Chapter 50
Chapter
Fifty
HUGH
-don’t leave me this way-
I’m slumped in my office chair, my tongue numb with the taste the smoky tang of the old Caribbean cask Scotch whiskey.
The late afternoon sun filters through the arched windows, and it is beautiful, but I don’t appreciate it.
I can’t. I feel nothing but burning anger.
It’s been simmering in my chest for days, and despite doing my hardest to shift It and forget about her because she really doesn’t deserve even a sliver of attention from me, the rage has refused to relent.
My fingers drum a restless rhythm on the desk’s edge as her words—“Were you responsible for this fire?”—sear through me.
She cried that I betrayed her, but I’m the one who feels betrayed, and it’s a wound that I wonder if it will ever heal.
How could she think I’d do that, risk her life, my life, for a fucking piece of land? After I ran into the flames for her, after I held her in the hospital, my heart pounding with fear and relief. After all of that, she dares to see me as a monster?
It hurts, God, it hurts, a raw, aching pain that twists my insides.
I know she’s in town, holed up with Annabel in some cramped apartment near the market, and part of me—buried deep under the fury—aches to check on her, to know if she’s okay. If she’s sleeping, eating, surviving. If she needs money?
But I’ve stayed away, ignored the urge to call, to drive to her, because I’m too angry, too wounded by her distrust, by her ugly accusation that I could stoop so low. She knows me not at all.
I take another sip of the amber liquid.
Truth is, she’s messing me up, unraveling me from the inside, stealing my focus, and my control.
I have come to hate this power she has over me, and I am determined to rip her from my chest. It is my fault.
I allowed her to burrow so deep. I gave her this much access to my heart.
It is the height of foolishness, and I cannot believe it myself that I have fallen so hard for a mere woman.
They are always trouble. I should have known better.
I feel mocked. The scotch tempts me, calls out to me again, its burn promising numbness, and I reach for it and down it all in one go.
There is a knock on the door, and my plan is to ignore it.
The staff know better than to bother me when I'm here, which is why I'm pretty sure the knock is a mistake.
Whoever it is will come to their senses and walk away.
But it comes again, and I look up, my gaze lethal.
I swear to myself right then that whoever it is, is going to get fired.
To my surprise, the door swings open without my permission.
“For fuck’s sake-” I start, but the rest of the curse dies on my tongue when I see that it’s my mother, her silver hair swept elegantly, her navy coat crisp. Her presence is a surprise that douses my rage like cold water. She’s not supposed to be here, not for another month.
“Why are you back so early?” I ask moodily.
Her smile is bright and radiant and frankly too much for me to handle right now. I watch warily as she glides in and settles into the leather chair across my desk. Her posture is regal, and her eyes carry an expression of invincibility.
“I heard murmurings of a fire and a girl.”
I sigh and catch her eyes sweep to the empty tumbler of scotch on my table.
“So the girl has turned out to be more trouble than her grandmother?” She sounds amused, which irritates me further.
“There’s been no trouble,” I counter. “The cottage burnt down. No fault of ours, and it’s bloody annoying because they still can’t find the reason why.”
Her eyebrows arch. “And the girl?”
“Gone,” I reply sourly. “Her home has burned down so she had to find somewhere else to stay.”
My mother's eyes are filled with mischief and laughter. “But I was under the impression she stayed here during the renovation works to her cottage.”
My mother’s good humor irks me. I don't want her to play the matchmaker. She thinks Lauren is like the daughters of her friends, society girls. I wish she would take her interfering ways and be gone. I want the solitude to nurse my wounds, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes hold mine relentlessly.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
My voice rises, raw with pain. “Why should I do something about it? I don’t care. She’s living with a friend in the village. She accused me of burning her house down. Can you believe that? What does she think I am?”
Her eyes widen dramatically, but I still get the impression she finds the sorry situation funny. I lose the ability to remain silent.
“The nerve of her. I risked my life to save her. I ran into that fire for her and that ungrateful little—” I stop, my throat tight. Admitting it out loud has made the betrayal cut deeper.
My mother’s face softens, and a small smile curves her lips. “You really like her, don’t you?” Her voice is gentle, knowing, and I freeze, my breath catching because it’s more than that, so much more, and I can’t hide it, not from her.
“Like her? I hate her guts,” I mutter, but the lie hurts so much that I have to say the truth, at least once.
“I’m in love with her,” I admit, the words spilling out in a tortured whisper.
I lean back, my hands gripping the chair’s arms, the admission stripping me bare.
“Can you believe it? The cottage was in flames, and I didn’t think twice.
I ran in, risked everything to save her.
I’d never do that for anyone other than my own flesh and blood.
Yet she thinks I burned the house down for her stupid piece of land?
What the hell does she think I need land for? ”
Her smile widens, and her eyes are bright with something like pride. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d feel this way about a woman.”
I shake my head, my anger flaring again, because it’s not a gift, not when it’s this painful. “Well, it’ll never happen again,” I snap, my voice bitter. “Look at the mess I’m in, because I went and chose a stubborn, obtuse, delusional minx.”
“But isn’t it a bit too late to make that declaration. You’ve already fallen for her,” she says in a totally reasonable voice.
I don’t respond, because it’s true. I look away, my gaze on the view outside the window, the estate’s hills blurring. “I’d really like to be alone now.”
My mother stands, her coat rustling, and comes over to me, her perfumed hand cupping the side of my face. Her touch is cool.
“Try to see things from her point of view, darling.
You're wealthy. You can have anything you want, and people like us, we don't really know how to accept no, do we? So of course, she'd suspect you. And she doesn’t really know you. I would have thought it more than normal for her to have doubts,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
“She probably feels the same way you do, but she hasn’t had time to know you, to trust what you’re capable of.
Don’t stay angry with her—prove to her you’re not responsible.
And do everything you can to help her get back on her feet.
She’s been very brave, and she deserves a helping hand after such a turn of bad luck. ”
I start to protest, but she raises her hand and continues.
“This is what love is—you can be furious with the person you love, but you do everything in your power to help them when they fall. That’s how you show who you are, how you make your bond stronger.
Don’t give up on her, darling. These feelings you have, they’re rare.
You’ve never felt this before, so you know how precious that is. Fight for it.”
Her words sink in and take root in the part of me that’s been fighting to believe I can still salvage the mess between Lauren and me.
That Lauren might still look at me the way she did before the fire.
Her laugh is soft and her eyes are warm.
However, I don’t want to fold right now, especially not in my mother's presence.
She places a kiss on my cheek and straightens. “I’d love to meet her.”
I’m immediately alarmed. “Absolutely not.”
She scowls at me. “Are you going to tell me where she is, or do I have to find out by myself?”
“Please stay out.” I sigh. “I know you mean well, but please, don’t meddle. Just let me handle it my way.”
She gives me a long look, then she smiles. “Fine.”
This is not an assurance that she is not going to involve herself. I know that tone, and I know she is going to go in search of Lauren regardless of my disagreement.
“Mother,” I call out, but she’s already on her way.
“I hear you,” she says.
“I don’t want you to hear me. I want you to stay out of my business.”
She pauses just as she gets to the door and glances back. “What you should be doing is commissioning one of your best architects to rebuild her house. You know what she likes. Actions speak louder than words. I’d get started on that instead of moping, if I were you.”
With this, she heads out, and I’m left staring at the shut door, more annoyed than ever.
Still, a piece of me, I have to admit, is somewhat relieved.
I seem to have found a light at the end of the tunnel, a possible way out of this mess, even if I have to battle with my pride.
After a few more minutes of wallowing, I give in, and dial Athena.
“Hello,” she responds brightly, eager and professional as always.
“I need you to get the best architect you can find to come to the manor. I need him or her here first thing in the morning. You can arrange to fly them over on the helicopter. I have a project that needs to be started immediately.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replies. “I’ll get right on it.”
I end the call, my pulse quickening, because I finally have a game plan. I’m going to rebuild her cottage. I tell myself that it is not all for her. I can’t exactly leave it as the blackened eyesore that it is next to my manor. This alone is reason enough. The rest I will leave it to fate.
This is all that my pride can take at this moment.