Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
IMOGEN
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
I can’t seem to let Mom go. My arms are locked around her neck in a way they haven’t been since I was eight or nine years old. After last night’s altercation with Alexander, which I haven’t shared with her or Dad, I’m feeling raw, upset, and frightened. Not of him, but of my reaction to him.
I’d returned to my rooms and lain there in the dark, unable to sleep, that pulse still throbbing between my legs until I’d slid my hand inside my cotton panties and tried to relieve the ache. I’d failed, too wound up from our clash. Or maybe my inability to climax had more to do with wishing it were Alexander’s fingers playing with my clit rather than my own.
I swear, there’s something wrong with me. There has to be. Only someone with their self-esteem in the gutter would find what Alexander said last night arousing. But I’m not that girl. Despite my sheltered upbringing—brought about by the need to keep me ‘pure’—I’m a confident woman. I’ve held my own with Alexander during several spats, but last night was different. Last night, he made it sexual, and I froze.
“We’ll miss you, too, darling. But in a few months, once you’ve settled in, you can come and visit. We’re only a plane ride away.”
A few months? If that’s where her head’s at, then the next time I see my parents will be after Alexander demands a divorce. It’s a sobering thought. I’m still struggling with the idea that my mom looks relaxed and happy at leaving her only child in a foreign country with a man she doesn’t know. A man who rendered me speechless, and horny, with a few well-chosen crass words. The same man who, at this very moment, is checking his watch every five seconds and huffing at regular intervals, clearly impatient with my protracted goodbyes.
Well, too bad. I won’t rush this farewell with Mom and Dad.
If it was up to me, I’d be on that plane with them, but it isn’t. My parents have made my bed, and it’s me who now has to lie in it.
“Imogen.” Alexander’s clipped voice interrupts my third hug with Mom. “We’re going to be late, and I don’t like to be late.”
I grind my teeth. “In a minute.”
Mom gives me one last squeeze, releasing me into Dad’s arms, who hugs me briefly, then pushes me toward Alexander. “Go. Enjoy your honeymoon.”
“Indeed,” Mom says. “Your husband is clearly eager to get you all to himself.” She winks and grins. “Not that I blame him, my beautiful girl.”
Oh, God. She thinks we were up all night doing it, and Alexander’s impatience and, yes, rudeness, is because he can’t wait to get his hands on me.
I feel sick.
Parents should not have their child’s sex life on their minds. It’s… icky, and not something Mom has ever referred to before now.
Reluctantly, I walk over to my husband. He stands back, allowing me to climb into the car. He slams the door, drowning out whatever he says to my parents. I strain to hear their conversation, but it’s impossible. Maybe they soundproofed this vehicle or something.
About thirty seconds later, he climbs in beside me and tells the driver we’re ready to go. I wave to my parents until the car pulls away and I can’t see them anymore. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and a couple spill over. I twist my body away from Alexander and wipe them away. The next thing I know, he’s passing me a white handkerchief, his initials and the De Vil family crest stitched into the fabric in navy blue. These people have that damn crest and their initials everywhere. They’re like dogs peeing all over their territory.
I take it from him. “You better not have blown your nose on this,” I mutter, dabbing the material beneath my eyes.
“I haven’t.” There isn’t even a note of amusement in his reply.
“Good.”
“I masturbated into it last night.”
I toss the handkerchief into his lap as though it had burst into flames. “Ugh. You’re disgusting.”
Rolling his eyes, he folds the handkerchief into a perfect square and puts it into his pocket. “It’s a joke, Imogen.”
“I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word.”
“Since you don’t know me, that’s quite an assumption. ”
“I’m only going off the evidence I’ve gathered since we met. Besides, how would I know you? You were the one who insisted we didn’t meet until four days before our wedding.”
He closes his eyes, and his chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “Are you going to continue to bring that up?”
“Probably.”
“Good to know.” He reaches into his inside pocket and removes a set of earbuds. After putting them in his ears, he taps on his phone screen, and his fingers drum on his thigh.
He’s listening to music.
Of all the rude, arrogant… assholes!
I pluck the bud nearest to me out of his ear. “Speaking of phones, I’ll ask again. Where is mine?”
He snatches the bud from me and glares, a look he’s perfected. “First of all, I wasn’t aware we were talking about phones. And second of all, I had it recycled.”
He attempts to put the bud back in his ear, but I grip his forearm, stopping him. “Recycled? How… how dare you?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You needed a new phone. I provided you with a new phone.”
“I don’t want a new phone. I want my phone.”
“I said need, not want. ” His lips thin, and a muscle feathers across his cheek. “Do you know anything about the family you’ve married into, Imogen?”
“I know enough.”
“I don’t believe you do. For example, are you aware there’s a vehicle following us with two armed bodyguards inside? They’re there to ensure our safety.”
My eyebrows fly up my forehead. “There is?” I twist to look out the back window. Sure enough, there’s a mean-looking, black SUV following us .
“Yes. And Douglas, the man driving this car, is also armed, as is Steven, the man sitting in the passenger seat. All of them have received training in hand-to-hand combat and are prepared to sacrifice their lives to protect us if we are targeted. So, yes, my little pawn, I gave you a new phone—one that has the necessary security built in that befits my wife.”
“I thought… I mean… I don’t get it. That feels like overkill.”
“Wealth of our level always brings attention with it, not all of it good.”
I rub my lips together, recalling my tour of Oakleigh the day after we arrived. “Hence the panic rooms?”
“Exactly. They’ve never been used, but it makes sense to be prepared for all eventualities. All of our properties have at least one panic room.”
He stuffs the bud back into his ear and resumes his annoying tapping, our brief conversation over as far as he is concerned. I take out my new phone and turn it over in my hand. It looks the same as a regular phone, but there must be something different about it other than a UK number, or he wouldn’t have bothered swapping it out.
Opening my messages, my spirits lift when I see a text from Emma.
Emma: Got it. Why the new number, though?
Me: Don’t ask *rolling eye emoji*
Emma: LOL. So, how’d it go? I’m heartbroken I couldn’t be there to support you.
Me: It went. I survived. Here’s a pic of me in my dress.
Emma: Oh, babe! You look gorgeous.
Me: And now we’re off on honeymoon. Scotland.
Emma: Jel.
Me: Don’t be. If you were here, it’d be different, but he’s barely spoken to me. How am I supposed to force him to ask me for a divorce if he ignores me most of the time?
As soon as I send it, my heart skips a beat. What if Alexander can track my texts? I wouldn’t put anything past him. I should have thought about this. Dammit. Too late now. And if he is reading my private messages, I guess I’ll know soon enough.
Emma: We will work this out, babe. Promise. Hang on in there and try to enjoy what parts of it you can.
Me: I miss you.
Emma: You, too. Love you. See you soon.
A wave of isolation engulfs me. I let myself wallow for a few minutes, then shake off the negative emotions. Feeling sorry for myself won’t help this situation one bit. This is the first time I’ve been outside of Oakleigh since we arrived last Wednesday. I should take advantage and enjoy the surroundings.
England is a pretty country. So green. The roads are awfully small, though, especially these winding country lanes barely wide enough for two cars to pass. In fact, in one or two spots, they’re only one-car wide, with cut out areas several hundred yards apart for cars to move over to let another pass.
It takes about forty-five minutes to arrive at a small airfield. I’ve no idea where we are, and I don’t ask. Alexander probably wouldn’t tell me, anyway. The man is a master at avoiding questions he doesn’t want to answer, and his refusal will only annoy me, resulting in another thorny exchange.
Douglas opens Alexander’s door, and a few seconds later, Steven opens mine. I climb out, leaping forward when Alexander places a warm hand on my lower back. If he notices my jumpiness, he doesn’t mention it, but he doesn’t touch me again, either. I make my way up the stairs and onto the plane. It’s smaller than the one Charles sent to fly us over from California, although no less luxurious.
Steven and the two guys in the other car follow us, taking their seats toward the back of the plane. Alexander chooses a seat near the front. I’m tempted to go sit with the bodyguards, but that’s too churlish even for me.
I sit across from him and fasten my seat belt. “How many jets do you own?”
It’s another attempt at conversation, if only to give me a break from the weighty silences Alexander seems to favor.
“Me personally, or the family?”
“Either. Both.”
He refuses the offer of a drink from the flight attendant with a flick of his wrist. I smile at her, a contrast to Alexander’s rudeness, and accept a glass of sparkling water.
His gaze rests on my face, and I shift under the intensity of it. “I own two. This one for short haul journeys and a larger jet for long haul. In total, the family has eleven airplanes and three helicopters.”
I’m surprised he answered me. I’m even more stunned at the numbers. How can they need so many modes of aircraft? Surely, they could all travel in one. Then again, the De Vils own an empire, so they’re probably all off doing different things. Alexander is right, though. My knowledge of the family I’ve married into is scant at best. I guess I never imagined this happening. Like Saskia said, knowing this might happen in the abstract is one thing. For it to actually happen is quite another.
As soon as I get the chance, I’m going to dig into the De Vils a lot more. If Alexander keeps to his promise, I’ll have a lot of free time on this trip, so I may as well make the most of it by educating myself on him and his family.
“Was it your jet I flew on from America?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Fancy.”
“I’m glad you found it agreeable.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you always so formal?”
His blank expression shows his confusion. “I wasn’t aware I was.”
Good God, the man has no self-awareness at all.
“Maybe it’s your Englishness. I’ve heard some of you can be a bit uptight. Americans are more…” I hold my palms up and shrug. “Mellow. Like that guy Donovan. I liked him. He seemed nice.”
A scowl darkens Alexander’s expression, and the muscles in his neck tense. “Donovan is not nice.”
“Really? He seemed like a great guy to me. Fun, interesting.” I pause. “Handsome. He told me he does a lot of business with your family, so I guess that means he’ll be over here regularly.”
Alexander leans forward, a vein popping in his forehead. Oh, he’s mad. Big mad. Here’s something I can use.
“You will have nothing to do with Donovan. Do you hear me? I forbid it.”
I throw back my head and laugh. It’s risky. I don’t know Alexander well enough to second guess how he’ll react to having his buttons pressed, but we’re not alone, and somehow, he just doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d get physical with a woman. I’m not sure where that instinct is coming from, but he seems to prefer his well-practiced glower as a way of subjugating his opponent, whoever they may be. And right now, that opponent is me.
“You forbid it ? Sorry to point out the obvious, but this is the twenty-first century, and while your family might be stuck in the dark ages, I’m not. You can’t forbid me to do anything.”
He appears to collect himself. Settling back in his seat, he studies me while running a thumb over his bottom lip. It reminds me of what it felt like when he kissed me at our wedding, and my core clenches. I’ve learned something new in the few days I’ve known Alexander. It is possible to dislike someone and be madly attracted to them at the same time. It’s come as quite the shock.
“Push me, Imogen. Push me and see what happens.”
Hopefully, a divorce.
A subtle smile plays on my lips. Resting my hands on my lap, I fix my attention out of the window as the plane speeds down the runway. That’s enough for now. This strategy of mine needs to play out with patience at its heart. It won’t work to take a wrecking ball to it. Small acts of defiance that build up over time. The death of my unwanted marriage by a thousand cuts. That’s the way I win my freedom.
We don’t speak for the rest of the journey. It’s surprising how quickly I’m getting used to the silences, and while I’m not a fan, it does give me a chance to contemplate my next move. Alexander will make a fierce opponent, and it won’t be easy to force his hand. He’s so steeped in duty, the mere suggestion of a divorce will probably give him a stroke. But plant the seeds, one challenge at a time, and wait for them to blossom into freedom.
The plane lands to cloudy skies and a hint of drizzle in the air, but it’s mild, and the breeze is light. Two SUVs are parked at the bottom of the steps. Steven ushers us to the first one, then climbs in the passenger seat. I presume the other bodyguards get in the second one. Knowing our every move is monitored feels odd. I’d never thought about the dangers of marrying into the kind of riches the De Vils have, but looking back, it was na?ve of me. Everyone in the family must be a kidnap risk. Money is a powerful motivator, and when you have as much as they do, it has to attract the wrong kind of attention.
The drive to Thistlewood gives me lots of time to drink in the beauty of Scotland. I somehow knew I’d love it here, and I was right. It’s stunning, with rolling mountains, hills, and sparkling lakes. Alexander said Thistlewood is remote, which I must admit, worries me a little, especially if my worries about the lack of a phone signal come true. Enjoying the countryside is one thing, but doing it alone isn’t what I’d have preferred for my first visit.
Though Emma would love it here. She dabbles in photography in her spare time, and I can just imagine her gushing over the striking landscape and moody lighting .
Two and a half hours later, the car turns onto a narrow lane bordered with neat hedgerows. I haven’t seen another dwelling for about thirty minutes. This must be it.
It’s another five minutes before we draw to a halt outside the house. I scramble out of the car and gaze up at the majestic building, a sense of awe washing over me. Nestled among a forest of shadowy trees, the mansion presents an impressive silhouette against the gloomy skies. It’s not as big as Oakleigh, but is equally impressive. Towering spires seem to pierce the sky, and meticulously carved gargoyles and statues draw my eye, whispering ancient tales of years gone by.
“How old is this building?” I ask Alexander as he joins me.
“It was finished in seventeen oh three,” he says, surprising me with the exactness of his answer. “It took three years to build from start to finish.”
Over three hundred years old. To think this was built without the modern tools and equipment we have today. Incredible.
“It’s breathtaking.” Without waiting for Alexander, I stride to the front door. As I approach, it opens. A woman in her mid-fifties with graying hair swept into a fierce bun offers a tight smile.
“Mrs. De Vil. Welcome to Thistlewood.” Her thick Scottish accent is difficult to understand, but I get the gist and reply to her formal greeting with a beaming grin.
“Thank you.”
I barely get the words out when she rushes past me, gushing, “Mr. De Vil. How wonderful it is of you to?—”
At least that’s what I think she says.
Leaving her to fawn all over Alexander, I step inside the house. I’m greeted by a grand foyer decorated with dark wood paneling—mahogany, or maybe walnut. The lack of natural sunlight, due in part to the cloudy skies outside, makes it hard to pick out the subtle tones in the wood. Crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, and intricate tapestries adorn the walls. I run my fingertips over them.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
I startle at the sound of Alexander’s voice and the brush of his jacket against my bare arm. I hadn’t even heard him approach, despite the stone floors that would make creeping around tricky.
“Yes, they are.”
“You seem… taken with the place.”
“More than taken. It’s spectacular. As a lover of architecture, it’s pushing all my buttons.”
A faint smile tugs at Alexander’s lips, and I’m so stunned by the rarity of it that I openly stare. If he notices my surprise, he doesn’t refer to it. Right when I’m about to think he might possess, like, ten percent humanity, he opens his mouth and ruins it.
“Good. You’ll have plenty to keep you occupied, then. I have business to attend to. Mrs. Campbell will show you to your rooms and point out where the panic room is.”
Pivoting, he walks away with the speed of a man desperate to be anywhere but where he is.
From my left, Mrs. Campbell appears and motions for me to follow her. As she leads me up the first impressive staircase to the second floor, a knot pulls tight in my stomach.
I truly am alone.