Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ROMAN
The bed beside me is empty and cold, which is never a good sign when you’re staying in a house full of killers. One who seems to have a very personal vendetta.
Maggie’s gone.
My brain goes through several possibilities, none good, before my eyes land on the note on the bedside table.
I’ve been forced to go to the spa with Eliza and Priscilla. Sorry! Please don’t leave, I’ll be back as soon as I can.
M x
I flop back on the bed for a further twenty minutes of wallowing before I give in and decide to get up.
I’m halfway into yesterday morning’s jeans when there’s a knock at the door.
Loud and sure. I’m still hoping to god it isn’t Eddie coming to finish me off.
I don’t know how to work a gun, far less where to find one.
I scan the room for some kind of weapon, seriously considering whether the candlesticks are hefty enough to take him out.
‘Roman,’ It’s Evan’s voice, not Eddie’s. I’m not sure if that’s much better.. ‘Morning. Thought you might fancy joining me.’
Zero explanation as to what I might be joining him in doing.
‘Uh, sure. I’ll be right there.’
I’m pretty sure hiding under the bed won’t solve my problems. So I square my shoulders and open the door.
He doesn’t say where we’re going. Just turns and starts walking, clearly expecting me to follow.
I do. Because defying him seems like a bad idea. Though I’m not sure following him feels much wiser. We head through the main part of the house at first, the smell of coffee drifting from the dining room. It all looks perfectly normal. I start to relax, telling myself that I’m being paranoid.
Then we turn down a corridor that looks distinctly more shoddy than the others. It narrows, and the design gets simpler.
My shoulders tighten.
Okay. This is fine. Lots of big houses have extra corridors. Storage. Wine cellars.
Murder rooms.
My arse tightens.
We take a set of stairs downward. Then another. No carpet. Just worn stone, that dips in the middle from centuries of use.
I consider turning around and pretending I’ve forgotten something.
Evan keeps walking, not even looking back to check if I’m there. Clearly, he’s used to being obeyed.
The air changes as we go deeper. Colder and damper. The sound of the house above us fades, replaced by the echo of our footsteps. My unease grows with each step, until my brain is screaming at me to turn back
This is it. This is where he finds out who you really are. This is where you get turned into pig food.
We stop, and Evan opens a door.
To a games room.
I could fucking cry with relief. A games suite.
Plush carpet and expensive leather seats fill the space, along with a fancy-looking snooker table, complete with full lighting.
A well-stocked bar and multiple gaming machines.
There’s a full pitch and putt to one end of the cavernous room, and a massive curved screen showing a golf course so vividly green it makes me squint.
‘Virtual golf,’ Evan says, like I’m dumbfounded because I’m stupid, and not because I thought I was going to end up as pig fodder. ‘My knees aren’t what they used to be.’
He hands me an electronic gold club.
‘I should warn you, I’m terrible at golf. Virtual or otherwise.’
He smiles. ‘Well, I like winning so that works out just fine.’
We play. Or rather, he plays while I attempt to even hit my stupid digital ball in a straight line. Much to Evan’s delight.
We’re at hole nine by the time Evan clears his throat.
Evan’s eyes fix on the screen. ‘You and Maggie.’
There it is.
Here comes the kicker. Or the threat. Hopefully not the safe sex talk. Anything but that.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘It‘s not part of the plan.’
I nod and swing, sending my digital ball flying right into a pixelated bunker. ‘Plans change.’
‘Not much around here.’
I line up my next shot and fuck it up so badly that I send the ball skidding sideways. Dammit.
‘Can I ask you something?’ If I’m going to be murdered, I might go out with answers.
He gestures for me to continue.
‘Why does Maggie need to take over your company?’ I keep my tone light, like I don’t know what the company is. ‘Maggie says that Eliza is a much better fit.’
Evan exhales. ‘Eliza is excellent, but it’s tradition. It’s always been eldest to eldest, as long as we have records.’
Of course it is.
‘Sometimes tradition is just people refusing to admit they might be wrong,’ I say before I can stop myself.
He glances at me. ‘And what do you know about tradition, Roman?’
‘Not much, to be fair.’ I hesitate, then keep going, because apparently today is confession day.
‘But I know that birth order doesn’t equate to skill, and that many a family legacy has been pissed up a tree by an eldest son while the second child has to sit idly by and watch.
I also know a lot about holding onto things long after it makes any sense to do so.
About letting past choices dictate new decisions. ’
‘Such as?’
I stare at the screen, throat tight. ‘Such as avoiding relationships because someone broke your heart once. Such as deciding you’re fundamentally unlovable because your mum left and your dad killed himself. I let that belief run my whole life. Told myself it made sense. It doesn’t. It’s fear.’
Evan scrutinises me as I take another digital swing.
‘Until?’ he prompts.
I swallow. ‘Until Maggie.’
Saying her name solidifies the thought. Turns it into reality. Maggie makes me want to cut off all the lies.
Evan takes a shot. Perfect arc right onto the green. Then he sets the club down and looks at me.
‘I like you, you know. You’re a good sort.’
‘That compliment sounds like it comes with a but.’ I say.
‘Perceptive. Liking you doesn’t mean I think you’re right for my daughter.’
And despite the fact I’m not actually dating his daughter, his words hit like a kick in the teeth.
‘I think you should talk to Maggie. Forcing her into a marriage she doesn’t want, and a role she doesn’t want, won’t help your legacy succeed.’
He watches me for a long moment, unreadable.
‘We’ll see,’ he says.