Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
IMOGEN
I make sure to avoid Alexander for the next few days, which honestly isn’t that difficult considering I hardly see him anyway. After his panic room stunt, I don’t trust myself not to take revenge by running a scotch bonnet chili around the rim of his glass, or putting spiders in his shoes. Given his underlying threat, it’s probably best I dial it back for a few days at least.
But when Tuesday morning dawns, I can’t stand the isolation for another minute.
Both Saskia and Tobias seem to be permanently away, there hasn’t been another social gathering for me to maybe bump into Vicky, and Emma is too busy for me to expect her to constantly prop me up. Even the group chat with my college buddies has gone silent, each of them embarking on careers and, naturally, leaving their old lives behind.
I want to go home. I need to go home. Problem is, if I ask Mom whether I can come for a visit, she’ll tell me it’s too soon.
Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right ?
Before I lose my nerve, I book a flight for this coming Saturday. I’d rather go today, but the regular De Vil family dinner that’s held on the first Friday of each month is this week, and while I don’t give a shit about my absence showing Alexander up, I do care how it looks to Charles. I like and respect Alexander’s father, and as lonely and homesick as I am, he doesn’t deserve a public slap in the face.
After showering and dressing, I head for the dining room, stopping by Alexander’s seat at the head of the table to leave a business card that I know will draw a reaction. There’s something about watching him lose his temper that I’m growing addicted to. Plus, until I can think of the next big thing to shove him in the direction I need him to go, little irritations all add up.
I smile gratefully as Lauren sets down a steaming cup of coffee. I’ve only taken a single sip when Alexander enters.
Ignoring me, he sits at the table and puts down his phone. Lauren scoots over and pours him a glass of iced water. At first, I think he’s missed the card or put his phone on top of it, but then he picks it up and reads it.
“What’s this?” He brandishes it in the air.
“I thought you might find it useful. I found her online. I told her you need a tattooed eyebrow, and she’s had a cancellation so can fit you in this morning. Her reviews are terrific. Lots of five stars.”
An atmosphere descends on the entire room, and the three members of staff in attendance all freeze at the same time. Alexander is a statue, except for a muscle quivering in his jaw, and the flash of irritation radiating from his amber eyes.
“Cheese omelet,” he snaps, picking up his phone. Lauren immediately springs into action and dashes out of the dining room to give his order to the chef.
“That’s a no, then? Truly, I’m surprised you haven’t done something about it before now. It’s not like you can’t afford to have it fixed.”
He lowers his phone, and the look he gives me would have most people quivering in their boots. Maybe I have a death wish, but all his angry glower does is make me want to rile him further. I’m interested in how far I can push him before he cracks, and what happens when he does. I could be wrong, but I’m betting he won’t get physical, other than a spanking, perhaps. The thought of him bending me over his knee excites me even when it shouldn’t. The small taste I got before he dumped me in the pool is evidence I’m not averse to the idea.
“I’m a busy man,” he clips out. “Conventional appearances don’t concern me. It’ll grow back on its own.”
“It concerned you when you were meeting the king’s private secretary.”
Electricity crackles all around as we glare at each other. “Well, it doesn’t concern me now.”
I think it does. I’d wager his refusal to get something done about it has more to do with stubbornness or pride. He can’t stand the fact I won that round, and this is his way of trying to reassert control.
Lauren returns with his omelet. He ends our stare-off and picks up a fork, slicing off a large piece. When he swallows, I track the way his Adam’s apple bobs. An urge to press my thighs together consumes me. If he was awful all the time, then his insane good looks wouldn’t be enough to attract me. It’s the odd flashes of humanity, the snippets of kindness, the memory of how hard I came in the stables, and how gentle he was afterward that makes me yearn for something I can’t have and shouldn’t want.
I doubt I’m off the hook for the eyebrow incident, even if he did lock me in the panic room all day. Probably just as well I’m heading back to America this Saturday. Maybe our time apart will show him he doesn’t need me around disrupting his life. Wouldn’t that be fantastic? A girl can hope.
“Could I have a slice of toast, please, Lauren?” The idea of eggs or greasy bacon is making me feel nauseous, and I don’t like cereal or oatmeal all that much.
“Of course, Mrs. De Vil. White or brown?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her to call me Miss Salinger, but after Alexander’s warning on Friday night, even I’m not that brave. I’ll be a Salinger soon enough when my divorce comes through. I can wait until then.
“White, please, and can you make it the butt end?”
Alexander lifts his head, his one remaining eyebrow forming a perfect arch. “The… the what?”
From his reaction, I’m guessing he hasn’t heard me order this before. “The butt end. You know. The outer layer.” I pronounce each word with precision, as if I’m talking to the dumbest person on the planet.
He tilts his chin up, looking down his snooty, aristocratic nose at me. “You mean the crust.”
“No. I mean the butt end. Or if you prefer, the trash end.” I give him my sweetest smile. His lips thin and, ever so deliberately, he returns his attention to his phone.
Taking a deep breath, I hit him with my news. “It’s obvious my presence irks you, but fear not, Prince De Vil. I’ll be out of your hair on Saturday.”
“What’s happening on Saturday?” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks .
“I’m going home to visit my parents and see my friends from college.”
I expect him to look at me then, but nope. Instead, head still buried in his damn phone, he takes a sip of water and says, “No, you’re not.”
I flex my jaw. Asshole still thinks he can tell me what to do. “You can’t stop me.”
With a sigh, he puts down his phone and focuses on me. “I think you’ll find that I can.”
“Oh, yeah? What you gonna do? Lock me in the panic room again?” I wouldn’t put it past him.
He smirks at me, like he’s got this big secret he can’t wait to divulge. “Where’s your passport, Imogen?”
“In my nightstand.” I know this because I needed it to book my flight less than forty minutes ago.
“Hmm. Is it?”
A chill runs through me. Shoving my chair back so fast that it crashes to the floor, I tear to my rooms and yank open the nightstand drawer. My passport is gone. It was right there on top of my book. I rifle through the drawer, even though it’s futile.
The bastard! How did he know I’d booked a flight to California? Prickles race along the back of my neck. That damn phone does more than monitor where I am. It’s monitoring what sites I visit.
I march back into the dining room. The staff, possibly expecting another fiery argument, have scattered. I can’t blame them. At least there won’t be witnesses when I kill him.
Shoving my palm near his face, I snap, “Give me my passport.”
He acts as if I haven’t spoken, tapping away on his goddamn phone.
I slam my palms on the table. “Give me my fucking passport!”
I thought my cursing might earn a reaction, but he’s coolness personified. “Sit down.”
“Not until you give me my passport.” Tears pool in my eyes, and to my utter fury, a couple spill down my cheeks. “I want to see my parents, my friends.”
He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he lets it out.
“Alexander, please.” I normally hate pleading with him, but I’m at the stage where I don’t care as long as I get my passport back. “I have to go home. I need to.”
“And you will, as soon as you start behaving more like an adult and less like a petulant child.”
I feel myself getting hotter, closer than I’ve ever been to blowing a fuse. “Petulant? Ha! You’re the one who locked me in the panic room all day without food.”
“Because you did this.” He points at his missing eyebrow. “Which is the act of a child, not a grown woman.”
“You deserved it. You fired Will.”
This time, when he takes a deep breath, he closes his eyes.
“I’m lonely, Alexander. I’m so lonely.” Admitting it is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but if it gets me my passport back, it’ll be worth it. “I’m stuck here in this house. I never get to go anywhere. I don’t have any friends here. Please let me go home for a few days. I booked for Saturday, so I don’t miss the family dinner on Friday.” I’m hoping my thoughtfulness buys me a little credit.
I should have known better.
“You’re not going.”
“Why? Worried I won’t come back? ”
A flash of something I can’t describe ripples across his face, but it’s gone in a heartbeat.
“I will?—”
“Mrs. De Vil, you have a visitor.”
Alexander’s head snaps to Alan, the butler who I hardly see unless I’m coming and going from the house.
“A visitor?” I haven’t had a single visitor since I got here. Maybe it’s Vicky? Although that makes no sense. Apart from the one occasion our paths crossed, I haven’t seen her since.
“Who is it?” Alexander asks, his tone short.
“An Emma Delacourt, Mr. De Vil.”
A squeal erupts out of me. “Emma? Oh, my God! Where is she?”
“In the foyer, ma’am.”
“I can’t believe she’s here!” I abruptly turn, ready to race to the door when a hand snaps around my wrist, yanking me to a halt.
“Have Ms. Delacourt brought here,” Alexander says, his expression reminiscent of a man who found a wasp floating in his drink.
“I can get her.”
“It isn’t done. We have staff for that.”
I’m tempted to argue, but I clamp my lips shut. All I care about is that Emma’s here. She’s here! In England. At Oakleigh. I’m stunned.
The second she appears, I throw myself at her, my throat thick with joy. I hug her so tightly she makes this strangled noise.
“Jesus, Immy. I can’t breathe.”
I loosen my death grip and take a step back. “What are you doing here?”
“Your last texts worried me, so I spoke to my boss, and she gave me a few days off. I have to go back Saturday, though. She made it clear if my ass isn’t in the office Monday morning, to not bother coming back.” She flashes me a beaming grin, then looks past me to Alexander. “You must be the hubs.” Striding over, she thrusts out her hand. “I’m Emma.”
“So it seems.” His tone couldn’t be any more unfriendly, and the reluctance with which he briefly shakes her hand is something out of a comedy sketch. “Alexander De Vil.”
“No shit?” Emma laughs, and Alexander virtually bristles with annoyance.
Oh, this is priceless. He steals my passport so I can’t go home, but home has come to me, and there isn’t a thing he can do about it.
Emma wrinkles her nose. “What happened to your eyebrow?”
“Ask your friend.” Alexander cuts his gaze to me.
“A little accident with a wax strip.” I hitch a shoulder.
“Oh, dear.” Emma stifles a giggle. “So, what do you do for fun around here, besides waxing your husband’s eyebrow?”
“Fun?” I shoot Alexander a look. “It’s not a concept my new husband is familiar with. Isn’t that right, Alexander?”
He heaves a sigh that comes from deep in his abdomen. “If we’d known you were coming, Miss Delacourt, we would have prepared better for your visit.”
“No prep needed for me, Al. I’m easy street. No need to stand on ceremony.”
“It’s Alexander,” he grits out.
“Bit of a mouthful, but okay.”
I almost gasp, then I catch Emma’s eye and figure out what she’s up to. She’s aggravating him on purpose, probably thinking it’ll help move my master plan along, and if that nerve beating in his jaw is anything to go by, she’s nailed it. A second later, though, he’s collected himself, and he smiles at Emma. Actually smiles.
“I’m due to travel to London today on business. Would you like to come? Perhaps you and Imogen could do a little shopping while I conduct my business.”
I’m so speechless by his offer that if a breeze came through the window, it’d knock me on my ass.
“London? You’re letting me come to London?”
“With security, of course. You’re not a prisoner, Imogen.” He smiles at me this time, but it’s different to the one he gave Emma. It’s cunning, like he’s planning something. Right now, though, I don’t care. I get to go to London with my best friend, and that’s worth whatever secret shit he’s up to.
Twenty minutes later, we’re situated in the back of the car, with Alexander and Richard sitting in front of us, on our way to London. Within seconds, Emma and I fall into easy conversation like we always have. When Alexander huffs loudly, then presses a screen that separates us from him and Richard, Emma winks at me.
“This thing soundproofed?”
I listen intently. “Guess so. Can’t hear them talking. Why?”
“The eyebrow thing?” She lowers her voice in spite of what I just told her. “Fucking epic.”
“Wanna know what he did to pay me back?”
She shifts closer. “Always.”
“He locked me in a panic room for seven hours.”
Her eyes flash wide. “Fuck, Immy.” She grimaces. “Not as easy as you thought, then?”
“Nowhere near. I’m beginning to lose hope.”
She wags her finger. “Stop that right now. We have four days together. I’m sure we can cook up a master plan to force his hand.”
“I hope so, because everything I’ve tried so far has epically failed, and I’m so lonely, Em. The staff are stuffy as hell, his sister who I’d hoped would become a friend is always away on business, and Alexander only talks to me when it suits his agenda. I’m rattling around that stupid house, and I don’t think I can take much more.”
She squeezes my hand. “I got you. We’re going to figure this out.” She angles her head. “At least he’s easy on the eye.”
I sigh. “He’s the most confusing man I’ve ever met. One minute, we’re at each other’s throats, the next, he’s being nice to me, or I find out he’s done something wonderful for a member of his staff, and I see him in a different light.”
She studies me for a few moments. “Has he screwed you yet?”
I shake my head. “He’s kissed me a couple of times, and…” I trail off, heat rushing to my cheeks at what we did in the stable block. “We’ve done other stuff. But he’s shown no interest in taking things further.”
“Hmm, interesting.” She taps her finger against her bottom lip, then nods. “Okay… hear me out. You like this guy?”
“I like certain versions of him. Others make me want to put itching powder in his boxers.”
“Let’s make a note of that one.” She grins. “What if you could work for Zenith and stay married to this guy. Would you?”
“It’s a moot point. I already asked him about working, and he said no. ”
“When was that? Have you asked him again?”
“What’s the point?”
“The point is that people change their minds. For all you know he could have changed his.”
“He won’t.”
“For the sake of argument, pretend he will. Would you want to stick around and give things a proper shot?”
I twist my lips to one side, giving her question fair consideration. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Although I’ll be twenty-two soon. I’d kind of like to have sex before I die.”
Emma chuckles, then changes the subject, but my mind keeps returning to her question. If Alexander allowed me to take up a job and showed me more of his softer side, then perhaps there would be a future for us after all. Except I cannot see him doing either of those things. It can’t hurt to ask him about the job again, though, and I will. When the right time presents itself.
An hour later, the car stops outside Harrods department store. As we step onto the sidewalk, Alexander’s window rolls down.
“Be here at exactly four o’clock this afternoon. Don’t be late.”
The car pulls into the busy lanes of traffic, leaving Emma and me flanked by two bodyguards. A surge of exhilaration courses through me. I slide my arm through Emma’s. “Come on, let’s go crazy.”
We shop, get mani-pedis, and have our hair styled. As we’re leaving Harrods to grab some lunch, someone calls out to me.
“Imogen?”
I turn in the direction the shout came from.
“Vicky!” I hug her. “It’s great to see you. ”
“You, too. I’m surprised Alexander’s let you out of Oakleigh. That’s where personalities go to die, you know.”
I laugh. “It’s all thanks to Emma.” I introduce my best friend to the woman I still hope will be something of an ally to me while I’m here. “We’re just going for some lunch. Would you like to join us?”
“I would, thanks. I was supposed to be meeting a friend, but she’s had to bail. How about Claridges? We’re a little early for afternoon tea, but their lunch menu is divine.”
“Will we be back by four?” I ask, unsure how far away Claridges is from Harrods. “Alexander’s due back then.”
Vicky winks. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Emma grins. “You’re my kind of girl, Vicky.”
I agree. She’s daring, mischievous, and reminds me a lot of Emma.
My bodyguards drive us to Claridges, hovering behind us as Vicky strides inside with her head high and shoulders back, as though she belongs, which I guess she does. I still feel like an interloper, despite coming from money myself. There seems to be a difference between American money and British money, whether real or imagined. My confidence takes a further dip when the ma?tre d’ looks down his nose at us and tells Vicky that lunch is fully booked, and has been for several months.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” I say, half turning away.
Vicky grabs my hand and tugs me to her side. “Do you know who this is? Would you like me to tell Alexander De Vil that you turned his wife away?”
Her words have an immediate effect. The man flushes bright red, apologies falling from his lips as he grabs three menus and ushers us into the dining room. He makes several more apologies, snaps his fingers at a server, and announces loudly that we are VIPs, and to ensure we are well taken care of.
“Knew it’d work like a charm,” Vicky says. “He crapped his pants when I mentioned Alexander.”
“Gotta be some benefits to being married to the Devil,” I mutter.
We dig into the tastiest salmon I’ve ever eaten, and I use the time to ask a few questions about the De Vils and Vicky’s family connection to them, explaining to Emma how Elizabeth is due to marry Nicholas soon. Turns out the Montagues and the De Vils go way back, but this is the first time they’ll be connected by marriage rather than through business interests. I watch Vicky carefully as she talks about her sister’s engagement, but if the idea of it upsets her, she hides it well. I’m sure I didn’t misread what I saw at the ball, though, so I press a little harder.
“I would have thought, as the older sister, you’d have been promised to Nicholas instead.”
There’s the slightest pause before she answers. It’s less than a second, but I pick up on it. “Good God. Can you imagine Nicholas and me together?” She laughs, a tinny hollowness to the sound. “No, Beth is a much better match for him. She doesn’t answer back, and that’s what De Vil men demand of their women.”
“I answer Alexander back.”
“Hell yeah, you do,” Emma says.
“Yes, but I bet you’re smart about it, like a hidden assassin, slipping cyanide into everyone’s drinks, and the first time they realize something is wrong is when they’re writhing on the floor and foaming at the mouth. Whereas me? I’m more obvious. I’m the bullet between the eyes kind of gal, or the hunting knife between the ribs. Me and Nicholas getting hitched would only end in bloodshed. My parents knew this, and so did Nicholas, which is why he chose Beth when given the choice. And thank goodness he did.”
Her response is a little too practiced, but if she was ready to tell me about her feelings for Nicholas, then she would have.
“Well, would you look at that,” Vicky announces, making a big show of looking at her watch. “It’s almost four. Guess you’re going to be late after all.”
A grin spreads across my face. When Emma returns to America, I’m going to make a far greater effort to befriend Vicky. She’s a terrible influence… and precisely what I need to survive my time as a De Vil.