Chapter 13 #2
“Anymore rules?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Glad to see you keeping me on my toes.” Amusement tugs at my mouth.
“I reserve the right to add more in the future,” she says without reacting to my joke.
“Goes without saying.”
She heaves a sigh as though she’s relieved to have got all that off her chest.
“Feeling better?” I let a natural smile come.
“Much. You can set any rule you like, too. This isn’t a one-way street. I’m happy to sign a prenup if you’d like. If this goes wrong, I don’t want all your riches, only the financial compensation of Isla’s trust fund, and maybe a little seed funding to help me start over.”
“Prenups in the UK aren’t worth the paper they’re written on, and I should probably mention that De Vils don’t usually get divorced.
That being said, as our situation is such an unusual one, if you did happen to meet someone in the future and fall in love, I certainly wouldn’t stand in your way.
I’m sure my father would approve an amicable split in those circumstances. ”
“That will never happen. I’m done with men and conventional relationships. I just want to live my life, maybe find a job or a fulfilling career, and ensure Isla is well taken care of.”
“And I am happy to provide all those things. In terms of rules, I only have one.”
“Which is?”
“We are in agreement about no physical relationship between us, but I’d like to go a little further.”
Her shoulders straighten. “Go on.”
“No touching bare skin of any kind other than my hands. No friendly kissing, even on the cheek.”
A dozen questions flit across her face, and I don’t blame her. I’d be curious if she’d said the same to me. No sex is one thing, but to say no touching, even in a platonic sense, is odd. But if she asks, this will also be one of those “I’m not telling you because it’s private” situations.
She doesn’t ask, just dips her chin in acknowledgement. “The only problem I see is that Isla may want to touch you. She often presses her hands to my face or kisses me, and she’s obviously taken with you.”
“Isla is different. I’m fine with affection from her, and I’m not saying I’m going to freak out if you nudge me with your elbow, rest your head on my shoulder, or even hug me.
My sister often hugs me, and I don’t have a problem with it.
Only with bare skin. I don’t know why. It’s just the way I am. ”
My last comment slips out without meaning to. I brace, aware I’ve probably invited more curiosity, more potential questions. Rebecca, though, doesn’t pry.
“I understand. Your boundaries are yours to set, Tobias, just like mine are to me.” She gives me a close-lipped smile. “I think we’ll make a great partnership.”
“I do, too.” I get to my feet and hold out my hand. “Shake on it?”
She stands and slides her palm against mine. Her skin is warm and soft, and I admit, it doesn’t feel awful. The complete opposite, in fact.
“Friends?” she asks, head angled to one side.
“You may regret that. I’m a lot to take.”
She chuckles. “You never did need that assistant, did you?”
“With the amount of work I toss Bea’s way, she’d disagree, but no. I only wanted to make you feel comfortable enough that you’d let me help you.”
“And marrying you will definitely stave off Felicity’s custody play?”
“Honesty time? I could eventually get Felicity to back off without you marrying me, but this will provide an extra layer of security to make sure she doesn’t regroup at some point in the future and come at you again.
No judge in this land is going to rule in favor of removing a child from the De Vils care.
By taking my name, you’re securing Isla’s future, and your own. ”
“And you get to keep your club.”
That’s true, as long as the diversionary tactic of marrying Rebecca works.
If it doesn’t, then I’ve got a fight on my hands with Dad.
A fight I have to win. While keeping The Lair was my initial motivation, in marrying Rebecca, with her aversion to physical relationships that matches my own, I also stave off the future problem of marriage to a woman from our circles—one that is unlikely to have the same repugnance as I do.
“We’re both winners.”
“I like the idea of winning for once.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I should go and find Isla. I’m sure Saskia is probably crawling the walls by now.”
“I’ll let Dad know your decision.”
“Okay.”
As she walks away, I call out, “Bye, fiancée.”
She pivots, chin tucked, a faint flush across her cheekbones. “That sounds weird.”
“But good.”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “I guess it does.”
I down the rest of my coffee and head to Dad’s study.
He’s on the phone when I enter, and he motions for me to sit.
I fiddle with my shirt cuffs, oddly nervous.
A few weeks ago, I was merrily living my life, working hard in the family business, playing harder, watching people have sex at The Lair.
Now, I have a scar where a bullet almost killed me, a fiancée, and soon, I’ll be a stepdad.
Even I couldn’t have written that playbook, and I have a more active imagination than most.
When Dad ends his call, he slides his phone onto his desk and pinches the bridge of his nose. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he looks tired.
“Everything okay, Dad?”
“Same shit, different day.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
His smile is steeped in exhaustion. “Give me some good news.”
“That’s why I’m here. Rebecca has agreed to marry me.”
Dad’s shoulders drop a few inches. “That’s wonderful.
Just what we need right now.” He picks up his diary—still old school—and flicks through the pages.
“What about mid to late March? Oakleigh is beautiful in the spring. The rhododendrons and azaleas will be in full bloom.” He grows a little wistful, and I know he’s thinking about Mum. She loved the garden.
“Don’t you think we should marry sooner? The La Salles will continue to cause trouble until they realize they’re taking on Goliath and will lose. I don’t want Rebecca to go through more stress if we can help it.”
“You leave the La Salles to me.” Dad’s got that look that screams “Mess with me and see what happens.”
“I’ll talk to PR and let them know about the wedding, then.”
“Thank you, son.”
I get up to leave. Something makes me stop and turn around. “Is it George?” Dad’s brother is currently languishing in a cell in Oakleigh’s basement. As much as we all hate George, it can’t be easy on Dad.
“Partly.”
“Xan still not decided what to do with him?”
Dad shakes his head. “It’s tough on all of us. Your brother is convinced George knows more about what happened to Annabel than he’s shared, and as long as that mystery lingers in Alexander’s mind, he can’t move on.”
“Want me to talk to him?” Not that it’ll do any good. Xan’s stubborn. He’ll decide in his own sweet time, but he wouldn’t want to pile more crap on Dad’s shoulders, either.
“No. Leave him.”
“Okay.” I’m not leaving him, though. When the right opportunity arises, I’ll bring up George’s situation. We all deserve answers that will give us closure. The problem is until my brother chooses to act, the rest of us are trapped in the waiting room.