Chapter 24
Mr. Killington blinked.
I’d had enough. He could discount my work all he wanted. I knew my worth. But I wouldn’t stand for him bullying Oliver.
“In your boardroom, you get to torment your employees. But not here, and not him. Oliver is your family. All your grandchildren have been through hell. And here you are pitting them against each other, caring more about your company than their well-being.
“Have you even considered where we are? Their family vacation home. A place filled with memories of their parents that I did my best to preserve. Not for you. For him. For what he felt like he lost because you have the emotional capacity of a cabbage.”
Oliver coughed.
Right.I attempted to rein in my anger. “He has been working on the house this entire time. He’s invested in it, searching for something he enjoys as much as football. And while it’s wild, how bad he is at things …”
“That’s not exactly helpful, Petal,” Oliver muttered.
“The point is—” I spoke louder, blushing. I had never done this before, and realized I was rambling. “The point is, he’s trying and that should be enough, should be more than enough. You should want him to be happy and healthy. That’s all I care about.”
I shoved my chair backward, and Oliver stood with me, not hesitating as we walked out of the dining room, neither of us glancing back.
His hand wrapped around mine, hauling me into a side room.
My body trembled. “Crap, that was so dumb. I’m so sorry, but I could not sit there and let him berate you any longer.”
“That was …” He brought our hands to rest on his chest, where his heart was thumping in time with mine. “That was amazing. No one’s ever done something like that for me before. Petal, I—”
The door banged open, and I spun around. His twin sisters had waltzed in, both women effortlessly glamorous.
“Well, that was thrilling.” Remy gave me a slow clap.
Grace’s expression remained flat. “I’m jealous. Been wanting to tell him off for a while. I’m positive he’s about to screw me out of this deal with Japan I’ve been working on for months.” Grace passed me a flute of champagne, offering me a nod. Maybe not of approval, but of respect.
I attempted to take a discreet step away from their brother. In all our discussions, we hadn’t brought up what we were going to share with his family, or his sisters at least.
“We could plan a kidnapping.” Remy batted her eyes at us, ignoring the horror on our faces. “A small kidnapping. It’ll be like white-collar prison. Trap him in a hotel suite somewhere.”
“Why would we do that?” Oliver inquired. I pressed the flute to my lips, attempting a passive expression. Everything I’d learned about his family had always seemed exaggerated, but now I wasn’t so sure.
“Well, consider how high the ransom could be. He won’t listen to reason voluntarily. So, a kidnapping is the obvious answer.” Remy shrugged as if to say “duh.”
“Listen, the only reason any of us will ever go to jail is for money laundering or insider trading,” Grace promised. I had thought Carter was a lot, but this family continued to baffle me.
“I’m just saying kidnapping is becoming very popular again for reasons.” Remy tapped her forehead, but it still made no sense to me.
I glanced at Oliver; he offered me an eyebrow raise and a wink.
“Ah, yes, the well-known tripanow method,” Oliver said with a straight face.
“Oh, of course, the tripanow method. Works every time.” If you can’t understand them, join in the foolishness with your own fake kidnapping method.
“Noted in all the best kidnapping blogs.” We were going to have to work on his improv.
Remy and Grace stared at us with matching smiles.
“This is an interesting development,” Grace murmured. “I’m dying to know—”
“Oh well, let her die then.” Remy interrupted, her eyes twinkled with mischief.
Grace released an exasperated breath. “Honestly, what is wrong with you?”
“What isn’t wrong with me?” Remy offered. “But also, what is your fiancé doing?” Remy pointed through the partially open door to the ballroom where Tim/Jim did some sort of dance that involved waving his arms around, and not in time with the music.
“As I was trying to say, I am dying to know if you are the reason our brother appears almost”—Grace peered at her brother, examining him—“almost … happy?” Grace frowned.
I had nothing to say to his sisters about how I was or was not making their brother, uh, happy. I stepped further back, ready for the evening to be over, overwhelmed by the Killingtons and their drama.
“Come on, Ollie. Billions of dollars, power, and the family’s legacy? I don’t even have to think about it. Cousin Carter was right, who wouldn’t want that? There’s a reason Grandfather’s able to have all three of us battling over it—because we all want it.” Grace’s shrug said it all. They truly couldn’t comprehend why Oliver would refuse their grandfather’s proposal.
“I’ve seen him try to paint trim. Trust me, Oliver is not fighting for it.” It was hard not to laugh at the adorable way he had bitten on his lip, concentrating. I had let him do whatever he wanted to me in exchange for giving me back the paintbrush. I had no regrets.
“Are you banging our brother?” Remy tipped her chin at me.
“Maybe we could go back to discussing kidnapping?” I suggested.
“Oliver, are you in love with her?” Grace asked.
“Man locks himself away for almost a decade and still finds love. And all you get is the suck-up. Oh, Grace.” Remy snickered, shaking her head. I had to agree with Remy. There was someone for everyone, but I struggled to understand what bold, stubborn Grace saw in Tim/Jim, a man so boring I still couldn’t recall his name.
“Doug is—”
Doug.I wasn’t even close. Man looked like a Tim/Jim though.
“How did he propose?” Oliver asked instead, and I was so thankful for him offering a distraction, I could kiss him. Except I couldn’t. Because we were professionals, and this was a professional event. Tuxes should be outlawed, the way they highlighted all my favorite parts of him.
“He—”
“It is an amazing story.” Remy clapped with glee. “Let me tell you. It involves a yacht, the Coast Guard, smugglers, a turtle, and strangest of all”—how could it get stranger—“no drugs were involved.”
“We’ve been telling people he proposed during a family vacation. But thank you, Remy.” Grace tossed back her champagne before smoothing her hair.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve done with at least half the people in that ballroom. Guaranteed, they were illegal in parts of the world, probably illegal in parts of this country.” Remy shrugged.
“I’m sure you must see something special in him,” I said. “I hope you two are very happy together.” I wasn’t sure I believed it, but hey, to each their own.
“She gets off on bossing him around, getting him to do her bidding.” Remy sniggered.
“Some people are into that.” My mind flashed to Finn and Sebastian. Not that I planned to have a conversation about kink with Oliver’s sisters the second time I was meeting them. That was a third meeting topic or, you know, never. Preferably never.
“You actually did a decent job with the house, but I have to say this shindig is pretty boring.” Remy made a sound similar to a snore.
I focused on the compliment. “I work in historical home renovations, not party planning, but thank you.”
Grace dipped briefly into the ballroom, returning with a champagne bottle to refill us all. “I’m sure Grandfather forced you to plan it. That man is so cheap. Why hire someone else when he could put more work on you?” The tension in her voice conveyed solidarity. “Not that you’d know anything about that, Oliver, since you’ve hidden yourself away from any family responsibility.”
“Remember when we were last here? A few months before they died, some random weekend. I can’t even recall why.” Remy stared out the window, the lights of the backyard highlighting all the work the gardeners had put in, ignoring her sister’s dig at their brother.
Oliver hummed in agreement, closing some of the space between us.
“You had gotten those new riding boots and begged to try them out. They could never say no to you.” Grace’s eyes glazed over, lost in the memory too. “Youngest siblings.” She rolled her eyes toward me as if that explained it all.
“I might remember you begging for a pool and almost convincing Dad.” Oliver nudged Grace.
“I forgot how much I loved this place. Grace and I’d complain the entire drive out here, and then kick and scream when it was time to leave. There’s a simplicity here, being so removed from everything and everyone, nothing else close by. No friends to visit, no trendy restaurants. We only had each other.” Remy’s body language was no longer so ramrod, her spine loosening.
Their appreciation meant so much to me. These were the people whose heights were carved into the doorframes. They were the ones who knew all the secrets: the squeaky step on the stairs that needed to be fixed, which cabinet in the kitchen was a false door and hid the good liquor. Oliver knew every nook and cranny of this place. Which parts were the ones worth preserving, worth keeping, and which ones just required a new piece of plywood.
The approval I had most wanted was his, and he had given it to me in how he had helped me bring his home back to its glory and gave me his ideas and his favorite memories. In how he listened to me and never got tired or sick of it.
Remy finished the rest of her glass in a single swallow, winking at me. “Well, time to lighten this place up. Coming, sister?”
“Can’t we be off for one night?” Grace groaned.
“If you say no, I’m going to grab Doug and Cousin Carter and really do some damage. We know someone snuck a phone in despite Grandfather’s rules.”
I was quickly warming to their tactics.
With that, Remy pranced into the ballroom, high heels clicking on the marble, nodding her head at a few guests, shaking her hips in a sultry manner. She headed straight for the stage where the band was set up and whispered something in the singer’s ear. His eyes were concentrated on her exposed cleavage, but whatever she said, it worked, and he stepped aside.
“What is she doing?” I asked Grace.
“Being Remy.” She rolled her eyes and tossed back the contents of her flute, passing it to a waiter on her way to the stage.
“Killington Estate, how is everyone doing tonight?” Remy shouted into the microphone as Grace stepped onto the platform, their Grandfather holding court in the back of the room.
No one said a word, but they were clearly fascinated by what the two paparazzi darlings were about to do.
Oliver was behind me as we stood at the edge of the ballroom. I was torn between wanting to support him and thinking this was an excellent moment to make an Irish exit.
“What are my sisters doing?” He bent his head down, fingers brushing against the small of my back.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I whispered back, fingers clutched together to stop myself from doing something silly, like holding his hand.
“You all know this one!” Remy didn’t seem to understand how a microphone worked, that the yelling was unnecessary, especially with how few people there were in the large space.
The band strummed her selection while Grace grumbled at her sister.
With the rush to complete things for the party, I hadn’t had time to admire my work. The refreshed fresco on the ceiling, scratch-free marble pillars that gleamed, not a single fingerprint on the glass wall. Everything sparkled from the chandelier. It wasn’t the ball I had pictured in my mind, but it was the beginning of something.
The dresses, tuxes, jumpsuits. A guest with a buzz cut in a breathtaking ballgown. So many people pushing the fashion envelope.
The chords to “Love Story” rang out, familiar and comforting. Crap, I had some sort of compulsion when I heard a Taylor Swift song. I had to sing along.
Remy was goading her sister into joining the chaos. Grace didn’t exactly scream karaoke royalty to me, but people could surprise you.
I laughed because what else was there to do? This was less boring than watching everyone chitchat in their evening wear while elevator music strummed in the background. The stressful part of the evening was over. Now I could relax, or at least observe the festivities.
Oliver spun my body toward his, propelling us to the group of couples swaying along to—well, not the off-key singing, but to the chords the band was playing. “I want to dance with you.”
He relocated my hand to his shoulder before intertwining our fingers together, like this was some sort of old-fashioned waltz.
“This isn’t breaking the rules,” he whispered in my ear as I tensed, unable to stop myself from checking to see what attention we were gathering. But his sisters were receiving the brunt of it, Remy incapable of keeping a tune while Grace glared on, not joining in yet. But a few were staring—not at me, but at Oliver.
My flush was from the champagne I had drunk, trying to keep up with his sisters. It had nothing to do with the way our bodies were pressed together, the lightheaded way I felt when he was around, his concentration entirely focused on me.
Then he decided to wreck me. Oliver began to murmur the lyrics softly in my ear. The song I had listened to countless times, of a love that on the surface made little sense but somehow persevered. The type of love I’d dreamed about as a little girl.
Grace finally joined in when Cousin Carter offered to be Remy’s duet partner. Oliver’s thumb brushed against my waist, and there was deep emotion in his voice. He was sure of the lyrics, but shaking.
I closed my eyes, leaning my head against his chest, ignoring everything else in the room but the feel of him under my cheek. I couldn’t pretend the fact that he knew the words wasn’t a serious turn-on.
“Since when do you listen to Taylor Swift?” I laughed as his sisters mostly screamed the lyrics of the bridge, even Grace falling into the thrall that was a Taylor Swift song.
“You like her music.” Oliver’s fingers squeezed mine, as if it were that simple. As if it was nothing, learning the lyrics to my favorite artist’s songs. The artist I listened to for comfort, for joy, and for every emotion in between. “Besides, I liked that book you recommended. I figured I’d give her a try.”
What was this man doing to me? To my heart? “What book?”
“There was only one bed …” His thumb brushed along my spine.
“That’s in a lot of romance books,” I teased. But the book I had been reading when I first got here had that trope, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was the book he was talking about. The duke’s estate had run out of rooms. Whoops.
“I’m a big fan.”
“I bet you are.” I was too, funny enough.
He made it too easy to forget we were in a room full of people, his hand holding mine, engulfing it.
I wanted to question him about how he was feeling. Wanted to share about Ms. Roth, ask him what he thought I should do.
My problem wasn’t that I had trouble expressing myself to Oliver. My problem was I felt inclined to say too much. To share every little nagging thing, the little annoying parts of my day and the big victories. He was the person I craved to lean on.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye.