Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
GRACE
Waiting for Christian’s father to make his decision is tantamount to that horrible period between taking exams and getting the results.
You know, when you keep going over and over in your head how you did and the mistakes you made and how you wish you could go back and change something to affect the outcome.
Added to my worries he won’t pick me is the weight that’s settled in my stomach since Christian and I slept together on Saturday night. For a solid few hours, I forgot the plan, I forgot his part in my parents’ death, and I forgot he was the enemy.
Instead, he was the man who showed me kindness and consideration. The man who is so hot, he could travel to the sun and still not melt.
The man with shoulders fantasies are made of.
It isn’t only physical attraction, either.
I like talking to him and listening to him.
I never feel as though he’s waiting for me to finish only so he can talk, and there aren’t many men you can say that about.
It’s not like I have tons of experience, but I’ve dated enough guys to know Christian is a rarity.
The truth is, I like him. I shouldn’t, but I do, and as we’ve grown closer, I’ve begun to question my entrenched beliefs. What if I’m wrong about his part in the collapse of Nexus? What if he’s buried the report for a different reason?
Ugh, Grace, stop.
I’m being ridiculous. Must be the sex endorphins or something. The only reason a man like Christian would hide the truth is if it was harmful to him or his family.
Juliet knows what happened on Saturday night, but I can’t bring myself to tell Arron or Uncle Daniel.
Especially Uncle Daniel. If he gets an inkling that I’m catching feelings for Christian, he’ll…
well, I’m not sure what he’ll do, but whatever it is, it won’t end well.
Uncle Daniel is feral in his determination to dole out revenge for losing his brother.
Arron and I are, too, but there’s something almost…
unhinged about my uncle. Like he’s unraveling the longer this takes.
I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I don’t find answers, and quickly.
Five days is enough time to check in to my background and figure out whether or not I’m a good candidate for an arranged marriage, right? Especially for a man of Charles De Vil’s means. I’m afraid that the longer this takes, the more chance there is of the answer coming back as a resounding no.
I make Arron a sandwich for lunch. He’ll be home soon. I’m putting the butter and sliced ham back in the fridge when my phone rings and Christian’s name appears on the screen. My heart leaps into my throat. Could this be it? I swipe the screen and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hi.”
“Hello, Grace.”
My stomach flips, and not in a good way. He sounds formal—too formal for good news. I hold my breath, waiting for him to take the lead.
“Are you free? We need to talk.”
The dreaded we need to talk. In any circumstances, that isn’t good, but in these circumstances, I’ve a horrible feeling they’re disastrous.
“I can be.” No point in letting him think I’m hanging around just waiting for him to contact me. “I’m in the middle of something right now, but I can wrap it up.”
“Is an hour enough time?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll meet you at your apartment at two o’clock, then.”
“Okay. Hey, Christian?”
“Yes?”
“Is everything all right?”
He hesitates before he answers. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
That brief pause is enough for me to know the truth. We’re fucked.
The front door slams, and Arron appears. I hold up my phone. “That was Christian. I think it’s a no.”
Arron briefly closes his eyes. “It might not be. Don’t panic yet. What did he say?”
“The dreaded ‘we need to talk’. And we know what that’s code for, don’t we?”
Arron pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger and blows out a steady stream of air. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Get over to Juliet’s in case there’s traffic. As soon as you know anything, call me.”
“Okay.” I grab my car keys. “Arron, don’t tell Uncle Daniel about this. Not yet. Let’s get the facts first.”
He nods. “Agreed.”
I drop a text to Juliet to let her know I’m on my way over to her place.
She’s my best friend and all, but even I don’t feel comfortable letting myself into her apartment while she’s at work without her knowledge.
She replies with a thumbs up. I get in my car and drive over there, my mind spinning with possibilities, yet I keep returning to one central fear: if it’s a no from Daddy De Vil, what are we going to do?
Reveal myself and outright ask Christian for the truth?
Stalk him until we get lucky and overhear him admit what happened at Nexus?
Loiter outside the Houses of Parliament until that MP I saw Christian having dinner with appears, and make him tell the truth about the HSE report?
Break into Oakleigh—good luck with that—and ransack his office?
Steal his phone and have Arron hack into it? Although that’s pointless considering his earlier hacking attempts were unsuccessful. If he’d been able to hack into Christian’s personal email or his text messages, we’d possibly know the truth already.
I park my car in Juliet’s space and jog up the stairs.
It’s weird being here without her. Juliet is a force of nature, a consistent stream of energy and excitement.
There’s hardly a moment of silence when she’s around, which can sometimes be a bit much for a little old introvert like me, but right now, I wish she were here.
She’d find a way to spin this in a positive direction, whatever Christian says.
She’s positivity in a bottle. If she could sell that, she’d be a millionaire.
Flicking the kettle on, I reach for a mug off the wooden stand on the kitchen counter and drop a tea bag into it.
The gigantic clock on the wall, where the small dining table and four chairs are, reads one forty-five.
Fifteen minutes until the strategy carved out over months blows up in my face, leaving my revenge plan in tatters.
I pour boiling water on the tea bag and commit the cardinal sin of adding milk before it’s brewed.
Juliet would have a heart attack if she were here.
She’s a tea connoisseur, insisting the bag must brew for a solid five minutes before the milk goes in.
And always, always remove the tea bag first, unless it’s one of those herbal teas. Those she allows to stay in the mug.
I’m smiling to myself as I head into the living room and drift over to the window to keep an eye out for Christian. Perching on the windowsill, I sip my tea and try to quell the nerves swirling in my stomach.
At one minute to two o’clock, his black SUV drives up the street and parks behind my car. He gets out, his gaze scanning upward. I hold up my hand in greeting and beckon him inside. Setting down my tea, I go to the door and open it, waiting for him and trying not to bite my nails.
Stay cool. Let him talk. No leading the witness or putting words in his mouth.
His expression could not be more serious when he reaches the top of the stairs. I step back to allow him inside, then close the door on Marshall, who’s already taken up his post to the right of the door, hands laced behind his back.
“Do you want a cup of tea? The kettle just boiled.”
“No, I’m good.” His imposing figure fills the small living room. I never asked him, but it must be strange to be in small spaces when Oakleigh is your home. I wonder if he gets claustrophobic.
“No Juliet?”
I flash him a smile. “She’s at work. You got off lightly today.”
His lips flicker up before flattening once more. He holds out his hands, and I step forward, placing mine inside his. He brings them up to his chest, the movement drawing me closer.
“Grace, I have something very important to ask you, and I want you to think carefully before answering me because I will know if you’re lying.”
My mouth goes dry, a cold sweat breaking out along the back of my neck. He knows. Charles’s research has uncovered the real me. Oh, God.
I eye the exit. If I catch him by surprise, I might make it to the door, but there’s no way I’ll make it past his bodyguard.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet him here.
I should’ve suggested somewhere public, where he can’t slit my throat or strangle me, or worse.
Are there worse things than a slit throat or strangulation? Torture, maybe.
I feel sick. Saliva floods my mouth, and I keep swallowing, but my body keeps making more.
“Okay,” I squeak.
He stares deep into my eyes, his gaze volleying between them. “Ready?”
No. Not even a little bit.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Will you marry me?”
Relief hits me so hard that my knees give way. Christian locks his arms, which is the only thing that stops me from collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“M-marry you?”
“Yes, marry me. My father thinks you’ll make the perfect addition to the family. He actually said, and I quote, ‘she’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’ll be a great partner for you’.”
The truth hits me like a wrecking ball. Charles agreed. He agreed.
Christian’s serious play was a joke.
I slam the palm of my hand against his shoulder. “Christian. That was mean. I thought you’d discovered my long, extensive prison record and had come to break things off with me.”
He flashes me a panty-melting grin. He’s good at those. Too good. “I’m sorry I teased you, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He arches a brow. “Prison record?”
“Oh, yes. I’m a master criminal, don’t you know?”
“I can believe it.” He delves into his pocket, and the next thing I know, he’s down on one knee holding out a diamond engagement ring to me that’s got to have cost the GDP of Lichtenstein at the very least. “Marry me, Grace. I think we’ll make a great partnership.”
“Christian, get up. This isn’t real.” I’m laughing as I say it, but there is a part of me deep inside that’s weeping. When the truth comes out, he’s going to look back on this moment and regret ever meeting me.
“It’s realer than a lot of marriages. At least we’re both open and honest about how we see this going long term. That’s why we’ll make a great partnership.”
“You didn’t have to get me a ring, though.”
“Fake or not, there are certain expectations. Besides, you deserve a pretty engagement ring.”
“Pretty expensive,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “Shush. Now, stick out your left hand, woman, and stop arguing.”
Guilt tastes like soot on my tongue, but I shouldn’t feel guilty.
The man down on one knee owns the guilt.
Even so, I can’t help it. I started out thrilled at the idea of outsmarting and exposing him for what and who he is, but that was before I got to know him.
I expected a man who was always ducking and weaving, always up to something, yet he’s not like that at all.
I have to stick to the belief that he did wrong by my parents and he’s hiding how and the manner in which they died to benefit himself. If I don’t, all is lost.
He ends up grabbing my hand and sliding the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, although it’s heavy and will take some getting used to.
He rises to his feet and grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’ll make a stunning bride, Grace. I couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect wife. Can you promise me one more thing?”
My tongue feels too big for my mouth. “What’s that?”
“You’ll always be honest with me, and I’ll be honest with you.”
A poisonous lie trips off my tongue. “I promise I will always be honest with you.” God forgive me. Guilt doesn’t taste like soot anymore. It tastes like regret. Like shame.
“Good.” He dips his head and brushes his lips over mine. “I’d love to stay, but I have work coming out of my ears. The wedding planner will be in touch with you tomorrow. Dad wants to have the wedding as soon as possible.”
“W-wedding planner?”
“Yes. A De Vil wedding is a large affair. It takes an entire team to put one together. Don’t worry, though.
All you’ll have to do is turn up on the day and say the right words at the right time.
” He gives me another one of those smiles that’s in danger of setting my underwear on fire. “I’ll be in touch.”
My thighs are still trembling when he emerges onto the street. He turns, looks up at the window as though he knew I’d be there watching him, and waves. I wave back. Once his car turns left at the end of the street, I take out my phone and send a text to Arron, and the same one to Juliet.
Me: Guess I’m getting married.