21. Killian
KILLIAN
The conversation with Brandon takes longer than I’d like, and by the time it’s done, I’ve found the ring box I stashed at the bottom of my suitcase. Ready. Then I’m impatient for Avery to be back. Not having her near is unbearable now. Business calls would be much better if she were by my side.
And overnight, I made a decision. No more. Avery is mine, and there’s no one else for me. I can’t bear another minute without her. As soon as I’ve hung up, I’m walking out, heading for the rooms allocated to Avery and the others.
I bang on her door, and a trickle of unease goes through me when she doesn’t answer. Then I open it, and… No suitcase. It’s quiet. The bed is untouched since she spent the night with me.
My brow furrows and dread drips down my back. This doesn’t make sense, unless she brought everything to my rooms, and somehow we missed each other?
It doesn’t seem likely, and my heart rises up my throat as I stride back to my suite on the other side of the house.
I fling open the door, and my spine freezes. No sign that she’s been here except the rumpled sheets on the bed we shared.
Suspicion and fury dance at the edge of my vision. Fear like I’ve never felt, because where is she?
Her absence has crystallised what I already knew. Anyone who gets between us is dead. I’m moving without thinking, and I find my parents and the other women in the competition in the kitchen, sitting around the table.
No Avery.
And one look at my mam’s face, and I know.
“Where is she?” It’s a roar that comes from below my heart. Black fire clouds my vision.
The girls cringe.
My mother’s lips flatten. “She broke the rules, and has forfeited her place.”
Anger flares like a volcano exploding. “Bring her back. Now.”
“She was never suitable, and showed herself today. No contact outside of the competition dates, and she was with you far after the allotted time. I’ve sent her home.”
My anger has me itching for a gun, but I stride for the door. I’m going to get my girl.
“Where are you going?” My mother is just behind me. “Your date with Katy is today.”
“That’s enough,” I growl without stopping, and anger hardens in my gut. To spend the day—never mind the night—with anyone else is unthinkable.
The woman I love thinks I don’t want her. And I’ll move heaven and earth to make her understand that nothing could be further from the truth.
The rational part of my mind knows that I should wring out of my mother who’s driving Avery, call her, do anything. Call ahead and stop the flight. But everything would take too long.
My mother’s voice goes to stone as I stride to the garage. “You committed to do this entire competition and marry the woman who won.” She runs and slips in front of me as I reach for the door. “You promised. And that has to be the legitimate winner.”
“Do not get in my way.” My voice might be low now, but fear flashes in my mother’s face.
All I can see is Avery. I have to get to her before she leaves, not knowing what she means to me.
Or worse still, if she does something dramatic and disappears.
I don’t want the weeks of searching the country.
I remember all the agony Mortlake went through when his girl left him, and I’m not letting that happen.
“All this for that little nobody?” My mother makes a dismissive gesture.
“Do not talk about my future wife like that,” I grit out.
And my mam, she fecking smiles.
“I apologise.” She slides a ring box out of her pocket and holds it out for me. “Kill.” I barely register that she’s used my nickname. “Open it.”
Warily, I take small leather box from her and flick it open. There, nestled in a satin pillow, is an obscenely large diamond ring. It’s extreme. It’s vulgar.
I’ve seen my mother wear this ring to hundreds of events over the years. It’s a statement of power, and for decades she wielded it as the queen of Archway to my father’s king.
“I always preferred this one.” She holds up her hand and shows the modest engagement ring and gold band that she wears day to day. “That’s a complete liability.”
“I don’t understand.” She sent Avery away, and now she’s giving me the family ring to give to her? She’s done a one-eighty. Talk about fecking mixed signals. My brows lower. “But I thought—”
“That I hated her and disapproved?” My mother flicks her long curls over her shoulder.
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
She tilts her chin up. “I wanted you to fight for her.”
I swear, and push past. I have my bride to catch.