Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
IMOGEN
When I wake up the next morning after one of the worst night’s sleep of my life, my eyes are still stinging from the chlorine that got in them after Alexander dumped me into the pool. Not to mention having to traipse through the house sopping wet while praying I didn’t bump into any of his family. I might have taken my rage out on them, and it’s not their fault my stupid husband is a gigantic jerk.
It took forever for my anger to reduce from ‘burn the world with Alexander in it’ to ‘burn Alexander’, and even several hours and an entirely new day later, it’s simmering away like a pan of oil on a low heat, ready to spit the second that bastard comes anywhere near me.
Brat? Brat! I am not a brat. How else was I supposed to respond to his ridiculous self-absorbed attitude? Sit there and take it? Ha! Wrong woman for that.
Although… my initial thoughts on how to get under his skin had been to behave in a childish manner. Looks as though I’m succeeding.
That doesn’t alter the fury simmering beneath the surface of my skin at his reaction. I should have challenged him on why he didn’t strike up a conversation with me. Why am I the one supposed to suck up to him? He spoke to his father, shared the odd comment with Nicholas, and that was it. He didn’t even speak to the rest of his family.
I did. I talked to Saskia, who I like a lot, as well as his brothers. I even chatted with Elizabeth, who is so shy, she doesn’t add much to the conversation, but at least I tried. More than he did.
Asshole.
I shower and dress in sweats and a T-shirt with my college logo printed on it. There’s something comforting about the familiarity, and I need that today more than ever. I haven’t heard from Emma in a few days, and while it’s tempting to bombard her with texts every day, it isn’t fair to do so. She’s trying to find her feet in a new job, and dealing with my drama-filled life isn’t her responsibility. I know her. She’d want to reply, to comfort and soothe me, when her attention needs to be focused on impressing her boss and her coworkers, and making sure she’s kept on past her probation.
My stomach rumbles, but I can’t face going in search of food. I learned from Maisie that Alexander has his own dining room, where his personal staff serve breakfast every morning, but if I venture there with the fires inside me still smoldering, I may pour an entire jug of coffee all over his damn head.
I could call Maisie and ask her to bring a tray to my room, but that will get reported back to Alexander, and I don’t want him to think he’s won this round. Even though he has, otherwise I’d go and eat something, wouldn’t I?
The day stretches ahead of me, and without a thing to occupy my time, I pace my rooms from one side to the other. It’s during the tenth circuit that I remember something, and a grin creeps over my face.
I still have Alexander’s credit card—the one he gave to me in Scotland. So far, I’ve only bought that chess book, but it doesn’t have to end there.
Oh, dearest husband, payback is a bitch.
There’s nothing I want for myself, and I hate wasting money, even if Alexander and his family have enough to clear third world debt and send the poorest people in England on a round-the-world luxury cruise. But rich people are often among the stingiest in society. Especially those in high society like the De Vils. Rumor has it that the King of England is so frugal he never puts the heating on.
A plan starts to form—one where I can do good and teach my husband a valuable lesson along the way.
I rub my hands together, wickedness and delight racing through me. Alexander De Vil, you messed with the wrong woman.
After taking out the black credit card from where I’d stored it in my nightstand drawer, I turn it over in my hand. Even this piece of plastic has the De Vil crest stamped on the top right-hand corner, with Alexander’s name printed in gold.
I wake up my phone and navigate to Google. The first thing I type in is “Local Women’s Shelter”, then hit return.
The search returns a ton of results, but after I’ve sifted through a few, I find what I’m looking for. I open the website, locate the contact page, and note the details. Returning to Google, the next thing I search is children’s hospitals, then food banks, then youth services. By the time I’ve finished, I’ve got two pages of notes filled with the details of several worthy causes.
The first call is to the shelter.
“Hi,” I say. “I wonder if I might speak with the person responsible for receiving donations.”
Several hours later, I’ve got the information I need from everyone on my list. I hit the online stores and begin shopping. I’ve no idea how much I’m racking up, and I don’t care. I’m having too much fun to stop. I feel like a fairy godmother, sprinkling joy and much-needed resources to those most in need.
And all at Alexander’s expense.
Vengeance doesn’t get better than this.
The sun is already dipping below the horizon when I drop my phone on the bed and hug my knees to my chest. A solid day’s work indeed, and all courtesy of my beloved. I even sent a sizable donation to Zenith. Maybe that will buy me a little credit with them, just in case it takes me more than three months to get out of this marriage.
When I think about Alexander’s reaction to my spending spree, I can’t help laughing. He’ll be furious once he discovers what I’ve done, and I don’t care one bit. I feel so much better than if I’d bought a closet full of designer clothes and shoes for myself. It’s true what they say that doing something for others less fortunate gives a shot of endorphins. I could take on the world right now.
A loud grumble reminds me I haven’t eaten all day, and even though the last thing I want to do is come across Alexander, hunger forces me from my rooms. If I do come into contact with him, I’ll use some of those endorphins to give him another piece of my mind. I’ll also be ready for him if he tries to pull another stunt like last night.
I’d happily make myself something to eat, but as I haven’t found a single kitchen in this place—although I’d venture there are several—I call Maisie and ask her if she wouldn’t mind making me a sandwich. She insists on something more filling, so I make my way to the dining room.
By the time I get there, Maisie has already produced the goods. Salmon with hollandaise sauce, baby potatoes sprinkled with fresh parsley, and the tastiest purple-headed broccoli. It’s worthy of savoring, but I’m far too hungry to take my time over it. When she brings me a sponge dessert covered in custard, I fall on that, too, even when she tells me it’s called Spotted Dick. Sounds like a venereal disease, but it’s heaven on my tongue.
I’ve no sooner dropped my spoon in the bowl and sat back, rubbing my stomach, when Alexander’s arrival shatters my peace.
He stands in the doorway, glowering at me. Aware it won’t meet his approval, I run my finger around the bowl and scoop up the last of the custard. Sliding my finger inside my mouth, I lick it off. Brat mode activated .
God, I love provoking him. Maybe it’s the way his amber eyes flare, or his hands fist, or that vein pops in his forehead that gives me such a rush. Regardless, it’s all part of my plan.
“Where have you been all day?”
His voice has an unusual rasp to it, and he can’t take his eyes off my finger as I pop it from my mouth. I sweep it around the side of the bowl a second time, looking at him while I do it. A faint blush creeps over his aristocratic cheekbones, and he tilts his head back ever so slightly. When my finger pops out a second time, his gaze lingers on my lips, and his tongue darts out to dampen his own.
Heat races up my spine, and goosebumps explode across the back of my neck and down my arms. I force myself to stay still, even though his burning amber eyes make me want to wriggle and fidget. Fluttering sensations fill my chest, and my heart is pounding so fast, he must be able to hear it.
It’s a contest of wills between us, and I refuse to be the one to bend first. I may not have tons of experience, but I know enough to recognize attraction when I see it. If I was brave enough, I’d check out his crotch area, but I keep my gaze above chest level. It’s safer that way. I wouldn’t want him to think I was interested in him sexually, because I’m not.
I’m not.
“I don’t take kindly to being ignored, Imogen.”
“And I don’t take kindly to demands. If you rephrase your question with a little more humility and a little less aggression, you might get an answer.”
I’m treading a thin line and, at any second, the floor could crumble beneath my feet. I’ve seen what Alexander is capable of when challenged, yet even with that knowledge, I can’t help but keep pushing and pushing until I get a reaction.
Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan.
He takes several deep breaths. It’s fascinating to watch him struggle to bring himself under control. His entire demeanor tells me that Alexander De Vil isn’t used to being challenged… by anyone. Too bad. I’m not backing down.
Eventually, the simmering outrage in his eyes dims, and he takes a seat at the table, waving away an approaching staff member.
“Very well. I notice you haven’t been around today. Is everything all right?”
It must have been agonizing for him to give in to my demand, and if he hadn’t thrown me fully clothed into the swimming pool last night, I might have found it within me to be more charitable.
Unfortunately, he did, and unfortunately, I’m not. Feeling charitable, that is.
“No, everything is not all right. You threw me into the pool, Alexander. Does that sound like normal behavior to you? I might have caught a cold or the flu, and it would have been your fault.”
I know full well I wouldn’t. I spent hours in a pool when I was on the swim team, but even putting forward weak arguments is worth it. Just look at the way his jaw is flexing, and he’s restarted those deep breaths. It’s as if he’s box breathing. God, I do get to him, don’t I?
Good. Good.
“Colds and the flu are viruses. You can’t get them from being thrown into a pool. A heated pool.”
I knew he wouldn’t be able to let the little things go. It’s not in his nature.
Heaving a sigh, I ask, “Did you want anything else?”
As he lifts a hand to rake through his hair, grazes on his knuckles catch my attention. Has he… has he been fighting ?
“I suppose?—”
“How did you get those grazes and bruises?” I cut him off and rise from my chair. Four long strides bring me to him. I reach to grab his hand, but he snatches it out of my way.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Let me see.”
“No.”
“Alexander—”
“I said it’s nothing,” he snaps. “If you’d like me to restate it in words you understand, then it’s none of your business. ”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “None of my business? I’m your wife.”
“As you so eloquently pointed out, in name only.”
Despite the fact I did say that, throwing it back in my face stings. I’m so confused. One minute, I’d like never to see Alexander again. The next minute, I want nothing more than to take care of him. Those cuts look nasty.
“Maisie,” I call out.
She appears, her steps faltering, probably picking up on the tension in the air. “Yes, Ms. Imogen.”
“Can you bring me a first aid kit, please?”
“I said I was fine,” Alexander snaps.
“I heard you. The first aid kit, please, Maisie. Thank you”
Alexander heaves a sigh, but remains seated. Silence lingers in the air, broken only when Maisie returns with the medical kit.
“Do you need anything else, Ms. Imogen?”
“No, we’re fine. Can you close the door on your way out?” Once the quiet click reaches me, I pull up a chair next to Alexander’s and open the kit. “Give me your hand.”
He runs his tongue over his top teeth, but does as I say. The moment our palms touch, an arc of electricity passes between us. I raise my gaze, meeting his eyes. They’re soft and warm, and the shock of it renders me paralyzed for a few seconds. Butterflies swarm my stomach. Somehow, I tear my gaze away and get to work, cleaning the cuts with an alcohol swab. He sits in silence, his breathing quiet and even while my heart is hammering against my ribcage like it’s trying to break free.
“There.” I let him go.
He retakes my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles. “Thank you. ”
The sincerity in those two words steals the breath from my lungs, and a profound sadness settles on my chest. Conflict doesn’t come naturally to me, and this constant battling for my freedom is exhausting.
But necessary.
I tug myself free. “You’re welcome.”
First aid kit in hand, I sweep from the room before I forget what I have to do.