CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #3
‘Just one time so I can get through it.’
Lachlan closes his eyes, sees red and purple behind his lids.
He lightly caresses Jules’ face, his own heart going thumping in his ears as he presses smaller, softer kisses at the corner of the boy’s mouth and says, ‘You’re a fucking brat, baby.’
Jules licks a hot, wet stripe over Lachlan’s mouth and then straightens up.
He winks at Lachlan. ‘Your brat.’
Lachlan is so fucking fucked.
?
The good thing is, Lachlan doesn’t have to tell Jules to behave in front of his father. He automatically embodies the best version of himself he can be for the old man. Subservient, mild and polite.
The lunch is less awkward than it could be but Lachlan suspects that’s because Mimi isn’t here and Alistair doesn’t have to deal with her non-stop food chat and the happy mess she can make out of absolutely anything.
He insists that Lachlan join them.
‘The upgrades are most impressive,’ Alistair begins when soup arrives.
Lachlan can’t really eat at this time of day, his body has a schedule of its own, but he knows he’ll have to consume something to be polite.
‘Of all my former security advisors and consultants, none have ever innovated in this way.’ He looks at Lachlan who notes with ruthless satisfaction that the last few months have eaten away at whatever glow he had before.
‘I would like to meet with your friend at some point next year,’ he says as if that’s a generous gift and Lachlan should be grateful when in fact the thought of bringing someone he remotely cares about into this sphere fills him with dread.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he answers. ‘I’m sure I can arrange it.’
‘I’m told you’ve been asking about arrangements for an upcoming event?’
‘Carrigan mentioned to me that there would potentially be a party for Savannah Alderwyck’s birthday but told me nothing else. I simply want to ensure adequate preparation and safety, sir.’
Alistair takes a sip of his drink from the head of the table. Jules is beside him. Lachlan is opposite Jules. ‘Savannah’s twenty-first birthday is an important day, and we will be celebrating, but not here.’
‘Sir?’
‘Ariadne, Mikhail and I own a private island off the Gulf of Mexico. Sable Key. The party will take place there. You will accompany my son, of course,’ he informs Lachlan.
‘We should be away no longer than four days.’ Alistair then looks at his son.
‘This is a very special event. I require an exemplary performance from you, Julian. Photographs will be taken. Not for the public, of course, but as a matter of family record and heritage.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do you think of her? Savannah?’
Lachlan isn’t really eating at all, simply going through the motions of it while listening raptly, mind whirring.
Jules inclines his head. ‘She’s lovely, father.’
Alistair studies his son and then seems to decide something. ‘I was waiting until you were older to tell you, but I know what a smart boy you are, and I think you deserve to know.’ He leans back in his seat. ‘You will be married to Savannah Alderwyck when you turn twenty-one.’
Oh God.
Arranged marriage, Carrigan had called it from the start.
Even so, it sickens him for too many reasons to quantify.
Lachlan forces himself not to react at all.
Jules seems to be doing the same. ‘As you say, father.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Honoured.’
‘And?’
‘Whatever you want me to feel.’
Alistair makes a vaguely impatient noise, studies Jules with naked curiosity. ‘I want your honest opinion. You are my son. I am your blood. Tell me what you think, the truth of it.’
But Jules knows better by now.
Lachlan is proud of him.
‘I’m flattered you would arrange such a match, father.’
‘Speak plainly to me.’
‘I am.’
‘No, you’re speaking to me like a servant.’ Alistair sighs roughly. ‘Do you like her? Do you get on well?’
‘She’s very sweet.’
‘Have you spent time with her?’
‘Not much, no.’
‘That will change.’
‘I understand.’
‘Not like that,’ Alistair says, inclining his head, eyes closed briefly, as if allowing some delay out of generous decency.
‘When you are married, she will live here. You’ll have children of your own.
A son. You may call him whatever you like, but Sael will be his middle name.
You will inherit everything. You will take over Helixx.
You will enter the world, taste the freedom you so desire with a good woman by your side and all the money you could dream of. ’
Jules stays silent, breathing a little faster, lips bitten into his mouth.
Lachlan knows he’s trying not to cry.
‘Thank you, father.’
‘I know it is not what you want,’ Alistair admits softly, brow creased.
‘But we are the elite, my son. We live different lives to everyone else, and this is the burden we bear.’ He reaches over and places his hand atop Jules’ own.
‘This is why I have been so generous in allowing you a rich and varied childhood. I know you will not understand, but in this way, I have done more for you than my own father ever did for me. Look at me, Julian,’ he bids with a skin-crawling attempt at what might be affection. ‘You will make me very proud.’
Jules’ eyes are filled with unshed tears.
‘Yes, father.’
‘Good boy.’ Alistair smiles and pats Jules’ hand before he removes his own entirely. ‘Make sure to dance with her, pay attention to her, show off how beautiful the two of you are. The photographs are important to me. In exchange, you may have whatever you want.’