Chapter 10
After ten months in this tower, I’ve learned to read a loaded silence like a second language.
Leaving Hugo standing near the door, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else, I face down the rest of them as toxic energy buzzes between us.
Despite my demand for an explanation, no one offers one.
It would be a moot point anyway, because the guilt on their faces is answer enough.
There’s no hiding the fact that they were in here, deciding my future without stopping once to consider that I might want a say. That I should have a say.
And that stokes my anger hotter than any explanation could.
“Funny,” I snap, arms crossed, “a second ago, you all had so much to talk about.”
“Calm down.” Landon raises a conciliatory hand. “If you’ll just listen—”
“You told him, didn’t you?” I jab a finger toward Oliver, who looms in front of the window like a well-dressed silhouette.
My brother nods, and it drives me insane to watch him lean against the desk, ankles crossed as if we’re shooting the breeze on a Sunday morning.
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
I suspected as much, but suspecting and knowing are two separate things. I round on Oliver. “And now you want something, is that right?”
“I want you, Novalee. Every month.”
“In your kinky room?” I invade his personal space, arching my neck to glare into his eyes, but I’m unprepared for the glint of yearning I find there. The memory of what went on behind that locked door burns between us. “Is that where you want me, Oliver?”
He quirks a knowing smile. “It’s where you want to be, sweetheart.”
Fury has me by the throat. Still, the pull toward him leaks through, a traitorous need in rebellious places I can’t help but despise. His gaze drops to my mouth, and then I’m back in that hallway, replaying the way he kissed me.
Like a starved man staking his claim.
Oliver straightens to his full height, yanking my mind out of forbidden territory.
What just happened?
My gaze tears from his and finds Liam. Even though he’s staring at his shoes, I know the color of his anguish, the way it leaches the warmth from the umber of his eyes.
He’s as unable to face the truth as I am.
“Hello!” Ford’s voice cuts through the tension from the other room. “Anyone home?”
Loud footsteps follow, and then he and Vance fill the doorway. Ford takes one glance at Liam’s stiff posture, sensing the live wire about to spark, and that lazy grin slides across his face anyway. “Looks like we’re late to the party. Someone forget to send the invites?”
“Sitting room. All of you,” Liam says, slipping back into his natural role as chancellor.
He herds us out of his office. I’m the last to move, my feet heavy at the threshold as his hand presses against the small of my back, setting my teeth on edge. I keep my expression blank anyway, pouring ice over the fire raging inside me as I steel myself for battle.
The sitting room wraps us in marble and gray winter light. Arched windows face the cliffs where the sea gnaws at the rock face below. Hugo wanders to the glass and stares out at a slate sky heavy with the threat of snow.
His quiet is disquieting.
I have no clue what he’s thinking.
Did he catch on to the loaded questions tossed around back there? Questions that I’m only now realizing might pique his curiosity.
Landon pours himself a drink at the sideboard. “Anyone else want one?”
“It’s not even noon.” Ford flops onto the leather lounge and flings an arm across the back. “I mean, not an issue for me, but what will your wife think, Astor?”
“Shut it, Stryker.” Landon thrusts a glass into Ford’s hand before claiming the spot next to him. There’s something obscene about watching my own brother settle in with a bourbon while he casually decides my life.
Vance takes one of the armchairs while Oliver joins Hugo at the windows.
“Maybe you should take a seat, my sweet girl.” Liam clutches the back of the remaining chair.
“I’ll stand, thank you.”
Silence descends for only a moment before Landon picks the conversation back up. “The issue is, we’re short a vote, and Oliver is the only one who can fill that gap.”
“But not without something in return.” Liam folds his arms. “Isn’t that right?”
My brother lowers his attention to his drink. “I guess it’s a good thing he wants something, then.”
“You all talk about me, planning my life as if I’m not in this very room with you.” I level a hard stare at each of them. “I’m tired of this bullshit.”
Vance props his chin on a fist, a hint of pride glinting in his eyes.
“If we didn’t want you involved in the discussion,” Landon says, “we wouldn’t have asked Hugo to bring you along.”
“See? That’s the problem!” My voice erupts, echoing off the walls. “You think of me as a tagalong. I’m not a fucking tagalong. I’m a human being, Landon, and I should have a say over my own life.”
“Then have your say.”
“There has to be someone else in this tower—”
“There’s no one else. You already know this.”
“What about Miles? He wants nothing to do with me. Perfect. So find something he does want.”
“That’s not happening,” Liam cuts in. “He’s not getting anywhere close to this, or to you.”
“Fine.” My voice climbs. “Then don’t rig it at all. Let’s just end this.”
Sebastian will make it back in time. He has to.
“You could do that.” Oliver turns away from the view of the rough sea. “Though I imagine the legacy members would be fascinated to hear what’s been planned by all of you.”
Is he bluffing? His eyes give nothing away, and that’s the trouble with Oliver—I can never be sure of the lines he’s willing to cross.
“Then tell them.” I throw my arms wide. “Maybe the legacy members will want to fuck me too.”
Landon chokes on his drink. Liam goes pale. Ford loses a fight with a grin, and Vance…
Well, he seems impressed.
But it’s Hugo who speaks up. “No one is telling anyone anything, Novalee.” He actually glares at Oliver, which stuns me. “I know you don’t want to hurt her like that.”
“He’s right, I don’t.” Oliver closes the space between us. “So stop being dramatic. Everyone here can see what’s between us. If I can accept it, so can you. We’re all adults, so what are you so afraid of?”
My eyes burn hot. I can barely acknowledge it to myself, let alone say it out loud. “Don’t make me do this.”
He swallows hard, never breaking eye contact. “We need a moment alone, gentlemen.”
“Out of the question.” Liam lets go of the chair and takes to pacing.
“It’s not your call.” My words stop him mid-stride. “It’s Hugo’s.”
“Actually,” Hugo says, shaking his head, “it’s your choice, my queen.”
What a foreign concept, a decision that belongs to me.
So foreign that I’m not prepared for it. But God help me, as reckless as it seems, I’d rather face Oliver without an audience.
Because he’s right—they all see it. I’m not hiding a damn thing.
“Five minutes alone,” I say, then pull in a deep breath. “That’s it.”
Liam rounds on my brother, objection at the ready, but Landon heads him off.
“Let them have a moment. She’s a big girl, Chancellor.”
Oliver tilts his head toward the hall, and I slip past him without a word, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. The relief of leaving that crowded room hits me immediately, though it’s short-lived.
As the door to Liam’s office clicks shut, sealing us in the quiet gloom, the air pulls close, too intimate now that it’s just the two of us.
Every instinct screams at me to bolt back to the others, but I made this choice, and now I have to see it through.
“I’ll ask again,” Oliver says, leaning against the desk. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” If only that sounded convincing.
“You’re a bad liar, sweetheart.” His voice is low, stripped of its usual teasing edge. “I have the files Landon needs to bury Jerome for good. I have the vote you need so you can marry Liam. Isn’t that what you want?”
“It’s not that simple.” I press my lips together, avoiding his gaze, and the mahogany bookshelves blur in my vision.
“Then let me make it simple. I know you want to see justice for your friend. I want that, too.” He pushes off the desk, and the space between us shrinks, sizzling with this thing that won’t quit. “We have something, Novalee. You can’t deny you enjoyed your time with me. So what’s holding you back?”
The truth winds around my neck, making it impossible to speak.
“Are you worried about upsetting Liam?”
My fingernails bite into my palms.
He sighs. “Is it Sebastian?”
For a wild second, I think he knows—that he’s seen straight through me since the morning after Sebastian came and went at the Davenport Estate.
Instead of calling me out, he softens his expression. “Losing someone like that, it takes time. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we have to move on. He wouldn’t want you living your life for the ghost of him.”
The savage irony of it makes my head spin. I have to suck in a breath to keep from laughing, or maybe sobbing.
Sebastian isn’t a ghost.
He’s alive, trying to get home, and I’m standing here letting Oliver Whitney believe he’s comforting me.
And I’m protesting too much. If I keep fighting his terms, pretending the idea of spending time with him is some unspeakable punishment, he’ll start digging.
Elise’s face flashes in my mind. Her tears in front of that baby boutique, the shame she carries because of Jerome.
My guilt can’t decide this—not when it leaves her in the crosshairs.
Giving Oliver what he wants protects her.
It protects Sebastian.
My resistance deflates, leaving me cold and hollow.
Oliver registers the change, and something in his posture shifts. He knows he has me.
There’s no point dragging it out. “What are your terms?”
“One weekend a month.”
“In your house?”
“Yes.” A hint of a satisfied smile tugs at his lips. “The locked room is optional. You will always have a say with me, Novalee.”
“But I don’t. Not really, right?”
“You do. It’s just not what you want to hear.” He steps into me, one palm on my cheek. “Do we have a deal?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “We have a deal.”