Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
CHRISTIAN
I’m not a fan.
What’s worse is that most of my family have sympathy with Grace’s situation. They don’t necessarily agree with how she went about her revenge act, but they can understand what drove her to fake her identity and infiltrate a family that prides itself on our ability to close ranks.
Then again, even Fort Knox turned out to be fallible.
I almost feel sorry for whoever Tobias ends up marrying. That poor girl is going to be subjected to an inquisition like no other. Saskia, too, unless she ends up with someone of an exemplary background, whose credentials can’t be questioned.
The Mahoneys still have Taylor.
I haven’t decided yet what to do with him, and Dad’s happy to leave the final decision to me.
There’s something stopping me from slitting his throat or driving a knife through his heart, and that something is Grace.
Before I do anything, I feel as though I owe her an audience, a chance to put over her side of the story and listen to mine.
Only then will I have enough information to decide what to do.
Oh, he won’t get away scot-free. The bastard broke my nose, gave me a black eye, and cracked a cheekbone. The bruises are slowly fading, but every time I look in the mirror I’m reminded that I owe that fucker a beating of my own.
I reopen the email I received six days ago and read it again, even though I’ve memorized every word.
Grace, in her innocence, thinks she’s untraceable.
In fairness, most people would think if they left their phone switched off, didn’t access any email or social media, and only used cash to get around that they were safe.
Alas, in this modern world, and especially with access to unlimited funds and resources, there’s no such thing.
All my guy had to do was upload a photo of Grace into facial recognition software my family developed years ago and wait for it to find a match.
It easily traced her from Heathrow to Mexico City, at which point—resourceful woman that she is—she dumped her legit passport for a fake one.
Problem with that is even a fake passport needs a real picture, and the moment that was scanned at Mexico City airport, we got a hit.
I’ve known exactly where Grace is holed up, and even though I ache to see her, there’s a vengeful part of me that wants her to suffer a while longer.
To live in trepidation of me showing up in the middle of the night when she least expects it.
To wonder what I’ll do to her when I finally catch up with her.
I finger the chain around my neck, where the wedding and engagement rings Grace pawned sit. Interestingly, she left behind the two necklaces I gifted to her when we first met, which says a lot about her character. Sure, she needed money to run, but she only took what she saw as necessary.
Our wedding picture proudly displayed on one corner of my desk catches my eye. Back then, it was a marriage of convenience for both of us, but you’d never think so to look at us. We both appear blindingly happy. Did our subconscious know something we didn’t?
My phone vibrates. As I slide my gaze to it, my breath leaves my lungs.
Grace.
Grace is calling me.
Why? Is she ill? Injured?
Or does someone have her, and they’re using her to get to me?
Drawing in a deep breath, I tap the screen, lift the phone to my ear, and say nothing.
There’s a moment of silence, then, “Christian?”
She sounds neither injured nor fearful, although there’s a hint of trepidation in her tone which is understandable, given the circumstances.
“Hello, wife. To what do I owe the pleasure?” My heart’s singing at hearing her voice, but vengeance wants its pound of flesh.
“I know you probably hate me, but—”
“Hate isn’t the word I’d use, Duchess.”
She draws in a breath. “I owe you an explanation, but you owe me one, too.”
“Ahh, coming out fighting. Stop. You’re turning me on.”
A heavy sigh echoes across the phone line. “All that will have to wait. I have something to tell you.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. I’m on the edge of my seat.”
“I saw your uncle and aunt today. At least I think it was them.”
A ripple of shock shoots up my spine. “What?”
“They were calling each other Beatrice and Arthur, and I could be wrong, but he was the spitting image of your dad. I don’t remember much about her from—”
“Arthur is his middle name, and Beatrice is hers,” I say, striding across my office. Dad needs to hear this, stat.
“They’re staying on a small island off—”
“I know where you are. Isla Oscura.”
Her surprised gasp crackles through the connection. “How do you know?”
I bark a laugh. “I know everything. Which routes you traveled, what dates, the fact you’re traveling on a fake passport.”
She falls silent, likely absorbing why I haven’t turned up and confronted her. Good. This plays into my hands. A little more suffering is in order, I think. I’m still carrying the bruises her uncle gave me.
But my heart… my heart’s begging me to stop. Just hearing her voice is torturous. I want to hold her, kiss her, apologize for my part in her parents’ death, and explain my reasoning. But she owes me just as big of an apology, and I’m not going to make it easy on her.
“They’re staying in a house on the northern part of the island. It’s called La Fortaleza.”
“Thanks.”
Another beat of silence, then, “When will you come?”
“Soon.” I push open the door to Dad’s office. “Sleep well, Duchess.” I hang up, excitement running through my veins. “Pack a bag, Dad. I know where George and Alice are.”
The sound of crickets is virtually drowned out by the waves crashing onto the shore. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, and watch my wife’s chest rise and fall as she sleeps, oblivious to my presence.
Picking the lock to get into her room was far too easy, although I guess security isn’t a big concern for an island that would fit into a tiny corner of Oakleigh.
Dad, Xan, and four bodyguards are on their way to the house George and Alice are holed up in.
Overkill maybe, but once I told Dad what Grace had said, there wasn’t a chance he’d gamble on George slipping through the net a second time.
The facial recognition software I used to locate Grace hadn’t worked for my aunt and uncle, and if I had to take a punt on why, I’d say George had hacked into it somehow.
He was that embedded into every corner of our business, it wouldn’t be difficult to do.
Whatever the reason, if it wasn’t for Grace, we wouldn’t be here, closing in on a man whose payment for his crimes is long overdue.
As darkness gives way to dawn, she stirs, adorable sighs spilling from her lips.
My dick twitches. Christ, I’ve missed her, and it’s not even two weeks since I found out she’d been lying to me this entire time.
Anger still simmers beneath the surface, but what Victoria and Imogen said has been simmering, too.
If I’d been upfront with my family from the very beginning, maybe I’d have done things differently.
Told Grace and Arron the truth, even if it would’ve hurt.
Even if it may have tarnished their memories of their parents.
It’s lying that’s got us both into this mess.
Time for the truth to take a front seat. We’re both owed that.
She shifts her position, rolling toward the chair where I’m sitting. A few seconds later, her eyes flutter open. She bolts upright in bed. “Christian.”
She drags her knees to her chest, and mine tightens in response. That’s a fear reaction, and while I wanted her fearful, which was the whole reason for telling her to run, wanting something in the abstract and seeing it in person from the woman I love is an entirely different prospect.
“Shh.” I get to my feet and perch on the edge of the bed. When I reach out to brush her hair away from her face, she flinches. God, I’m a bastard. “It’s okay, Grace. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Even saying those words makes me want to boil my eyeballs and peel the skin from my balls. What’s that old saying Dad’s trotted out ever since we were kids? Act in haste, repent at leisure.
Well, I’m fucking repenting now.
“Do you have him?”
The fact she’s asking about George rather than herself speaks volumes about the woman I married. She might’ve used a false name and faked a background, but Grace… she’s a hundred percent real. Her morals, her character, her reason for seeking revenge. She’s a far better person than I am.
“Xan and Dad should have him by now.”
She nods, plucking at a stray thread on the quilt as she rubs her lips together. A few silent seconds pass by. When she eventually lifts her gaze to meet mine, she tenderly runs her fingertips over the fading marks on my face from the beating her uncle doled out.
“He hurt you.”
“Bruises heal.”
“I hurt you.”
“Hearts heal, too. With the right care and attention.”
“I guess we have a lot to talk about.”
“Plenty of time for that.”
“You’re taking me back, then?”
“Yes.”
“What if I say no?”
“Are you saying no?”
One shoulder bounces. “If I were?”
“You want to talk in ifs and buts, or in facts?”
She scratches behind her ear. “You must hate me.”
“About as much as you must hate me.”
Her eyes shimmer. “I don’t hate you, Christian.”
“And I don’t hate you. We’ve both fucked up, but this isn’t the time to discuss it. Now that’s out of the way, shall we go? The helicopter is waiting, and I’m sure Dad and Xan are eager to take that raping piece of shit back to Oakleigh so he can be dealt with.”
“I-I can’t leave without telling Samuel.”
Jealousy, fiery and hot, surges through me. “Who the fuck is Samuel?”
“My boss.”
Both eyebrows fly up my head. “You’ve been gone less than two weeks, and you have a boss?”
“He owns the store here on the island. I’ve been helping out for a few hours a day.”
“You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you, Duchess? Is he young and handsome?” Even I pick up on the possessive tone in my voice. If this Samuel has been lusting after my wife, I’ll feed him to the fucking sharks.
She laughs, and my entire heart doubles in size. God, I’ve missed that laugh.
“He’s around your dad’s age.”
“Oh. Good. I won’t have to kill him, then.”
She shakes her head, but her eyes shine with amusement. “I can’t leave him high and dry and just disappear.”
I get up and walk to the small desk in the corner of the room, returning with a small white notepad and a pen.
“Write him a note. I’ll pack for you. We can drop it off on the way.”
Ten minutes later, Grace pushes the note through the door of the general store. She lingers for a few seconds, then presses her hand to the weathered wood.
“I enjoyed working here. I’ve missed being a part of something since… well, since I gave up work to…” She drifts off.
“To lie and cheat your way into my bed and my family.” I curse. “Forgive me. That was unnecessary.”
“But true.”
“Like I said, we’ve both made mistakes.”
She nods. “Before we go, answer me one thing.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you kill my parents?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She gives the shop a final nostalgic glance, then turns her back on it and lets out a heavy sigh.
“You believe me?”
“I think the time for lies is behind us, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do.” I hold out my hand, half expecting her to ignore it.
She hesitates, then presses her palm to mine. “Do you think there’s hope for us?” she asks. “Considering how this began.”
I drop her case on the ground and take her other hand, bringing both of them to my chest. “It’s not how something begins that matters, Grace. It’s how it ends. And that’s up to us.”
One corner of her mouth tilts up, and I can’t help it, I bend my head and press a soft kiss there. As I pull back, she touches the spot where my lips caressed her skin, her eyes unfocused.
“Let’s go home, Duchess.”