Chapter 13 Presley
Presley
The helicopter touched down on the lawn of the garden square two hours later, and Maeve stumbled out like she'd just survived a near-death experience.
Her black hair whipped around her face, and she clutched her handbag to her chest like a shield. But the moment she saw me waiting by the wrought iron gate, her face split into a grin.
"You weren't lying. It’s gorgeous," she shouted over the noise of the rotors.
"Would I lie to you?"
"Yes!"
I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the townhouse before the neighbors could complain about the noise. Not that they would. This was Kensington. They probably had their own helicopters.
Inside, Maeve stopped in the entrance hall and stared.
"Holy shit."
"I know."
"This is where you're living?"
"For now."
She turned in a slow circle, taking in the marble floors of the vestibule, the chandelier hanging from the super high ceiling, and then to the curved staircase. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open.
"Presley, this place is insane."
"It's just a house."
"It's a palace." She grabbed my shoulders. "Are you sure these alphas aren't secretly royalty? Because I'm getting serious prince vibes."
I laughed, linking my arm through hers. "Come on. We have shopping to do."
The driver dropped us on Bond Street, and I clutched the black AmEx card in my pocket like it might disappear if I let go.
Maeve marched ahead, her heels clicking on the pavement. She'd changed into a fitted dress and a leather jacket that screamed money. I was so underdressed, still wearing my best leggings and Etienne's shirt.
"Where do we start?" I asked.
"Everywhere."
The first shop was all glass and white marble, the kind of place where everything looked too expensive to touch. A woman in a tailored suit approached us, her smile tight.
"Can I help you?"
I opened my mouth, but Maeve was faster.
"We're looking for a complete wardrobe." She gestured at me. "She needs everything. And we have this."
She plucked the black card from my hand and held it up like a weapon, flicking it in the air.
The woman's smile turned genuine. "Of course. Right this way."
Two hours later, I had an entirely new wardrobe.
Coats, gorgeous new boots, dresses, jeans, jumpers. The assistant piled everything into bags while I stood there vaguely guilty about the numbers on the receipt.
Maeve tried on a hat shaped like a giant flower.
"What do you think?" she asked, striking a pose.
"I think you look like you're about to attend a very posh garden party."
"Wonderful. I'll take it."
"Maeve, you don't need a hat."
"I absolutely need this hat." She handed it to the assistant, who added it to the growing pile without blinking.
At the next shop, Maeve held up a leather corset.
"Buy this."
"Why would I buy that?"
"Because it's hot. And you need hot things."
"I'm their surrogate, not their girlfriend."
She raised an eyebrow. "Have you told your body that?"
My face heated. "Shut up."
"Buy something sexy," she said, lowering her voice. "Something that'll make them drool."
I thought about Etienne's hands on my skin. About the way Hastings had looked at me this morning. About Fritz's dark eyes tracking me across the room.
"Fine."
She showed me a black lingerie set, but I put it down and bought a silk-and-lace set in cream and blush pink.
For my heat. That was what I told myself. Just in case.
By the time we stopped for lunch, my feet ached and my arms were full of bags.
"McDonald's?" Maeve asked, pointing across the street.
"No."
"Why not? I could murder a Big Mac."
"Because we're in Mayfair and I have a magic card. We're going somewhere nice."
"You're getting posh on me already."
"I’d just like to eat something nice."
We ended up at a restaurant with white tablecloths and waiters who moved like ghosts. The menu had no prices, which I decided was either a good sign or a terrible one.
Maeve ordered steak. I ordered pasta. I ordered sparkling wine, and she ordered red.
"This is mental," Maeve said, gesturing at the room with her fork. "A week ago you were eating cream filled vanilla slices.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Talking about cream filling.”
“Don’t go there.”
“But have you?”
“No.”
“You’re telling me you’re living with three hot alphas and they haven’t had you begging for their knots yet.”
“Maeve!”
“Come on. Tell me.” She glanced out of the window at a passer-by.
“Etienne has made a few comments.”
She grinned. “Such as.”
“If I needed anything before the heat…”
Maeve tapped her fork on her plate. “Ah, the business arrangement changed the moment you got there.”
“No. Hastings still looks at me as though he wants it over and done with and me out of his hair.”
“Yet he gave you a black card with unlimited funds. And had the card made up with your name. That’s hardly temporary.”
“I could be living here for a year, Maeve."
“A year–” her voice sounded so dejected, my heart clenched.
“It’ll be over in a flash. And then I’ll buy that cottage, go back to eating beans on toast, and we’ll live happily ever after.”
“We will?”
I smiled. “But I am getting a cat.”
“Deal.” She turned her wrist and checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine." But her eyes darted to the window and then the door once again.
"Maeve."
"I'm fine, Pres."
She wasn't. Her knee bounced under the table. Her fingers tapped against her wine glass. And she kept looking over her shoulder like she expected someone to walk in.
When the bill came, I reached for the black card, but stopped.
I pulled out my phone instead, checking my bank balance as I wondered if they were paying me in advance.
The number made my throat tight.
Four thousand nine hundred and eighty-five pounds.
My first week's payment had come through, which was a good thing because I was already overdrawn.
I paid with my own card.
Maeve didn't notice. She was too busy staring at the door.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"You've checked your watch five times and looked over your shoulder at least ten. That's not nothing."
She bit her lip. Her hand went to her throat, fingers pressing against the collar of her shirt.
"Maeve."
"I need to leave."
"What? Why?"
"London makes me uneasy."
I set down my napkin, leaning forward. "Tell me what's going on."
Her hand shook as she reached for her wine glass. She drained it in one go.
"Maeve."
"I'm bonded," she said finally, the words barely a whisper.
I stared at her. "What?"
She pulled down the collar of her shirt, and there it was. A claiming mark. The skin was scarred, raised, the bite mark still visible even though it had clearly healed.
"You're bonded," I repeated. "But—"
"He wasn't a good man, Presley." Her voice cracked. "I need to have it severed, but until I can afford it, I have to stay hidden. And being in London is making me feel like he's going to walk through that door any second."
“Severed?”
“Yeah. It’s risky but my life–”
My stomach dropped. "How much?"
She shook her head. "More than I'll ever be able to afford."
"How much, Maeve?"
"One hundred thousand pounds."
"Fuck."
"I know." She stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "I need to leave. Now. next time can we stay in the townhouse?"
“Of course.” I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the pilot.
Me: Maeve needs to return to North Yorkshire. Can you take her?
The reply came thirty seconds later.
Ready when she is.
Half an hour later, I stood in the garden square and watched the helicopter lift off.
Maeve's face was pressed to the window, the hat on her head and her hand raised in a wave. I waved back until the helicopter was just a dot in the sky.
Then I was alone.
The shopping bags sat at my feet. A fortune in clothes and shoes and things I didn't need. But none of it filled the hollow ache in my chest.
I gathered the bags and walked back to the townhouse.
The entrance hall was quiet. Too quiet. My footsteps echoed on the marble as I climbed the stairs.
I'd just reached my room when I heard a voice.
"Presley?"
I turned. Fritz stood at the bottom of the stairs, his tie loosened, his jacket slung over his shoulder.
"You're back early," I said.
"The meeting ended sooner than expected." He climbed the stairs, his eyes dropping to the bags in my hands. "Did you have a successful trip?"
"Something like that."
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne and something sharp.
"We want to do something nice for you," he said. "Hastings and I are leaving for New York tomorrow, so tonight we’d like to learn more about you."
"You don't have to—"
"You’ll be the mother of our child, perhaps children. We want to." His hand brushed mine, just for a second. "Dinner. Tonight. Just the four of us."
The dining room looked different.
Candles flickered on the table, casting warm light across the white walls. The chef had outdone himself. Plates of French food I couldn't pronounce, wine that tasted like velvet, and then I ate a dessert that melted on my tongue.
I sat between Fritz and Etienne, with Hastings at the head of the table.
It was intimate. Like we were the only four people in the world.
"Tell us about your parents," Hastings said, refilling my wine glass.
I hesitated. "There's not much to tell."
"There's always something," Etienne said gently.
So I told them. About my mum's laugh and my dad's terrible jokes. About the caravan they'd bought for holidays before the sickness took them both. About being eighteen and alone and trying to figure out how to survive.
Fritz's hand found mine under the table. He didn't say anything. He just held on.
"What do you want?" Hastings asked. "After this. After the baby."
I didn't know how to answer that. A week ago, I would have said money. Security. A place to live that didn't leak.
Now I didn't know what I wanted.
"I want to not be cold," I said finally. "I want to not worry about the electric meter. I want to wake up and not be afraid."
Etienne's hand settled on my lower back, warm and steady.
"You're safe here," he said.
I wanted to believe him but also knew that my time here had an expiry date.
“And you. How did you know you were a pack,” I asked.
“Hastings and I worked together and just blended.”
“Are you all in a relationship?”
Hastings laughed. “Absolutely not. What makes you think that?”
“I wondered about the baby thing. First I thought you had an omega who couldn’t give you what you needed. Then I thought perhaps you were gay.”
Hastings shook his head. “We’re brothers, Presley. Nothing more. We love each other and nobody will break what we have, but we’re not lovers. Anyway, I need to get some sleep Fritz and I have an early flight in the morning.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Hastings turned and stared at me and muttered, “You didn’t. And I’m sorry this business meeting has become unavoidable. I’d like to get to know you more before the heat kicks in.”
I nodded. “It’s okay.”
"Etienne will stay with you," Fritz said.
"I'll be fine."
"We know." But the look that passed between the three of them said otherwise. Like they were worried. Like leaving me was harder than they wanted to admit.
After dinner, Etienne walked me to my room.
He lingered at the door, his hand braced against the frame.
"I have a match tomorrow," he said. "Would you come watch?"
My heart stuttered. "You want me to come?"
"I want you to see what I do. Who I am when I'm not here."
"Okay."
He gave me a devastating smile. "Good."
Then he leaned in, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and left.