Chapter 18 #2
“How did you know where my mind had gone?”
“Did I forget to mention I read minds?” I wink, and she smiles. “What has her therapist said?”
“Pretty much the same. When she’s ready, she’ll speak.”
“There you go then. And yours?” I try not to ask her about it, preferring to let her tell me in her own time.
Although I’ve never tried therapy myself—and yes, I have thought about it more since Rebecca suggested it—I know from Xan that it’s often painful and leaves you feeling raw and exposed. Probably why I’ve avoided it so far.
“It’s going well. It’s… difficult. Not a quick fix.” She grimaces. “And costly. I’m hoping I won’t need it for very long.”
I refrain from telling her that Xan has been attending therapy for years, and even now he’s happy with Imogen and has Sasha to focus on, he still goes to see Lilian once a week. He probably will for the rest of his life.
“There is no time limit. You have a lot to process. That takes as long as it takes.”
She nibbles the inside of her cheek. “I’d never have had the money for therapy.”
I grind my teeth. Hate is a strong emotion and not one I’m all that familiar with, but I hate that man. If I could bring him back to life I would, then I’d drag out his suffering for months.
I wonder if that’s what Xan is doing with George. He knows that if he kills him, it’s over. By keeping him locked up, he’s drawing out his torment and adding to his fear as each day passes and George wakes up breathing.
“You’ll never again have to worry about affording anything you or Isla need. When we get back to Oakleigh, your personal credit card should have arrived.”
She blinks. “I’m sorry. My what?”
“Your personal credit card. How else are you going to buy the things you or Isla need?”
“I thought we agreed I’d work to earn money.”
“And you can still work and earn your own money. I know how much independence is important to you. It’s only until you figure out what you want to do and get up and running. I don’t want you to have to come to me if either of you need something. That’s what the credit card is for.”
I lean back as Vanessa arrives with our breakfast. She sets down our plates, then retreats to the kitchen. I pick up my sandwich, but when I look over at Rebecca, she’s staring at me, her sandwich lying untouched on her plate.
“What’s the matter?”
Her eyes glisten, and she gently shakes her head. “Thank you, Tobias,” she whispers. “For everything.”
“There’s no need for thanks. You’re my wife, and even though our marriage is one of convenience, that doesn’t matter. Yours and Isla’s comfort and recovery and, yes, happiness are what matters to me.”
I’m unsure when these two people evolved from me wanting to help them, to them becoming an important part of my world, but they have. They are.
Over our breakfast, I treat Rebecca and Isla to stories from my childhood and holidays we took here and at Thistlewood—a property we have in Scotland. Isla gets quickly bored and goes back to her coloring book. Rebecca, however, seems genuinely interested.
The bell over the door dings again. My back is to it and I wouldn’t normally look.
It’s Rebecca’s horrified expression that makes me glance over my shoulder.
A man carrying a heavy backpack kicks the door closed with his foot and drops the pack on the floor.
I return my attention to Rebecca. She’s pale. Too pale.
“What’s the matter?”
Before she can answer, the man storms over. “You!” he bellows, jabbing his finger at my wife. “You murderous fucking slag!”
A wave of anger powers me to my feet. I grip him by the lapels and yank him close, my eyes boring into his. Benton’s at my side a second later. “How dare you speak to my wife like that!”
Rebecca, pale and shaking, gets to her feet. “I don’t want a fuss, Rory. Not in front of Isla.”
Rory. Now I have a name to put on his fucking tombstone.
“You should be in prison,” he hisses. “You killed my brother.”
Ah, I get it now. Rory La Salle. Marcus’s brother. Another La Salle piece of shit. “Benton, take my wife and Isla back to the cottage.”
“She’s going nowhere,” Rory snaps.
The man’s clearly got a death wish. I may be softer than my siblings, but that’s a bit like comparing the alpha of the pack to the other wolves. Each one can still rip your throat out if provoked. “I want fucking answers.”
“Benton. Now.” My voice is low, lethal. I’m trying to keep things calm for Isla’s sake, but I can’t hold on much longer.
Vanessa appears from the kitchen, takes one look at the situation, and stays behind the counter. Chairs scrape behind me, then the bell dings, a whoosh of air enters the café before the door clangs shut. Rebecca and Isla are safe.
“Vanessa, I’m sorry.” I clamp my hand around La Salle’s throat and slam him against the wall. A picture to my left falls on the floor, and the frame cracks.
“How did you know she was here?” I don’t believe in coincidences.
He snorts derisively. “I didn’t. I’m on a hiking holiday. You De Vils might think you’re the kings of the fucking world, but you don’t own Cornwall. England is still a free country.”
He’s lying. “You’re playing in an arena you’re not qualified for, La Salle.”
“Whatever. You married a fucking whore, bro. Did you know she shagged half my brother’s friends? Bet she hasn’t told you that, has she?”
I draw back my arm and slam my fist into his face. His nose explodes, and his legs buckle. He slides down the wall clutching his face. Blood oozes between his fingers.
“Rebecca is my wife. If I ever hear you speak about her like that again, I will kill you. It isn’t an idle threat so, please, make my fucking day and do it.”
“You’ll regret the day you met her. Mark my words.”
I drop to my haunches. “If you come near her or Isla ever again, it’s you who will regret the day you met me. She’s a De Vil now, and we protect our own.”
Rising to my feet, I brush imaginary dust off my jacket as though touching Rory La Salle has infected me. I stare down at him, goading him to get up and fight like a man. The fucking coward stays slumped on the floor.
I sidle through the tables to the counter and hand Vanessa a wad of cash.
“That’s for a lovely breakfast, to replace the frame, and for a cleaner to wipe that shit stain up off the floor.”