Chapter 33 #2
“No. What I mean is the reason for the text wasn’t real.
There was no urgent paperwork that needed signing.
The person who did this to me got to Oscar and made him send it.
The road to his office was blocked. We were ambushed by Drew Taylor’s brother.
He tossed some kind of sedative smoke bomb into the car, and I passed out.
Luckily, I managed to activate the tracker on my watch before I lost consciousness. The Mahoneys came and got me.”
“Is Oscar okay?” Dad asks, concern lacing his features.
“I think so. I instructed Dawson to send someone to his offices. Taylor told me he’d left him tied up but alive.”
A muscle flickers in Xan’s jaw. “And Taylor was the one who beat you up?”
“Yeah.”
“Why now, though?” Tobias asks. “Opportunity?”
“I’m not sure. Patrick’s got him, so I’ll question him at some point when I’m ready.”
“Or you can leave me to do it.” Xan cracks his knuckles.
I shake my head. “My mess to fix.”
“Families stick together,” Nicholas says.
Dad gets up and claps me on the shoulder. “Have the doctor see you. That nose looks broken.”
I give him a wry smile. “Oh, it’s definitely broken, but I haven’t finished telling the whole story yet, Dad.”
“Oh.” He returns to his seat, and all eyes turn to me once more.
“The reason Grace isn’t here is because I told her to run.”
A frown flickers across my father’s face, mirrored in the expressions of everyone else hanging on to my every word.
“Why?” Imogen asks. “Is she in danger?”
“You could say that.”
“Then, she should be here,” Victoria says, her voice rising an octave in what I assume is indignation. “Where we can protect her.”
“There’s a small problem with that, Victoria.” I scan the sea of faces. “It’s us she needs to run from.”
Tobias shakes his head as though he’s trying to get water out of his ears. “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I bite my lip and run my nails over my stubble. “Lady Grace Ambrose is fictitious. Her real name is Grace Taylor.”
Simultaneously, everyone in the room hisses through their teeth. Spines straighten and eyes widen.
I grimace. “Yup. My dear wife is a liar. She infiltrated our family with the intention of digging up dirt on her parents’ deaths and, I guess, intending to drag our name through the mud.
Put me in prison, maybe.” I shrug. “I don’t know what her ultimate aim was because I didn’t give her the chance to tell me. ”
“That’s impossible,” Xan expels, a vein popping in his forehead. “Our background checks would’ve come back as fake.”
“Well, they didn’t.” I hitch a shoulder. “I did my own checks early on, and it looked legit.”
“I also had her checked out when you proposed her as a bride,” Dad says, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He picks up his half-finished glass of whisky and downs it in one go. “Whoever created her background knows what they’re doing.”
All this time, Saskia is the only one who hasn’t said anything. As we all fall silent, she gets to her feet, comes over to me, perches on the arm of my chair, and hugs me tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Christian. I know how you feel about her.”
A lump crawls into my throat. All I can manage is a brief nod.
I haven’t had time to fully process Grace’s betrayal yet, and I know I’ll experience a raft of emotions from disbelief to rage to a crippling sense of loss.
What started out as a marriage of convenience for me and financial security for her somehow became something more.
Something incredible. Until she pulled the rug from beneath my feet and sent me crashing to the ground.
I hope she’s scared. She deserves to be.
She’s crushed my fucking heart. Except I could never hurt her.
It’s evident she blames me for what happened to Drew and Grania, and why wouldn’t she?
I buried the truth to protect her and her brother and, yes, I admit, myself, too, from having to confess my error to my family.
Yet now I’ve told them, there hasn’t been a single recrimination or tossing around of blame, just understanding and support.
I’m ashamed. Of my behavior, of my entrenched beliefs, and of how I’ve dealt with this entire fucking mess.
“What are you going to do about Grace?” my father asks.
I lift both shoulders. “I don’t know yet. I’m exhausted and too fucking angry to think straight.”
Saskia squeezes my shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We’re behind you all the way.”
“I feel terrible for Grace,” Victoria says.
Xan’s head spins in her direction so fast, I’m surprised it doesn’t come right off his neck. “Excuse me?”
Victoria makes a calming motion with her hands.
“Keep your hair on, Mr. Quick-Tempered. All I’m saying is take a moment to imagine this from Grace’s perspective.
She loses her parents and is convinced, for whatever reason, that Christian either knows something, did something, or is hiding something.
Put yourself in her shoes. Are you saying you’d have acted differently? ”
“Yes,” Xan says between gritted teeth. “I’d have confronted him like a fucking adult and demanded the truth.”
“Easy for you to say, oh privileged one. Come on, Alexander. Don’t be obtuse.
You know this family’s reputation as well as I do.
Grace’s position in society is a bit different to yours.
Imagine her walking up to Christian on the street, or at her parents’ funeral, and straight out accusing him of murder.
How would that have gone down? Like a shit sandwich, that’s how.
All I’m saying is don’t rush to judgment when you haven’t got all the facts. ”
Xan’s cheeks redden and his hands fist, but before he can come back at Victoria, Imogen puts her hand on his arm.
“I agree with Vicky. And before you go all alpha-protection-y, Grace is Christian’s wife, and therefore, this is his business.
Not yours, not mine, not Vicky’s or Nicholas’s, or any other member of this family.
So, stow your anger, walk a minute in Grace’s shoes, then take a backseat, and let Christian deal with this however he sees fit.
If he decides that’s it, that Grace’s betrayal is too much to come back from, then that is his decision to make.
Equally, if he decides that he loves her enough to try to work through this, then again, that is his decision. Not yours.”
There’s a moment of silence, then Dad lets out a low chuckle.
“We’d all do well to listen to the women in this family.
” He looks over at me. “Whatever you decide, son, this family will stand beside you. If you need us, we’re here.
Otherwise”—he glances firmly at Xan before returning his gaze to me—“we will leave you alone to process this and come to a decision in your own time and on your own terms.”
He stands, picks up the empty whisky glass, and makes his way to the door. Halfway there, he pauses and glances back over his shoulder.
“And for goodness sake, please call the doctor to tend to your face. You look like you bumped into the heavyweight boxing champ and pissed him off.”
As he disappears, a laugh bursts out of me. All this time, I worried I’d disappoint my father if I admitted the mistakes I’d made, so I buried them. Turns out the only true concern he has is my bruised and battered face.
I’ve never felt more loved, more understood, or more seen than in this moment.
I squeeze Saskia’s hand, where she hasn’t let go of my shoulder since coming to hug me, and get to my feet.
“Guess I’d better call that doctor.”
As I follow my father from the room, multiple hushed voices break out behind me. I leave them to their gossip and head upstairs, but as I enter the suite of rooms I shared with Grace, a deep depression settles over me. A depression I haven’t felt since our mother died.
Love fucking sucks. Especially when the one you love has been plotting your downfall this entire time, and you didn’t even see it coming.