Chapter twenty-three
The Chase Family Home, Kensington
Violet
As I lie on my childhood bed and stare up at the ceiling once again, any hope of getting out of this godforsaken situation disappears.
I sat on the luxurious leather seat staring out of the airplane cabin window at Harrison as we took off.
He and his friends looked completely helpless, bound and gagged as they were, their rescue attempt squashed.
He came for me like he said he would, but I never got to go with him.
In that moment, all I prayed for was that Aiden’s men wouldn’t kill him.
All I wanted was for them to let him live.
We had been one hour into the flight when Aiden passed out from his injuries.
Harrison’s bullet nicked the brachial artery in his shoulder.
The injury wasn’t bad enough to cause his death, but he’d lost enough blood that we needed to turn around.
We had been brought straight to my parent’s home where a medical team was waiting.
I walked through the front door and up to my room with no concern for the bastard who will be my life partner. My husband.
The only person I’ve engaged with is my mother. She brought me breakfast the following morning. We didn’t speak—there is nothing to say. My life is planned out. I need to survive it.
***
Friday morning arrives. I’ve spent my time here in my room.
I’ve not seen Aiden or my father. My brothers have been strangely absent too.
They weren’t at the airfield, so I assume they took no part in my failed escape.
Perhaps they agree with my father that the best place for me is Chicago.
No one tells me from day to day the future arrangements being made, not that I have any plans they would affect.
Every few hours, someone will appear with a tray of food and a glass of water, either a member of the house staff or my mother. This morning, it was my mother’s turn.
I hear the key in the lock. They took the bolt off the inside of my door and started to lock me in the day after I arrived back.
“Your father says if you’re going to lock us out, we’ll deadbolt you in,” my mother told me.
“If you want to start acting like a grown up and coming downstairs, the door will be opened for you, but until then you’ll be treated like the irritable teenager you’re being.”
She repeated his words exactly. “This is the message from your father,” she said, her tone softening, “not me. I would stay in here too.”
She had placed the tray of food she was holding on the floor and embraced me before resuming her standoffish approach.
The small glint of emotion took me by surprise, and I was forced to turn away from her to control my tears.
Now, she walks into the room not holding a tray. In her hands is a soft, pink, long-sleeved dress and my Converse trainers. I am still in bed with my duvet wrapped around me. There is nothing to get up for. She places the garments over the bed rail and then sits down next to me.
“I’ve arranged for you to have a private ultrasound at a clinic in Westminster today,” my mother says simply. Her hand rises to my face and moves a stray piece of hair from my eye. “Now, get dressed and come down for breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Why not? You’ve had a stressful week, and I want to make sure my grandchild is safe.” She stands then wipes her palms on the white skirt she’s wearing.
“You’ll stain that,” I mutter, and she chuckles.
“My clothes are not my priority today. You are, Violet. We need to go to the city for this ultrasound to ensure both of you are all right. It will only be us and a couple of guards—we may even be able to do some baby shopping.”
She smiles happily as my heart sinks. The last thing I want to do is go fucking shopping. “Today is an important day.”
“It’s only an ultrasound. I’m fine, mother,” I argue. “It’s not needed.”
“You might find something there that you’re not expecting,” she replies. “It is always better to check.” Perplexed, I watch her skip out of the room, more upbeat than I’ve seen her since I arrived back in London.
The soft pink dress skims over my curves, the material stretching to allow for my growing waistline.
The hem finishes an inch below my knee. My trusty Converse are like wearing slippers—it feels good to have them back on my feet.
They’d been taken off me when I arrived here as girls shouldn’t wear casual shoes according to my father.
Heels and feminine wear at all times. I’d been surprised to see them in my mother’s hand, but I wasn’t going to argue.
After running the brush through my hair, I apply a light layer of makeup then head down for breakfast.
My mother is standing at the stove stirring something. “It’s cold outside,” she says. “I’ve made us some porridge.” My lips automatically contort at the thought. I remember my mother’s porridge, so thick you could stand on it. “Don’t screw up your face,” she scolds. “You need your energy for today.”
“Mother, it’s an ultrasound. We’ll get driven there and back. Father will probably insist I’m handcuffed to one of his goons during the whole fucking process,” I reply, sounding like the petulant teenager she accused me of being earlier.
“Language,” she says sharply, tapping the edge of the pot with her wooden spoon then lifting it to point at me. “The rules in this house haven’t changed, Violet Chase. Ladies do not use bad language under my roof.”
“But boys can swear like fucking Mick Jagger,” I mutter.
“Violet,” my father’s booming voice bellows, “you heard your mother. Watch your language.”
His next words are quieter, but anger is clear in his tone.
“It’s nice of you to grace us with your presence. I was beginning to think you didn’t want to be here.”
He’s behind me, but I haven’t turned around to look at him yet.
The sight of him may make me laugh, cry, or explode.
I’m not sure which response would be best.
So I stay focused on my mother, the woman who I think is on my side—but I can’t be sure.
“Turn around and look at me, you ungrateful little bitch,” he growls. I swallow and straighten my back, then turn around.
“Good morning, Father,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
“It’s hormones,” my mother says. “Edward, you remember what I was like when I was pregnant. One minute as happy as a lark and the next sobbing into my pillow.”
His lips quip into a sly smile. “Yes, but you weren’t defiant. This one is, and she needs to learn to toe the line, as all women should. She’s not even asked how her future husband is after being shot.”
He looks from me to my mother and back to me.
“He will be fine and should be able to return to your bed this evening, you’ll be pleased to know. When you return from this ultrasound, you’ll be moving into the guest quarters with Aiden. He will update you then on the arrangements for your return to Chicago.”
He snickers. “Hopefully without any interruptions or near-death experiences.”
I go to speak, but my mother interrupts me.
“Perfect,” she sings, clapping her hands together.
A burning smell starts to emanate from the pot of gunk in front of her, and my stomach twists.
“Once we have eaten, Violet, we will go up to your room and move your things to the guest room.”
I glance at her, and she beams in reply.
“You will be so excited to have him back with you after these challenging few months. Just think, thanks to Aiden’s ongoing love and your father’s patience, you will get your happy ever after.”
I turn fully this time and gawk at her, not knowing what to say.
The scenario playing out couldn’t be any fucking further from happily ever after if it tried.
“Listen to your mother,” my father snaps. “She knows what’s best for you. She is the epitome of a wife for a man like me. You should try to do the same for Aiden. Accept the outcome and mold yourself into the best version of what is required.” Without another word, he turns and leaves.
My mother scoops a ladle of porridge into a bowl and hands it to me across the counter with a spoon. I move to sit on a stool. “Eat,” she encourages, then glances up as if checking for onlookers. “Everything will be all right, my daughter. Trust me.”
***
The dark Range Rover sits on the perfectly paved driveway waiting for us.
The windows are black so no one can see in.
A man dressed in a trademark black suit with a white shirt and wearing an earpiece opens the door for me to step into the back seat.
Another man, dressed the same, sits in the driver’s seat.
My mother slides in beside me and smiles.
She takes my hand in hers as the first man gets into the passenger seat.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he says to my mother.
“Good morning, Jonathan,” she replies kindly. “Do you know where the clinic is?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mason will drop us at the front entrance. I will escort you inside then return to the front door to wait,” he says. “Then once you’re both ready to leave, you can message me to come inside and get you.”
“That’s perfect, Jonathan. Thank you. I appreciate you gaining clearance not to come into the facility. There will be other ladies there, and I felt you both would not be a suitable presence in the waiting room.”
He laughs, his whole body vibrating slightly.
“A few babies might be born early with a glance at the two of you.” She raises an eyebrow at him and winks.
“Understood, ma’am,” he says. I look at my mother, and she grins. Her familiarity with the staff is surprising—especially the jovial nature of her comments. My father never speaks to his employees with anything but professionalism and disdain.
The privacy screen rises between us and the men up front.
“Are you excited?” she asks me, squeezing my fingers. “You get to see your baby. Do you want to find out the sex?”
“I’ve had an ultrasound before,” I say. “I think this is all an overreaction.”
“Nonsense.” She waves my comment away. “The sex?” she prompts.
“No, I don’t want to know. At the least that will be one thing in my life not planned for me. That will be a surprise on the day I meet them, whether I’m imprisoned with a son or a daughter.”
I sigh, air passing gently between my lips.
“The poor little mite has no idea what they are being born into. A family which isn’t real with a mother who doesn’t want to be there.”