter off like some cheap-ass auctioneer? I have to hand it to you. You did have great ideas about moving into the indie-author world to open up new opportunities, but you could have done that all by yourself. So what was the offer, Stanley?”
Owen leans back in his father’s black leather chair and drums his fingertips against the arm. “I was the one who showed your father how to bet against the stock market.”
“Jesus Christ. You do know when the stock market rises, it has the opposite effect, and you lose everything? You don’t turn a profit doing that.”
“I knew the risks, but your father didn’t listen. He behaved like an addict, desperate for his next big stakes win. But when he did make a profit, he got greedy and reinvested it. The more he lost, the more he bet, desperate to win back his money.”
“When did this all start?”
“Over a year ago.”
“And?”
“He lost it all.”
“How much?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Through gritted teeth, Stanley admits, “But he blamed me for his bad decisions. He turned up at my house with Gideon and Richard. They threatened my family. They said they had ways of making people disappear. My wife, daughter, my son, my mother; my own flesh and blood, Owen. I was forced to make a deal.”
Holy shit. The blood pounds loudly in my ears. This is crazy.
During one of our late-night chats, Owen told me that Camilla’s husband was an importer and exporter of goods. He also implied it was not fashion and fruit. I didn’t ask, but I can only assume it’s as dodgy as hell and they are not people you want to do business with.
As well as making bad investments, it sounds like Owen’s father surrounded himself with bad businesspeople, too; he was a bad judge on all accounts.
“So you offered him your business and your daughter to pay off his debt?”
“I didn’t offer them to him. He took what he wanted.”
“What else?”
“My yacht.”
Owen raises one eyebrow. “Ah, I did wonder why you sold it to him.”
“I didn’t. He took it.”
“Right.” Owen’s eyes narrow. “You can have the fucking thing back. I don’t want it.” I’m beaming with pride at Owen’s detective work. His suspicions were right all along. There was way more to him having to marry Evangeline.
“Look, I’ll be honest. I needed to speak to you for a reason. I need reassurance from you that my family is safe. The business deal didn’t go through. You didn’t marry Evangeline. Other than the yacht, I haven’t paid back the debt he burdened me with.” Stanley’s voice cracks with what sounds like fear.
Owen’s face turns dark and serious. “As far as I’m concerned, your debt is cleared.”
“Thank you.” Stanley’s shoulders slump.
I smile to myself, my body pulsing with pride at how great a man Owen is, and I wonder if he realizes how different he is to the man that raised him.
His eyes softening, Owen adds, “You are wrong about me, Stanley. I am not a coward, nor am I a liar. My parents withstood each other at best.” Owen stands and buttons his dress jacket slowly. “I couldn’t live a lie like they did. They were trapped in a loveless marriage where the only thing holding them together was greed. I was brave to run, to pull the plug on their control over me.” Owen moves out from behind the desk. “You should be thanking me, really. I saved us all. You got to keep your business. I get to marry that phenomenal woman who stood by my side today, because I choose to do that, and your daughter gets her happy ever after with someone else who doesn’t make her miserable like I would have.” He pushes his hands into his pockets. “And as a bonus, you get your yacht back. I will find the paperwork and write a letter reinstating your ownership and have it sent to you.” His tone turns sardonic. “Now, without sounding like a heartless bastard, please never speak to me again and get the fuck out of this house.”
Stanley pulls himself out of his chair. “Thank you.” His face is softer now, looking relieved. “Please be careful, Owen. Gideon and his father, they are?—”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He tilts his chin up in defiance.
With an understanding nod, Stanley turns to leave.
I dart away from the door and carefully slide behind a large medieval knight statue. Looking up at it from behind, I wince. It’s hideous. Holding my breath as Stanley passes, I give him time to disappear.
“Motherfucker.” Owen’s voice bellows from the office, and I go to him.
He’s standing, looking out the leaded windows, like the statue I just hid behind, and I feel his protective armor in place, shielding him from any further hurt. My strong man has had to deal with so much, not just in the last two weeks, or months, but for years. My mission in life is to protect him. I don’t ever want him to feel the pain I know he’s feeling right now .
“Hi,” I murmur.
With his hands still tucked into the pockets of his dress pants, I push my fingers between the gaps and lace my arms around his waist.
Having never seen Owen in anything other than casual clothes, he looks exceptionally handsome today in his designer suit that probably cost more than my combined closet of clothing.
Not knowing anything about his previous life, I’ve been exposed to another world these past twelve days. One where how much money you have in the bank, the car you drive, the type of shoes you wear, and the portfolio of homes you have define who you are. I witnessed that again at the funeral today.
I can see why he left.
“Everything okay?” I rest my cheek against the fabric of his dress jacket.
“Yeah,” he lies, sighing heavily. I can feel him withdrawing from me, and for a second, I panic that if I can’t pull him back, I could be the one to have my heart ripped to shreds.
“With every ounce of my body, I love you, Owen.”
He turns to face me. “I want to go home. We have one last night together.” His words feel like a thousand barbs piercing my heart.
“In Castleview,” I counter. “We have forever.” He nods slowly, seeming distracted, then bows to kiss my lips. When our mouths meet, like the faint flutter of butterfly wings, it’s the gentlest of kisses he’s ever given me, and that settles my nerves a little.
Breaking away, he’s solemn when he says, “Let’s go home. Poppy has been with your mom and Aunt Babs all day.”
I wish I could delve into his head and unpick his thoughts, and I am desperate to call him out for not telling me what he discussed with Stanley. Instead, I reply, “It’s been a long day.”
“And if it’s possible, I hate this fucking house even more.” He looks around his father’s office, and his eyes settle on the painting of his father above the fireplace. “I fucking hate him.” His expression grows hard, which is most unlike his never-ending cheery self I have come to know and love.
“Let’s go,” I suggest. As we walk out of the office, Owen turns to steal one final glance at the painting of his father.
Stony eyes, stern scowl, emotionless.
The infamous Henry Brodie.
Yeah, I hate him too.