Chapter Twenty-Five
Grace
I’ve definitely offended Huxley.
He didn’t say anything after I turned down his offer, but tension was pouring from him, to the point where I could barely breathe in the car. I’m not happy to have hurt his feelings, but risking my mother’s life simply isn’t an option.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I’ll Uber to my place and grab my car.”
“It isn’t necessary. I’ll send you a car and have yours brought to the house.” His tone is gravelly, his jaw tight.
An instant refusal springs to my lips, but I swallow it. It’s not worth an argument. “Okay. Thanks.”
I take the elevator up to the Pryce Family Foundation. The place is bustling with energy already. Charitable work is more expensive and labor-intensive than people imagine. That’s why so many NGOs waste their resources, even without meaning to.
“Tell me the wall is broken.”
I blink at Tolyan’s curt greeting—or was that even supposed to be a greeting? It’s hard to tell with him. “Good morning. What do you mean?”
He points to my cheek. “That. You ‘ran into a wall,’ obviously. And the wall better not still be standing.”
“It is…sort of.”
He drops his eyes to my ring. “What good is a man who can’t avenge his woman?”
“The wall got bloodied.”
He grunts. “You put down a dog when it attacks people for no reason. You should blow up walls that bruise people as well.”
I say nothing, unsure if he’s joking. It’s impossible to tell with him, since he always speak in that flat, inflectionless way.
“You need coffee?”
Wow. I must look terrible for him to offer. He’s never been this solicitous before.
Elizabeth steps out of the elevator, takes one look at my face and rushes over. “Oh my God, Grace . Are you all right? Do you need a safe place?”
“No. I’m fine,” I say.
“Who did this to you?”
I press my lips together and lower my eyes for a moment, too embarrassed to admit it was my father, and annoyed with myself for feeling ashamed about the incident when I didn’t do anything wrong.
She glances at Tolyan. He shrugs. “She says the wall is bloody.”
She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything, you tell me , okay? I don’t care what time it is or where you are. You will call me.”
I nod, warmth prickling my eyes. “Thank you.”
She goes into her office, followed by Tolyan. For a fleeting second, I’m tempted to ask if the foundation can help with my mother’s medical bills. The organization has a division that assists with bills for critical care. But just as quickly as the urge pops into my head, I push it away. The fund isn’t infinite, and too many people don’t have the luxury of an asshole father who can shoulder the burden. Elizabeth is the sweetest, so she’d find a way to help me…which would mean that I’d be taking the money away from somebody who desperately needs it.
About half an hour before my lunch break, I get a text from the OB-GYN, confirming my appointment on Friday. I tap the corner of my phone for a moment. Should I ask Huxley if he can join me? It’s his baby too, and Dr. Silverman said we should be able to hear the heartbeat now.
I put a hand over my still-flat belly. It’s so strange to think there’s a life inside. The last time I went, there wasn’t anything except some black-and-white dots and lines on the sonogram monitor. A heartbeat seems like such a massive milestone.
Huxley was upset when I told him about the baby, but surely by now he’s come to accept its existence. He should get to experience the miracle of each developmental stage.
–Me: I have an appointment with OB-GYN this Friday at 3. Want to join me? We should be able to hear the heartbeat for the first time.
–Huxley: I’m going to be in London for a few weeks starting tomorrow, so I’ll have to pass.
I start to type that I could make a recording of the baby’s heartbeat for him, but the next message stops me cold.
–Huxley: My schedule is always tight, and I don’t have time to waste on unimportant matters.
The text feels like a punch to the solar plexus. Pain steals my breath away, and I bite back a soft whimper. How can words hurt so much? Not even Nelson’s cruelty was this agonizing.
Maybe it’s because my hopes for the baby seem doomed. When I was growing up, I wondered why I didn’t have a father. Mom told me he was just away and busy, but he loved me very much. I made cards for him every Father’s Day, Christmas and his birthday, even though some of the nasty kids in school mocked me for making cards for a nonexistent parent. Then when I finally got to meet him, he was unbelievably cold and abrupt. I realized I was nothing more than an unfortunate inconvenience to him, and I felt small and unwanted. Without my mom’s love and support, it would’ve been even more devastating.
I don’t want my child to go through the same gut-wrenching experience. It deserves better. Huxley’s kindness since Nelson’s attack made me think for a moment that maybe we could have a pleasant life together, and he could be a good father for our baby.
I stare at the screen, rereading his response. I don’t know which hurts more—Nelson’s slap or Huxley’s cold-heartedness. Maybe they just hurt in different ways.
My phone buzzes with a call from an unknown contact. I pick it up in case it’s about the changed venue. “The Pryce Family Foundation. Grace Lain speaking.”
“Madison Chilton, Huxley’s assistant. He asked me to help you with the wedding.” Her voice is as smooth and polished as marble—and just as coolly impersonal.
“Yes, he did,” I say, recalling the scene in his office.
“I’m texting you a few wedding invitation designs. Can you tell me which is your favorite?”
My phone vibrates, and I check the three she sent. She must be extremely partial to pink, because the first one is overwhelmingly pink. The second one is gray, which I’m not crazy about because it looks drab and dreary. The third one is a mix of sleek black and white with pink and blue accents, and something about it feels off to me, even though I can’t quite say why.
“Has Huxley seen these?” He has excellent taste in his house décor and clothes. Assuming he didn’t pay for professional help with them, he might be able to articulate what needs to change.
“Yes. Which is why I’m sharing them with you to get your sign-off on one of them. The date is set for three weeks from now.”
“That soon?” He hasn’t said a word about it. Not only that, he’s going to be out of country for a few weeks. Did he intentionally do this to ensure he had as little involvement as possible?
“He thought it’d be best if the ceremony took place before you started showing.”
“I see.” But I really don’t. Is he trying to be considerate, or does he consider the wedding ceremony a chore to be done with as soon as possible? If he hadn’t responded the way he did to my message, I’d probably be thinking the former, but now it’s impossible to be certain. “Is he going to be able to be part of the planning at all? I heard that he’s going to London.”
“I doubt it. He’s going to be extremely busy, even with me there.”
“You’re going, too?”
“Of course. I accompany him on business trips. It’s my job to make sure every aspect of his life runs smoothly.” A hint of smug satisfaction and superiority. I can almost hear the unspoken Unlike you . “There’s no need of his I can’t meet.”
A hint of something sexual simmers underneath her words. The idea of him in London with Madison makes my heart jump into my throat, my gut burn. The trip is work related, but she’s gorgeous and they’ll be spending weeks together at a hotel. He’s about to be shackled to a woman he doesn’t want—and a baby he can’t be bothered with. What are the odds that he’s going to be faithful?
I’m not merely jealous. I don’t trust him, either. The courtesy and respect we promised each other during the ride back home yesterday seem so flimsy, they might as well not be there at all. His reactions to the appointment and the upcoming ceremony show me his true intentions.
I take a breath and modulate my tone. “Did he say anything about the third choice?”
“Do you like that one?” She sounds a little surprised.
“I’m not sure…”
“If it helps, the theme of the wedding is Amazing Grace.”
“Amazing Grace?” What does that mean? Do people have themes for their wedding these days? A commitment to love and a better future together isn’t enough…?
“Yes.” She clears her throat. “If Huxley didn’t put it into so many words, it’s a double entendre—for you and the future of your marriage.”
He isn’t even hiding how he really feels. I hate the hint of pity in Madison’s voice, especially because there’s also a tinge of schadenfreude. She enjoys putting me down with impunity because her boss doesn’t show me respect. But what have I done to earn her enmity? I’m already too emotionally overwrought to have a productive conversation. There’s also part of me that’s slightly apprehensive—what if Huxley sides with her? I’ll look even more ridiculous. “That’s what Huxley wants?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Then the third one should do. The black should be onyx, absolutely no other shade.”
“I’ll make a note.”
I hang up without another word, grab my purse and leave for lunch. The two painful interactions have killed my appetite, but my baby shouldn’t starve just because Huxley and Madison are jerks. It’s irritating I forgot to pack a lunch, though; eating out isn’t cheap, but so many things have happened in the last twelve hours that it slipped my mind.
Tolyan watches me gather my things. “Want me to come with you?” His eyes flick to my cheek.
“No. But thank you anyway.” I walk out and step into the crowded elevator. A sandwich. But not anything with tuna or broccoli, like Huxley said, I decide pettily. Ham and turkey with a slice of Swiss and two strips of crispy bacon should do nicely.
When the elevator reaches the lobby, I’m first out of the car. I head to the main entrance, my steps brisk. A rough hand grabs my arm.
“Hey, bitch! You ignoring me?”
I glare up at Mick. What’s he doing here? He’s always too worried about his public image to make a scene. “Of course. Why do you think I blocked you?”
His face turns bright red. “You ungrateful cunt. I’m pressing charges.”
“For what?”
“For assaulting my father!” he hisses, shaking me by the arm.
“You think I smashed Nelson’s face? Don’t you see what he did to me?” I tilt my face so Mick can make note of my injuries.
If he notices, he doesn’t show it. His nostrils flare, and his focus is on the injustice done to his family. “Don’t think you’re going to avoid jail time. Nobody from Huxley & Webber is going to defend you, and you can’t afford a lawyer good enough to stop what I’m about to unleash on you!”
I try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. “Let go of me before I press charges against you!”
“ I ’m the DA, not you!” he sneers.
“Let go of my fiancée,” comes Huxley’s cold voice.
Mick stiffens, but his bravado doesn’t fade. “Stay out of this! I’m on official government business.”
“Seriously?” Huxley cocks his eyebrow. “You, by yourself, manhandling my fiancée in public? Official government business? Let’s see just how official this becomes when I file suit against the city on her behalf.” The words roll out casually, but his eyes are hard. They glitter like they did right before he slammed Nelson’s face into the wall.
Mick lets go. He’s always been a coward who bares his teeth against anybody weaker than him but tucks tail when someone stronger is around.
“Good. Now—if you and your family continue to harass people around me, I’m going to have to do something to show the world what kind of man Nelson really is.”
“He’s an honorable man!” Mick blusters.
“Who hits his daughter.”
“She asked for—”
“Shh!” Huxley raises a finger. “Think very carefully before you complete that sentence. She is the future Mrs. Huxley Lasker.”
A vein in Mick’s neck throbs. The Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes dart between Huxley, me, then back to Huxley. “You’re going to pay for this!”
“Come collect anytime.”
“Asshole!” Mick says, then stalks off. He keeps his arms slightly spread, as though the gesture can hide his defeat.
“Are you okay?” Huxley asks, his gaze dropping to my arm.
“I’m fine.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t use that tone if you want me to believe you.”
I look up at his gorgeous face. The concern in his eyes. He’s so hot and cold—telling me he’s too busy to care about our baby, then making it clear our marriage is doomed before it can start, only to rush to my defense against Mick. My emotions ping-pong, leaving me unsettled and confused.
Still. Even if he’s hot and cold, I’m not. “Thank you for the help.”
“It was nothing.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you.” His eyes drop to my still-swollen cheek.
“You’re confusing me.”
A ghost of smile dashes across his handsome face. “Consideration shouldn’t be cause for confusion. Unless you have plans, let’s have lunch together.”
A refusal is on the tip of my tongue. I want to eat alone and lick my emotional wounds. But he’s here—taking time out of his busy schedule—and when am I going to have a chance to talk to him about my doubts before the wedding?
“Okay. You pick the restaurant.”