Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
GRACE
I’m sweating and my back aches from holding myself so stiff during the past two hours, but as Christian and his father are driven away in an imposing black SUV, I heave a sigh of relief and finally allow myself to relax.
I did it. I got through an entire two-hour interrogation and survived.
Oh, Charles De Vil is an expert at making his insightful questions seem like interest, but I saw them for what they were.
I have no doubt he’ll go straight back to Oakleigh and instruct his team of experts to dig up every piece of information on me.
Arron better have his ducks in a row.
As I head back to my car, I fire off a quick text.
Me: Just had lunch with Daddy De Vil and my potential betrothed. He’s a wily old bastard. You’d better have ticked every box, or we’re toast.
Three dots instantly appear. I wait for the message to come through.
Arron: Relax. He won’t find a thing. Good news on the lunch. I wanna hear everything.
Me: Heading back now. Home in 45.
My car beeps when I unlock it, and I get in and toss my phone in the center console. As I fire up the engine, a text comes through from Christian. My pulse skyrockets. Leaving the engine running, I swipe the screen.
Christian: He likes you. Oh, and he knows.
Sweat beads my top lip.
Me: Knows what?
Christian: It’s a set-up.
Oh fuck.
Me: Did you tell him?
Christian: Didn’t need to. There isn’t much that gets past him. Stupid of me to try. But well done, Duchess. Your foot’s in the front door.
Me: Just don’t slam it on me.
Christian: 12 Not a chance. I’ll be in touch soon.
I replace my phone and rock my head against the headrest. I’m not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing that Charles is aware Christian and I came to an arrangement.
In some ways it’s not all that different from what Charles does, other than Christian taking charge of his destiny rather than leaving it to his dad.
As I understand it, though, this isn’t the way things are done, and I have no doubt I’m not home and dry yet.
I drive home in a bit of a daze, processing everything that’s happened since I attended that first ball at Oakleigh.
Some days, things seem to be happening at a snail’s pace.
Other days, it’s like I’m on a speeding train with no brakes and the end of the line fast approaching.
If Charles does agree to this marriage, I have a feeling things will happen fast.
Uncle Daniel’s car is parked in our driveway.
I leave my car on the road, suppressing a thread of annoyance.
Why does he always park in the driveway when I’m not home?
This is our house, albeit gifted by an unknown benefactor.
Sometimes Uncle Daniel behaves as if it belongs to him.
I lock my car and stride up the pathway.
Before I get my key in the lock, the door opens, and I’m greeted by my uncle.
“You took your time getting here.”
I lock my jaw and glare at him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware I had a schedule to keep. And it’s London, in case you’ve forgotten. Bumper to bumper traffic whatever the time of day.”
“Well, hurry up. I don’t have long.”
He stands back, finally letting me into my own house. I hang my handbag over the banister and brush past him into the living room. Shrugging out of my jacket, I fall into the nearest chair, too tired for another interrogation, knowing I’m getting one regardless.
“You okay, sis?” Arron’s permanent worry lines seem deeper than ever. Maybe it’s the light, but he looks more thirty-six than twenty-six.
“Yes. Wasn’t expecting the extra houseguest, that’s all.” I glance up at Uncle Daniel as he enters the living room and closes the door to the hallway with a firm click. “Nor having to park on the road instead of my driveway.”
Normally, Uncle Daniel’s…. let’s call them “ways”, don’t bother me, but I’m tired and want a bath, a glass of wine, and to close my eyes to try and process what happened today with Christian and his father, as well as what this might mean if all goes according to plan.
The closer I get to achieving what I set out to do, the heavier the weight in my gut feels.
“Well,” my uncle coaxes when I don’t say anything. “Arron said you had lunch with De Vil senior. What happened?”
“It went well. I think he likes me.”
“Of course he likes you,” Arron says, puffing out his chest as though the idea of anyone disliking his sister is a personal affront.
I smile at his over-protectiveness. I’m lucky to have him. I couldn’t have imagined being an only child through the last several months. He’s my rock, my support structure, and the only other person in the world except for me who understands exactly how I feel.
“He also knows today’s meeting was a set-up, as well as the other week at Oakleigh.”
“What?” Uncle Daniel explodes. “Well, then. That’s it. What did you do, Grace?”
I curl my hands into fists and anchor them against the couch.
“First of all, I didn’t do anything. Second of all, Christian told me it’s fine.
But this proves how important it is, now more than ever, to ensure there’s nothing in my fake background that can come back to bite us.
Charles De Vil is smart, and you can bet that if there’s a chance he’s considering me as a wife for his son, he is going to turn over every stone and look under every rock.
” I look over at Arron. “Hence my text to you.”
“He won’t find anything,” Arron says confidently. “I’ve got you covered.”
“It doesn’t hurt to go over everything one more time,” Uncle Daniel says, and I nod.
“I agree with that.”
“Okay, leave it with me,” Arron says. “I’ll get on it tonight.”
“Great.” I stretch my arms overhead and yawn. “If that’s all, I’m going for a bath.” I rise from the chair and pick up my handbag, but as I pass Arron on the way to the hallway, he grabs my wrist.
“Well done, Gracie.”
My answering smile is wan and filled with exhaustion. “Thanks.”
I trudge up the stairs and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I turn on the tap and add bubbles and salts, then sit on the edge of the tub.
My vision glazes over, each blink of my eyes slow.
Who would have thought that pretending to be someone you’re not would be so exhausting?
How did actors cope? How will I cope for what could be weeks or months until I find what I’m looking for?
A wave of trepidation fills my chest. As I edge closer, now more than ever, I need to stay strong.
Once I’m living with Christian, surrounded by his family and those who work and are loyal to the De Vils, I’m on my own.
There won’t be a single person I can talk to.
Not one ally. It’ll all be down to me, and that’s scary.
So much scarier than I thought it would be when this was a conceptual idea borne out of searing grief and profound hatred.
I turn off the water, strip out of my clothes, and sink beneath the bubbles. One day at a time. That’s the only way I’ll be able to deal with this without going mad.
One day at a time.
***
I stick my foot out of bed, and instantly snap it back under the covers.
Bloody hell, it’s freezing, and it’s only the third of September.
Has autumn arrived already? Snaking out my hand to snatch my phone off the bedside table, I snuggle farther down into the bed, pulling the cover over my head, and navigate to the heating app.
It’s ridiculous to have to turn the heating on this early in September, but one of my self-written rules is that I refuse to be cold.
I’d rather have soup for dinner and the heating on full blast than sit down to a meal of steak and shrimp and not afford to heat the house.
The pipes creak and groan as they burst to life.
Thirty minutes, and it should be warm enough to get out of bed.
If this is the beginning of the cold season, it’s going to be a long winter.
My dream is to be rich enough to live in warmer climes during the bitterly cold months, stretched out on a sun lounger, sipping cocktails.
In the next life, maybe.
My phone blares out Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero”.
Shit, I forgot to put it on silent when I came to bed last night. I swipe to answer it before it wakes Arron up.
“Jesus, Juliet, you just gave me a heart attack.”
“Nine-nine-nine emergency, girl. Your man is outside my place.”
I sit bolt upright in bed. “What?”
“Yep. And the worst of it is he saw my curtains twitch, so he knows someone is here. Ah shit, he’s coming inside. What should I do?”
Think fast. “Tell him I went out for milk or something. I’ll drive over to yours now.”
“Okay. Put your foot down.”
I hang up and launch out of bed. Five minutes later, I’m in the car.
I race over the speedbumps that line my street and almost fishtail out onto the main road.
Luckily, it’s early on Saturday morning, so the roads are quiet, and I make it to Juliet’s in less than ten minutes.
As I indicate to turn left into her road, I curse.
Milk. I need fucking milk.
Sailing past, I take the second road on the right and pull up outside the local convenience store. Two minutes later, armed with my milk alibi, I pull up behind Christian’s imposing SUV. I sidle up to the driver’s window and knock on it. Dawson smiles as he opens the window.
“Hi, Dawson. Is he inside?”
“He is, miss.”
“Thanks.”
I take the stairs two at a time. Marshall dips his chin at me from his post outside her door. I mutter a greeting and push open the door to Juliet’s apartment with my hip, then head inside.
“There she is,” Juliet announces, getting to her feet and giving me a wide-eyed stare over the top of Christian’s head. “Oh, good. You got the milk.” She swipes it out of my hand and disappears into the kitchen.
I fling my purse on the couch and shrug out of my jacket. “What are you doing here, Christian?”