Chapter 18 Ransom
Ransom
Aksel’s fist connects with my face before I’ve finished the sentence.
“Ember and I dated five years ago. We broke up but now we’re going to get back—"
It’s not a wild swing—it’s practiced, precise, and thrown by someone who doesn’t lose his temper often but means it when he does.
Instantly, pain blooms across my cheekbone.
I stagger back, catching myself on the edge of the table.
The dining room goes dead silent except for the sharp clatter of my glass of water hitting the floor.
I raise a hand, breathing hard, one eye already beginning to swell. “I deserved that.”
“You deserve another,” Aksel growls, winding up again.
I block the second punch. “Okay. That’s enough.”
“Enough?” Freja snaps, standing now, too. “After what Ember heard you say?”
“What did she hear?” Aksel demands.
Margot, serene in a cashmere set, holding a glass of wine, says mildly, “If you two start brawling near my antique Delftware, I will ground you.”
Jean clears his throat and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. “Let’s all sit down before this becomes a full-blown duel at dawn. Mon dieu.”
I caught the Rousseaus right after brunch.
Calypso left early, and thanks to Racquel, who helped her leave, I didn’t have to be there. Calypso did ask for me, but Racquel told her that I was busy.
Since I blocked her number, I don’t know if she’s tried to reach out—and I don’t care if she has. Hurting Ember on purpose was the last straw.
You hurt her, not Calypso. She just handed you the match, you’re the one who lit it, moron.
I wanted her gone before we did presents. The kids were up early, opening their gifts with wide eyes. Ember didn’t join because she wasn’t well, and since that message came from Freja, no one thought twice about it.
Jean wanted to check on her, but Freja assured him Ember was sleeping.
Every time Ember’s name came up, she glared at me.
Finally, when it was just Jean, Margot, Aksel, and Freja, I decided to spill the beans, knowing fully well that Aksel, as the protective brother, would lose his shit.
He did.
At least nothing is broken, I think, as I tentatively touch my cheekbone to test my hypothesis.
“She was twenty-five then, you son of a bitch.” Aksel is in no mood to calm down. And then realization dawns. “She’s the young woman you broke up with. Isn’t she? The one you were in love with?”
I drop into the nearest chair, cradling my cheekbone, my pride in shreds.
“Well, at least Calypso is gone.” Freja takes the chair next to mine.
Aksel shakes his head. “I’ve been wondering what the fuck has been going on. Ember looks like death warmed over, and…how could you bring Calypso with you when you know how Ember feels?”
I sigh. “You said Ember wouldn’t be here.”
Margot grabs a walnut from a bowl that’s holding a variety of nuts at the center of the dining table, and throws it at me. “That’s your dumb excuse?”
It hits my chest. I catch it.
“I didn’t like her,” Jean admits.
Margot gives a satisfied hum. “Couldn’t stand that woman. Always posing like she’s on a red carpet, handing out unsolicited skincare advice. She once told me I was using too much serum—like that’s even possible.”
Jean nods slowly in agreement and then looks at me. “So…you’re not marrying her?”
I groan and rub my face. “Was never marrying her. She—”
“Is nuts,” Aksel finishes for me.
I glance up at him. His arms are crossed, jaw tight with fury.
“Now, you son of a bitch,” he growls, “you owe us some answers. First of all, why the hell is my baby sister sick on Christmas Day?”
Okay, so there’s a good chance not only Aksel but Jean would also beat the hell out of me, and I’d deserve it when they got all the details.
I tell them…everything.
Margot puts a hand to her heart. “My Ember is not dull or mousy.”
“And she’s not immature. Has more maturity than these two.” Jean waves a hand toward his older children.
“That is true,” Freja agrees. “Also, if you were looking for maturity, what the fuck were you doing with Calypso? Did she give good head?”
I send her a flat, unimpressed stare. “Not this again.”
Aksel sits down on my left side. The siblings are flanking me. Preventing my escape? Not needed. I’m done running.
“So why exactly are you telling us about something that happened five years ago—regardless of how poorly you behaved—that’s upset my lovely Ember?” Jean picks up a hazelnut and cracks it with a nutcracker.
He’s subtle as a fucking chainsaw…or nutcracker.
“I…I just…I’m in love with Ember.”
Before Aksel can hit me again, I deflect. “Cut it out. If we go hand-to-hand I’ll kick your ass.”
Aksel puffs up. “You can try, you—”
“He’s right, and you know it,” Margot admonishes, cutting her son off. “You fenced in college, and he boxed.”
“He has a mean right hook,” Jean adds, and crushes another nut.
Ouch!
“You hurt my baby.” Margot shakes her head in dismay. “She’s such a happy, bright woman and…. You know, Ransom, when I tell your mother about this, she’s going to cause you physical pain.”
Ember is a favorite of my parents. They adore her. On the other hand, if I can convince Em to give my sorry old ass a chance, then my mother and father can have her as a daughter-in-law, which will give me brownie points for life.
I nod, swallowing hard. “I’m going to fix it.”
“Oh, with what? A magic wand? Or your talented dick?” Freja barks.
“Please!” Aksel protests. “I don’t need that image in my head. My best friend and my baby sister. Fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
I give him an exasperated look. “How much time do you have?”
“She cried half the night,” Freja says softly.
That hurts like a motherfucker. I…can’t stand the idea of her in pain. I never liked it. Even five years ago, I…damn it.
How could I have fucked up the best thing that happened to me, not once but twice?
“She doesn’t break easy, but once she does….” Margot shakes her head. “Freja, are we supposed to know about her and Ransom?”
“Yes,” I say before Freja can say a thing. “Not hiding us.”
“There is no us, asshole.” Aksel gives me a withering look.
“There will be,” I say with more confidence than I feel. About 90% more confidence than I feel. Maybe 99%?
“She won’t take you back.” Aksel taps his fingers on the table. “And I wouldn’t let her if you aren’t serious.”
“He’s serious.” Margot gives me a measured look. “Wouldn’t tell us if he wasn’t.”
Bob and Tanya walk in, laughing, their cheeks flushed from the cold. They’ve clearly just returned from a brisk walk—Tanya’s scarf is askew, and what’s left of Bob’s hair is windblown.
They take one look at the somber room.
“Who died?” Tanya asks, scanning our faces.
“Ember and Ransom had a thing five years ago,” Margot says breezily.
Tanya arches an eyebrow. “And how did you manage to screw that up, Ransom?”
That gets my back up, even if she is right. “Why do you assume I’m the one who screwed it up?”
“Because my niece is perfect,” she replies, without missing a beat.
“You said she needed LASIK,” I shoot back.
Bob strolls up to me, his expression darkening. “You hurt her, and I guarantee no one will ever find your body.”
“He already did,” Freja chimes in sweetly from across the room. “That bruise on his cheek? Aksel gave him that.”
“Proud of you, son.” With a grin, Bob claps Aksel on the shoulder.
Tanya sinks onto a chair beside her sister, and takes a sip of Margot’s wine. “Poor girl. No wonder she kept looking away whenever that awful woman was around.”
“Did any of you even like Calypso?” I ask, suddenly curious.
A chorus of “No” erupts in perfect unison.
Right. Perfect. That makes me the biggest idiot of all. Everyone else saw her for what she was. But Mr. Brilliant Neurosurgeon needed to be hit with a sledgehammer of crazy before he finally noticed.
I look at Ember’s family, the people who love her.
“I’m going to win her back. I’m going to do it with or without your blessing. And then I’m going to marry her.”
There. Done.
I see movement on Aksel’s side. “Don’t even think about it,” I warn.
Aksel scowls. “I’ll tell Latika what you did—she’ll kick you in the shins, and since you can’t hit her…”
“No violence,” Margot calls out, hands raised in mock alarm.
“Look, Ransom, nothing would make me happier than you and Ember finding your way back to each other. You’ve always been perfect for one another—at least that’s what your mother and I thought.
But you are so much older, and frankly, you have terrible taste in women, so we both agreed that maybe it’s better if Ember finds someone… better.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, then shut up. She isn’t wrong. I do have terrible taste in women. The only exception—the one thing that redeems me on that front—is Ember.
“So, you’re not asking us for permission to court our Ember?” Bob tilts his head, his tone thoughtful.
“No. Just…informing you.”
“My money is not on you,” Freja declares.
“Neither is mine,” Aksel mutters.
“I’ve got until New Year’s.” I clench my jaw. “I will make this right with her.”
Jean mutters, “Alors, a deadline. I don’t think a woman finds that sort of thing particularly romantic.”
“I love her,” I insist. “I have to show it to her, prove it. I’ve got—what?—six days?”
“Six days,” Margot echoes, a glint in her eye. “I suggest you get creative, mon cher. Rousseau women don’t make it easy.”
Freja narrows her eyes. “You’ll have to earn every inch.”
“I will,” I vow. “Whatever it takes.”
Aksel sighs and murmurs, “Dumbass,” which is his way of saying if I do get Ember back, he’ll be okay with it, and he won’t break my nose or any other bones in my body.
How fucking generous!
Jean gestures at my face. “You should put ice on that.”
“I will.”
“And maybe write a speech,” Freja adds dryly. “You know, so you don’t go off script and say something dumb like she’s inexperienced.”
I exhale sharply, eyes flicking upward. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Absolutely not! We’ll continue to remind you when you have children,” Tanya assures, and then adds with a wink, “on the other hand…the fact that I think you could have children with….” She grins, her expression softening with sympathy. “I’m on your side, Ransom. I think you can make her happy.”
“And if you don’t…”—Bob leans in, dropping his voice—“let’s just say…you’ll find yourself very uncomfortable, capisce?” He tries for full-on Italian mob boss and lands somewhere between The Godfather and a pizza commercial.
“Capisce,” I agree.