Chapter 14 #4
“Why do you assume a sister and not a boyfriend?” I said indignantly.
“I know you don’t have a boyfriend. I had my security check before you moved in, and—” He looked away, filtering himself.
“And what?” I practically snarled. I couldn’t believe he did a deep dive into my life. A criminal background check was one thing, but prodding into my personal life was another. My privacy felt invaded, and I hated it. What business was it of his?
“And it looks like an heirloom, valuable. Any boyfriend worth a shit, bothering to give you jewelry of value, wouldn’t sit back and let you get hurt by anyone, even your family.
” His eyes flickered with his words. He closed the locket and leaned back in his chair, spreading his muscular legs out comfortably.
This man didn’t give a shit about anything.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to talk about me and my family anymore. “A security check doesn’t tell if someone has a boyfriend or not,” I snapped, suddenly feeling filleted open, exposed—my worst fear.
In his relaxed, almost reclined position, I felt him slowly appraising me with his dark gaze. “My security checks do.”
I felt my face redden under the heat of his stare.
“I meant to tell you: I have a book my mother kept where she made notes of the flowers she wanted and similar. I think there are original designs for the garden in there as well if you would be interested in taking a look. I know you aren’t planting anything yet, still prepping, but it might help if you are trying to keep the original feel.
Personally, I don’t care if you burn it to the ground.
” He straightened, opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a checkbook.
He grabbed a pen and scribbled a few things on the top check before ripping it free and tucking it into the card on the desk—their homemade printer-paper, dry-erase-marker anniversary card.
I shook myself and focused on what was most important. “That notebook would be amazing. I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy. You can just tell me where it is, and I can get it.” Maybe I could look around under the guise of finding the notebook.
“No. I don’t like people wandering where they don’t belong. I’ll get it.”
Nervously, my eyes shot away from his, and I inadvertently glanced at the check made out to Katya and choked mid-swallow. “Holy shit.” I slapped my palm over my mouth.
“I agree, monetary gifts are classless and unthoughtful. I would have had my butler go out and choose a lovely present for the happy couple. However, my butler is one half of that couple, so hopefully a check will suffice,” he said.
“You made it out to Katya? Not Sowerby?” I asked.
“Yes, I thoroughly understand Katya not telling me about their relationship; she is private and doesn’t like to share personal details, which I respect, but Evil Alfred should have told me and must be punished by any means necessary for not having done so.
” The twinkle was back in his eyes. “Unfortunately, it won’t faze him; the man has more money than me at this point.
” He smiled thoughtfully as if he was thinking about a certain moment between the two of them.
Sowerby had more money than him? Even as an exaggeration, that was a lot of money… How had a butler gotten so much money?
This was finally my chance.
“How long have you known Sowerby?” I asked lightly.
His eyes locked with mine, and for a second, I started to panic. Asking Jasper anything personal felt like lying down in front of him and asking him to gut me with a rusty hunting knife. It was like he could sense I was fishing for details about his family, digging where I shouldn’t be.
All humor left his face, and I knew he wasn’t going to give me anything; his walls were up and formidable.
In the ongoing silence, goose bumps tickled the back of my neck—a feeling of warning.
I cleared my throat. “I should get to the conservatory. Would you give the card to them when they return?” I said and stood to leave, dreading going to work.
It felt so nice on my tired body to sit for a bit and not be irritating my sore muscles.
“I’ve always known Sowerby.” His words cracked through the silent room like a whip. I felt them on my skin.
I stopped and turned back around to look at him. His brown eyes looked so full of pain and suffering that I wanted to run from the room. It was unsettling to see the broody, coldhearted man I had come to know a little in this state of visible emotional pain.
“He worked here before I was born. He used to work in the gardens. When my mother was really into collecting rare plants, Sowerby was the only one she trusted enough to care for them. He was the one who convinced my father to enclose the gardens and build the conservatory around them so my mother could do what she loved all year long.” His tone was foreign, wistful, and quiet.
Almost as if he were a little boy again—except there was a note of bitterness underneath that didn’t quite match.
But that all explained the picture of Hester and Darius outside and why the layout of the beds was almost exactly the same.
Jasper had cracked open a door in his walls and was timidly letting me in. But inside the walls seemed far more dangerous than where I currently was.
I sat back down with the same trepidation I would’ve had if I were attempting to make friends with a bear. What was I doing?
“Sowerby worked in the gardens with your mother?” I asked softly, not wanting to push; the fear of being bitten loomed.
“Yeah. I guess they were pretty close. I don’t remember him back then, though; I don’t know that we ever spoke.
To this day, he refuses to utter a bad word about her, only speaks about my father,” he grumbled, then shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter. I say enough disparaging comments for the both of us.
” He glanced at me, and I could tell he was gauging my response, calculating if he should continue.
I looked back at the man sitting next to me as he pretended to be dismissive and uncaring, but I had seen how much he cared for his staff members and how he was willing to blow a business deal for me. He wasn’t as untouchable as he wanted to be.
There was no possible way he killed Hester Blackwood—at least certainly not on purpose. I just couldn’t possibly believe it. It was clear he loved deeply and was loyal as could be by the way he and Sowerby acted. There was no way he was a psychotic, unfeeling killer.
Something told me he was as broken inside as Hester’s ghost looked on the outside. I scooted my chair closer, removing the inches between us, taking a small, nervous breath as I reached out and set my hand on Jasper’s leg in an act of comfort—all while praying the bear wouldn’t maul me.
“Why do you hate them?” I whispered it, but it felt like my voice echoed through the intimate moment.
Jasper’s eyes shot to mine with the force of a slap to the face.
I recoiled, removing my hand. I leaned back, grabbed the maroon leather padded arm of my chair, and scooted several inches to the left, giving him some space.
His brown gaze remained sharply on me as his head canted slightly, taking in my actions. It was eerie how much attention he paid to small details.
Every instinct in my body urged me to move farther away, to make a joke and leave his space quickly, to get out while I still could.
It was foolish to think that of all the people who had ever been in Jasper’s life, I would be the one he would talk freely to.
A wave of embarrassment seemed to swallow me at my overinflated sense of value in Jasper’s world—in everyone’s world.
I knew the score—no one really needed me. Hester truly was the only soul in existence to have ever been desperate enough to believe me capable of helping them.
The thought of Hester anchored me to my seat. I pulled my knees up to my chest, winding my arms around them, refusing to leave because of Jasper’s intimidation. He, no doubt, scared away everyone who threatened to get too close.
Silence tensed in the air, and I realized how much I actually wanted to be let inside—not just for answers to the questions I had, but because he and I were so much more alike than I had ever realized.
Regardless of the causes, we were both broken, and as badly as I wanted to be whole again, I wanted that for him too.
If fifteen-year-old Jasper had actually killed his parents, he’d had over two decades to change and live with the regret of it.
His mouth had opened slightly when I removed my hand, but it closed decidedly as he reached out and grabbed the arm of my chair, pulling it back to where it had been, next to him.
Startled, my eyes widened.
“My father’s company began to fail,” he said, softer than I’d ever heard him speak. A low bass note betrayed his imposing exterior with the rough edge of unvoiced pain.
I felt the empathy quiver inside my chest. It reminded me of my sister when we were young and she got the brunt of the punishments, too stubborn to surrender to my parents’ will.
Inside the door of his fortress, I sat in my chair and quietly listened.