Chapter Twenty Six
Dare I say, the mood in the manor has been different over the past few days. So far removed from anything I’ve ever known to exist here. And as much as it pains me to admit, Addy has played a part in it, whether intentionally or by simply existing like the neon hurricane she is.
Since the girls quizzed, they’ve agreed to keep any revelations to themselves and enjoy the time we have left here.
Laughter has echoed down halls that usually creak with silence, sock-skidding streaks cut across the polished floors, and every spare hour seems to end in a snooker rematch or someone shouting over a drunken card game.
Even Fiona has seemed lighter than I’ve seen in years, humming as she bakes elaborate patisserie desserts I was never allowed within arm’s reach of before.
But even with all that warmth bleeding into the cracks, the clock hasn’t stopped ticking.
The days haven’t stopped moving toward the inevitable.
Standing in the bedroom window, I watch the iron gates at the end of the driveway like a hawk.
The sun has begun to set, casting the surrounding wall in an orange glow, the fountain now shrouded in shadow.
My jaw tics as the minute hand crawls by on the fifth day since my father left.
I told him I’d have the others gone by now, but I had no intention of seeing it through.
For better or for worse, Harper stays within arm’s reach of me from now on.
I hear the low hum before headlights shine through the gates, the iron working to open and let the devil in.
A black sedan enters, polished with the shine of a narcissist. My fingers curl at my sides on instinct, a cold breath cutting down my spine as it rolls along the tarmac.
That alone is enough to put a foul taste in my mouth, and then a second vehicle follows.
This one is silver and sleek, the familiar crest of the Kavanagh family glinting above the license plate.
My heart gives a hard thud against my ribs.
“Fuck,” I hiss through my teeth. What are they doing here? I can only imagine my father told them I was sitting here twiddling my thumbs and in need of company. Klara’s company. Shuddering, I move away from the window before I’m spotted lurking.
Dragging a hand down my face, irritation scrapes through my nerves like glass.
My father never brings guests without warning, not unless he wants something.
Wants me cornered or wants leverage. Footsteps echo distantly downstairs, Fiona moving toward the foyer to greet them, Klara’s shrill voice carrying through the walls as soon as the door has been opened.
“Rhysie!” she calls, causing a slice of anger to wedge under my sternum.
I grit my teeth so hard the muscle in my jaw spasms. Yep, our reprieve has just been blown to pieces.
I force myself down the stairs, each step deliberate as I take on the persona my father expects from me.
Shoulders squared, chin high, expression blank.
The dutiful son carved out of bone and resentment.
The chandelier glimmers, bringing the lobby to life around the man who has hated every breath of mine he can’t control.
My father shrugs off his coat, handing it to Fiona without looking at her, already surveying the manor like he’s expecting disappointment.
It’s probably for the best, as here I am.
“Rhys,” he says, glancing over my shirt and slacks.
I knew better than to be caught in sweats for a second time, although my top button is undone and my sleeves are rolled up to the elbows.
“Good. You’re presentable.” His gaze flicks past me toward the empty space behind my shoulder, and his mouth tightens.
“I assume the dining table is prepared for guests?”
“I didn’t know we were expecting any,” I reply, my jaw tight.
“That much is obvious.” He turns aside, presenting Klara and her parents as if I didn’t hear her from a mile away.
As if I haven’t been purposely looking anywhere she isn’t.
Klara beams at me like I’m her childhood sweetheart instead of someone who barely tolerates breathing the same oxygen as her.
Mrs. Kavanagh steps forward first, exchanging pleasantries by kissing my cheek and drowning me in her perfume.
I shake Mr. Kavanagh’s hand as fiercely as he does, a power play taking place right here in the lobby.
“I apologize but I’ve already eaten.” I quickly spin away from Klara’s impending hug. In actual fact, I’m starving, but my mind is currently spinning with places I can stash the others to keep them out of sight.
There’s a storage alcove in the west hall, sealed with the panel behind the tapestry, but Clayton’s obnoxiously large shoulders won’t fit.
The sex room is bigger but also has a whole range of experimental sex toys, and Addy is a terrible influence, so no.
I can hardly suggest my father’s office when the door is supposed to be locked.
It’ll have to be between the shelves in the library until the Kavanagh’s leave.
Then I’ll figure out what to do about my father.
It’s not like I’ve had five days to work on a plan B or anything.
However, fate has always had a sick sense of humor.
Just as I pivot away from my father’s murderous glare, Harper appears.
Out of the cellar door. A wine bottle in each hand.
Addy is right behind, a slanted grin on her face as she shoulders the door jamb.
Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice.
Upon seeing the color drain from my face, Harper freezes, her smile faltering and her gaze jumping between the unfamiliar faces and the storm brewing in my father’s eyes.
“Rhys.” His voice cuts the air with the sharpness of a blade.
“Is that my Chateau Cheval Blanc?” I’ve already clocked the label on the bottle, but before I have a chance to respond, to somehow take the blame on their behalf, Addy giggles.
Tripping over her own foot, she slides an arm around Harper’s shoulders.
“Well, duh. You’re out of whiskey.”
My father’s head snaps toward Addy, the fury that blooms across his face is instant and volcanic.
Then his eyes slide to Harper, the girl he blames for everything.
The girl he absolutely does not want under his roof.
The girl who, unfortunately for him, I’m in love with, even if her timing is impeccable.
Bringing up the rear, Clayton’s head of blond hair appears, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he hits me with a guilty look.
I can only imagine he tried to talk the girls out of day drinking, but they are a force to be reckoned with.
For a heartbeat, no one moves. The foyer shrinks around us all, the air becoming tight without anyone wanting to break the silence first. However, my father being the man he is, always needing to take control, takes one measured step towards me.
It takes everything I have not to flinch.
“First, we dine with our guests. Then, I’ll deal with you.” There’s hardly enough time for my father’s gaze to drag over Harper with open disdain before Addy shoots upright, her brown eyes brightening.
“Oh, perfect! I could eat,” she says brightly, already turning on her heel.
We all watch her practically skip towards the largest dining room, two butlers carrying trays of champagne, managing to successfully serve before she bulldozes through them.
Her neon hair disappears from view, but there’s no mystery as to her whereabouts.
“Holy crap! It smells delicious in here!”
Fiona appears in the archway of the kitchen, her eyes shifting between us with uncertainty. She’s not the only one.
“Should I…prepare more supper, Mr. Waversea?” she asks nervously.
To my surprise, he gives her an irritable grunt and nod.
At the sharp jerk of his chin, my feet shift of their own accord.
Holding my arm out, I scoop Harper up and take her with me.
Clayton exhales sharply behind me, also falling into step and not looking back as the Kavanagh’s whisper amongst themselves.
Hopefully, they’re deciding they can’t mix with the commoners - Clayton and Addy, I mean - and they’re making their excuses to leave.
Stepping into the dining room, I manage to shoo Addy out of my father’s seat at the head of the table just before he appears with the Kavanagh’s in tow.
Goddamn, I can’t catch a break tonight. Harper’s fingers curl around my arm, keeping me close at all times.
I can’t decide whether that’s for my benefit or hers, but we take a seat side by side regardless, waiting for the serving staff to rush in and set up the table for four extra guests.
The entire time they’re placing cutlery and wine glasses, my father’s jaw flexes, a vein pulsing at his temple.
“Not her,” he growls, using two fingers to dismiss the butler about to put a wine glass in front of Addy.
She doesn’t seem to notice, her hand already reaching for a breadbasket that’s just been placed in the middle of the polished mahogany table.
Klara positions herself across from me, folding her napkin with deliberate precision and trying to catch my eye.
I ignore her, laser-focused on my father taking his seat like a king surveying his court.
“Well,” Mrs. Kavanagh perks up, clasping her hands together on the table even though her voice is strained. “This certainly is… lively. You’ll have to introduce us to your friends, Rhys.”
Klara snorts, fixing Harper with a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The kind that says have your temporary fun, I’m the one who’s here to stay. It’s that confident pinch of her features that boosts my irritation to a new level.