Chapter 10 Trust Me
TRUST ME
We pull up to the brightly lit covered entrance of the private airport. Darkness surrounds the area with minimal lights illuminating the surrounding industrial buildings.
“You have two choices.” Lachlan’s fingers and thumb touch at the tips from where they rest between his spread legs.
“Wait in this car with Connal as your chaperone.” As if on cue, the partition separating the driver from us rolls down, revealing the hulking man.
“Or you can accompany me into the airport and wait for my guests to join us.”
“What guests?” Just as I ask, another Mercedes limo pulls up next to ours.
Lachlan’s brother gets out, along with the other man at the wedding who looked like he wanted to slit my throat.
“Who’s the guy with the blonde hair?” I lift my chin in his direction.
Lachlan’s gaze darkens. “Why?”
“He has a crime lord look about him that says, I want to gouge your eyes out.”
“Crime lord? Hmm.” He rubs the dark stubble on his jaw as he studies the man.
Rory talks to him in that easygoing way he spoke to me when he scooped me off the ground at the wedding. The man laughs at something Rory says. My eyes bulge with shock when his naturally granite expression softens with a genuine smile.
“His name is Wesley Hale,” Lachlan says, eyeing me as I stare at the man. “Wes, for short. He’s my business partner and a longtime friend.”
“You have friends?” I ask, half mocking him but half serious. I don’t know Lachlan well enough to know his social life, but from what I’ve seen, he’s all work and no play.
“I should gag that mouth.” He stares at my lips.
Gag? He can’t be serious.
Despite my arguing about our terms, I’ve always been good at memorizing important things. The section in our agreement about sex was important. I branded it to memory.
I raise my chin. “Per our agreement, sex and all sex acts must be consensual by both parties.”
I wouldn’t have signed that section had it stated anything else.
I figured it was there regarding Lachlan’s desire for me to carry his child in my womb.
Maybe he’d want to experiment and try the natural way to conceive—assuming we bond and share a mutual respect for one another.
I also figured we could cross that bridge when we get there.
Continuing, I say, “I do not consent to being gagged or give consent for you to touch any part of my body.”
His lips tighten. I can’t tell if he’s angry or fighting a smirk. “I can touch you in public.”
“We’re not in public. I would also think you’d realize that after my behavior on our wedding day, forcing public displays of affection on me have unfavorable results.”
“You have yet to uphold your end of the agreement. What makes you think I’ll uphold mine?
” His aqua gaze tightens in challenge. “Did you forget about the part that states if either party refuses to fully perform the terms of the contract, the non-breaching party may renegotiate the contract per their discretion.”
I remember it now. Dammit. I signed it believing it wouldn’t be used. Why would either of us refuse to play our parts? Little did I know what I was getting myself into. Closing my eyes, I take a steadying breath.
The leather seat creaks as Lachlan leans to my ear, touching me with only his warm breath. “What will it be, Cat-fiadhaich.”
“What is that? Kat-fee-ah-eegh,” I repeat how it sounds to me.
He arches a brow impressed with how well I pronounced the word. Words? “It’s Gaelic and what I named the cat.”
I scowl and reply with my usual disdain. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a cat owner.”
“The castle had a stray cat. Lorna used to feed it so it didn’t starve, and sheltered it in the winter so it didn’t freeze to death.”
“Used to?”
He shrugs. “It stopped coming around.”
“Who’s Lorna?” Anger darkens my tone, not jealousy. No jealousy at all over here. I don’t care that a woman lives at his castle. I don’t!
His mouth twitches at the corner. If I ever see him smile, I’ll die of shock. “Lorna is the only person who can tell me what to do.”
“Your mother then.” I roll my eyes.
“My mother died over a year ago.” Sadness seeps into his rich voice and makes me regret my snarky eyeroll.
“I’m sorry.” I want to ask how she died, but I doubt he’d share something that personal with me. Maybe one day, if we stop this bickering and find a way to get along.
He releases a slow breath, his gaze forward but distant. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him. A knock sounds on his window.
“Are we doing this or what?” Wesley, Wes, says.
I expected him to be Scottish like Rory, but he’s English and sounds similar to Henry Cavill.
Lachlan’s accent is more like Prince Harry, but subtle.
Aqua blue eyes catch mine. “Are you staying?”
“I have to use the bathroom,” I say with a polite smile.
Lachlan’s eyes narrow with concern.
“I’m fine with using the one on the plane, if it’s here,” I add in case he thinks I’m trying to run again.
I’m not. I do want to call my mom though and see if I can get her to help me. I don’t believe for a second she’d be okay with Lachlan removing me from the country for an undetermined time. Who would she torture in my absence? Then again, maybe she’d like it and ask to visit his castle.
A new idea springs to mind. If I invite my mom to stay with us in Scotland, Lachlan might get annoyed enough to send us both back to America. Then I can finally start my business.
I mentally cheer myself for the cunning scheme.
“The jet isn’t ready yet. I’ll escort you to the bathroom and wait for you to finish. I don’t trust you otherwise.”
Figured. “Fine.”
“I’ll also be touching you.”
I open my mouth to protest but close it. We’re in public. The last thing I want is for him to renegotiate the terms to his advantage and take away my trust fund like my dad did.
He climbs out of the car then holds his hand out to me.
I take it and let him help me to my feet.
A gust blows my skirt up too quickly for me to catch it.
All three men glimpse my white lace panties.
Rory glances away as if he saw nothing. Wes gives me an appalled look like I planned for that to happen, and Lachlan’s nostrils flare like he’s about to emit steam.
I shove down the fabric and keep my hands at my sides, securing the hem.
Lachlan yanks me to him, so close I have to move my hand out from between us. There is no place for me to put it but around his waist. His is secured around mine.
Nothing about us feels natural. Stiff and awkward are better words.
He nods for Wes and Rory to walk ahead then bends to my ear. “I’m having weights sewn into the hem of all your dresses.”
“I’m sure you will.” I mock and walk, pinned to his side, to the airport.
In the lobby, I try to head for the ladies' room, but Lachlan stops me.
“I need to talk to the pilot. Wes will take you to the bathroom.”
“I’m not. Going. Anywhere,” I state in a low voice. “I swear.”
“It’s for your safety.”
I scoff. “Safety my ass.”
His gaze tightens on my mouth again like he wants to gag me.
“Wesley will take you.”
“Why him?” Why not Rory, who is much more enjoyable and less rigid? I’d even settle for the hulking Connal, but I don’t see him.
“Trust me.”
“Trust you?” I laugh. “I don’t trust anything about you.”
Regret shows in his eyes. Maybe. It’s hard to tell because they turn glacial so quickly. He squeezes me tighter. “You will go with Wes or not at all.”
“Fine.” I pry his fingers from my waist. He wasn’t hurting me, more like annoying me.
The sigh that leaves him is one my mother used to make when I pushed her to her limit, and she was done with me. Into the nanny’s arms I’d have to go. Sometimes she needed a day or two to detox, as she called it. I never remember her needing to detox from Pippa.
Lachlan waves Wes over and leaves us with a nod, like passing me off had been a prior conversation. Wes leads the way to the bathroom, his gaze watchful on everyone and everything but me. I enter, surprised and relieved that he doesn’t follow me inside.
Like the private airport my father uses, the bathroom has two rooms and is similar to a spa.
One area is for makeup and hair with blow-dryers and toiletries.
The next room has hotel-like robes and private stalls with toilets, sinks, and showers.
They’re wonderful amenities for when you get off a long flight and want to freshen up.
Another door catches my eye. I open it, expecting to see supplies but am surprised to find it’s an exit to a private hallway.
Clearly Lachlan hasn’t been in this ladies’ room, or he’d know this.
How easily I could run away. I said I wouldn’t though, and I meant it.
In addition to keeping Raphael safe, I’m too tired to try.
Plus, I have no doubt if I ran, Lachlan would find me.
A woman emerges from one of the combo-shower stalls. She isn’t in a robe so she must have just used the bathroom.
I smile and choose the last stall to call my mom for privacy. The door closes, sealing me in the small room.
I could call the house phone but don’t want to risk Candace answering. She’d probably hang up on me.
The phone rings three times, then a faint voice says, “Hello.”
Relief pours through me. “Mom. Don’t hang up. It’s Emery.”
“Who?” she mumbles.
“Your daughter, Emery.”
“You’re not my daughter,” she slurs, indicating she’s drunk.
Great.
“I am, Mom. It’s me. Your biggest disappointment,” I add with sad humor.
“No,” she says with a withering sigh. “You’re not.
I didn’t even pick your name. I would have chosen a P like mine and Pippa’s.
You’re an E. Chosen by your father because of her.
To remind me I’m just his wife but she gave him what I couldn’t.
” Though slurred, her words are as clear as they are hurtful.
My heart twists. Is she making this up to hurt me? She loves drama, but this is going too far.
“I’m sorry for ruining your special day, Mom. It wasn’t my intention. I was mad at Lachlan for lying to me.”
“Your father worshipped Elora,” Mom goes on in a sad distant voice. “She gave him a son too.”
A son? What is she talking about?
“The boy didn’t make it, but you did.”
She’s delusional, lost to the alcohol.
I sigh. “Where’s Candace, Mom? She needs to help you to bed.” And make sure you don’t get sick in your sleep. That’s happened before.
Once I found her with vomit all over her face and neck. She wasn’t breathing. I was eight. I didn’t know what to do and thought she was dead. Her skin was so pale.
“Help!” I screamed and frantically wiped the vomit from her open mouth, inside and out, as gross as it was.
Candace barreled into the room just as Mom sucked in a breath and coughed.
“Get away from her,” Candace scolded me like I caused this.
I scrambled from the bed and stood on the other side, terrified but not wanting to leave until I knew Mom was okay.
“Get out of here, you little brat,” she barked at me with hate in her eyes. “You’ve caused her enough trouble.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I ran from the room, praying Mom would be all right.
“Mom?” I ask, the memory tying my gut in knots. She’s been quiet for longer than I’m comfortable with. “Are you okay?” My voice rattles.
In an instant, I’m that scared eight-year-old girl again.
“I’m here.” Candace’s voice sounds through the phone, her tender tone making it clear she’s not talking to me. “Let’s get your head back on your pillow.”
She must not know Mom is on the phone.
“I told her,” Mom slurs, her voice distant now.
Rustling sounds like the phone is caught in the covers.
“Who?” Candace asks.
“Chewy. I told her about Elora, and how I’m not her mom.”
“Emery is gone now. Your secret is safe. She’ll never learn the truth. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
My heart freezes at the conviction in Candace’s words. Mom wasn’t rambling. She was confessing. I’m not her daughter. I’m Dad’s and some woman named Elora. Who the hell is Elora and where the hell is she? Why has all this been a secret?
I can’t leave the US now. Not until I know the truth about my past. Not until I know why my parents lied, who my mom is, and where she is.
My stomach churns. Oh god. I’m going to be sick.
I turn to the toilet and vomit the Coke I drank before I left the hotel.
My mom isn’t my real mom. The more it plays in my head, the more my heart shrivels. My eyes water, part with tears and part a result from puking. My tummy empties again, acids burning my throat. I wipe my mouth and work to regain control over my body.
A noise sounds outside the stall door. Probably, Wesley.
“Go away,” I moan and rest my head against the tile wall. If I weren’t sick, I’d never do this in a public bathroom filled with germs. But the cool tiles feel good against my hot cheek, and I’m too dizzy to stand upright on my own.
The door opens behind me.
“She’s about to pass out,” a female says with a Scottish accent.
She must belong to Lachlan because what are the odds? Then again, this is a New York airport.
“And you were worried she’d put up a fight,” a man says with the same accent. He laughs.
In slow motion, I roll my body against the wall to see who’s talking. I’m not even halfway around when something jabs the side of my neck, burning like a hot needle.
“Ow.” I reach up, or try to, but my hand won’t move. My head swims, and blackness steals my vision. I try to speak, but my mouth won’t cooperate. Something’s wrong.
It’s my last thought before I slip into a dark abyss.