Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
TOBIAS
I’ve spent the last five days away on business, and I still haven’t found the right time to tell Rebecca about my altercation with Preston.
Granted, I didn’t want to have the conversation over the phone, but the longer it goes on without me telling her, the more it’s started to feel as though I’m keeping his request from her on purpose.
Shielding her from harm. I doubt she’d see it that way, though.
The moment we shared last Sunday plays on a loop in my mind like a stuck fucking record.
Was that intimacy? I have no experience one way or the other.
If I had to put a label on it, though, I’d say that’s what it was.
The strange urge to stay close, to be close, when every instinct usually screams at me to keep my distance.
There’s no argument that we’ve grown closer, but I assumed it was based on mutual respect and friendship.
What I wanted to do to her was not friendship.
I’ve never felt anything like it. The magnetic pull, the ache in my chest, the yearning to nestle in until a sheet of paper wouldn’t fit between us. If she hadn’t pulled away when she did, I’d have made a move to kiss her… and probably ruined everything.
We made an agreement: no physical relationship. I was perfectly happy with that—until I wasn’t. I’m not capable of physical intimacy. My past has proved that, yet I yearn to try. With her. Only her.
The plane hits the ground with a bump. I scrub a hand over my face and stare out the Plexiglas.
Rain splatters the windows, and the wind buffets the fuselage as the captain throws the engines into reverse.
Typical English weather. Right when you think spring might’ve sprung, Mother Nature throws you for a loop.
“You’ve been quieter than usual this week.” Xan unclips his seat belt. “Is everything okay?”
“I thought I’d give you a rest from my jokes.”
“It’s appreciated. You’re relentless at times.”
I grin. “It’s part of my charm.”
“That’s one word for it.”
I dig him with my elbow. “Nothing to see here. Just got a bit on my mind.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Possibly, he could, but I’m not about to let my mask slip. “Nah, I’m good.” I flick open the seatbelt and grab my carry on from the overhead bin.
“Tobias.”
I glance at my brother. He’s got that look on his face. The one that signals he’s not letting go until he gets answers.
“Had anymore thoughts about what to do with George?”
His features darken, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. “Bravo on the diversionary tactic.”
“It’s a genuine question.”
“Your timing is suspect.”
“And your avoidance of the answer is telling. Dude, seriously, are we planning to keep him in the basement for the next twenty years, or are you going to do what you really want to and end the guy?”
Xan studiously ignores me as he gets to his feet. The door to the cabin swings open, and a blast of wind whips around my body. I shrug into my coat, gesturing to Xan to go first. He jogs down the steps and into our car. I follow, slamming the door.
“Every time I think about the man I want to kill him. My fingers itch to clasp around that raping bastard’s throat and watch his life drain away.”
I clip my seat belt in place. “Then, why don’t you?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because if I do, I’ll never get answers. We’ll never get answers, and we fucking need them. We deserve them. I know he’s lying. I know he either kidnapped me and Annabel and killed Mum, or he knows who did, and until he gives up that intel, I can’t kill him.”
“Torture?” I grin.
Xan doesn’t. “Believe me, it’s crossed my mind. Even thought about calling Mahoney and giving him and his brothers a shot at getting to the truth.”
Patrick Mahoney, head of the Irish mafia, is a man we call upon when we need something dirty doing and don’t want the blood on our hands.
“Do it. George has been in that cell for months. If he hasn’t told you by now, he doesn’t plan to.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Xan sighs. “Dad’s the only one stopping me.”
“Dad? Why would he care?”
Xan rolls his head in my direction. “If it was me or Nicholas or Christian in that cell, could you stand by while someone tortured us for information?”
“If any of you had assaulted my wife? Yeah, I would.”
He gives me a wry smile. “Whatever vile things he’s done, he’s still Dad’s brother.
Imagine growing up with someone, living with them for decades, only to find out they raped your wife, impregnated her, then sixteen years later, kidnapped the children you thought were yours, resulting in one of them dying.
It’s a mindfuck, and as much as Dad’s putting a brave face on it, he’s got to be crumbling inside. I don’t want to add to his troubles.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “You’re a better son to him than I am. Get myself shot, causes a family scandal, and Dad has to scramble to put everything back on the straight and narrow.”
He rolls his lips. “How are things going with Rebecca?”
“She’s become a good friend.”
“Is that all?”
I square my shoulders. “Yes. And that’s all either of us want it to be.”
“I see.”
He doesn’t see. Or maybe he does, and that’s the problem.
“Plus, I idolize Isla.”
“Yeah, she’s a sweet kid.” He narrows his eyes, studying me with too much intensity for my liking.
“What?”
His amber eyes pierce mine. “Anything you want to tell me?”
If I look away, he’ll keep pushing for more details, and I haven’t even figured shit out for myself yet.
“I want it on record,” I say with a grin, “that I’m trapped in a car with no viable exit strategy, which I find extremely unfortunate. I am a delightful person. People like me. This shouldn’t surprise you.”
He stares at me for a few seconds longer, then sighs and slides his phone from his pocket. Relieved he’s dropped his special brand of questioning, I take out my phone, but instead of answering emails as I usually would, I text Rebecca.
Hi. Almost home. How have you been?
There’s no reply, and I don’t expect one. She’s probably busy with Isla and isn’t even looking at her phone. I slide it back into my pocket. It immediately vibrates. I take it back out.
Wren
All good here. Isla has missed you.
I almost type “Have you?” but it feels manipulative, like she’d say yes out of politeness, when I want her to say yes because it’s true.
I’ve missed her. Don’t forget it’s the family dinner tonight.
The first Friday of each month, Dad insists we eat a meal together. It’s his way of ensuring we stay connected, especially considering the size of our empire. We’re so busy with our own lives, if Dad didn’t have this rule, it’d be easy for weeks to pass where we might not see one another.
Wren
I haven’t forgotten. Is it weird that I still get nervous even though this is my third?
I smile.
I’ll be right beside you.
Wren
know.
Three dots appear, then vanish. I stare at my phone, willing her message to come through. The conversation has naturally come to an end even though I didn’t want it to. I want to keep talking to her. This is the happiest I’ve been all week.
Wren
I missed you, too.
My stomach flips.
Same. See you soon.
Xan side eyes me. “Biggest smile I’ve seen on your face all week.” He strokes his chin like a pantomime villain. “Wonder why that is.”
“Fuck off.”
He laughs. “It’s okay to admit you like her, Tobias, and I’m not saying as a friend.”
“I do like her. As a friend.”
“You do know you’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re a nosy fucker. Butt out of my business.”
He laughs again. “There’s nothing better than being in love.”
“I’m not in love.” Little does he know I can’t fall in love, because love means intimacy and sex, and I’m incapable of both.
“Not yet, no. Give it time.”
He’ll be waiting decades. There’s no point in continuing the conversation, though. Let him think he’s won this round. Xan loves nothing more than to win, and I’m too tired to come up with a joke.
It’s after seven when we arrive home. I shoot straight upstairs to take a quick shower and change for dinner.
After knocking on Rebecca’s door and getting no answer, I head downstairs to the dining room.
My gaze locks onto her the second I enter, like a fucking homing beacon.
She’s mid conversation with Victoria and Nicholas, so animated that I stand on the periphery and just watch her.
She’s enchanting.
Xan nudges my arm. Christ, he’s a sneaky fucker creeping up on me. I didn’t even hear him arrive.
“Put your eyes back in their sockets, Tobias,” he murmurs.
“One more snide comment from you, and I will put you on your arse.”
He chuckles. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Tomorrow morning, in the gym. Nine o’clock. It’s been a while since we boxed. I think you need a reminder of who’s the better fighter.”
“Done. You need something to take the edge off the sexual energy pouring off you.”
He wanders inside, sliding his arm around Imogen’s waist and kissing her on the cheek. She whispers something in his ear. Their gazes lock, and a secret conversation passes between them.
My chest aches. I both love that for them and envy the connection they have—one I never will.
I may have started feeling something marginally deeper than friendship for Rebecca, but it has no future, and I would never start something with her I couldn’t finish.
She’s suffered enough pain in her life. I refuse to be the person who adds more.
I catch Rebecca’s eye and beckon to her.
She rounds the table, stopping a couple of feet in front of me.
There’s no affectionate greeting like Xan showed Imogen.
No running her hand down my arm like Victoria is doing to Nicholas.
No resting her head on my shoulder the way Grace has with Christian as they chat to Dad.
And I’m jealous. I’m insanely, hotly, jealous.
“Hi.”
I force a smile. “Where’s Isla?”
“She’s in bed. She was tired.” Reaching behind her to the table, she picks up a baby monitor and waves it at me. “I’ve tested how fast I can race upstairs and get to her. Thirty-three seconds.” She laughs, but it’s brittle, like she’s trying too hard.
“That’s impressive.” We fall into silence, and for the first time, there’s an edge to it. Usually, our silences are comfortable. This one feels as though I’m dragging my fingernails down a blackboard and can’t make myself stop.
I’m relieved when Dad calls us to the dinner table. Conversations spin up, a tangle of overlapping voices and laughter. Before my brothers married, our dinner conversations centered around De Vil business. Now, they’re lively debates, involving much wider subject matters.
Pushing away my earlier discomfort, I throw myself into banter with Victoria while Rebecca quietly chats with Alice.
Those two appear to have struck up a friendship, too.
Maybe Rebecca sees her as a mother figure.
Especially as it appears her own mother spectacularly failed in the parenting department.
“Have you thought about schools for Isla?” Dad asks at a lull in the chatter.
I turn in his direction. He’s looking at Rebecca, not me.
“Oh.” She wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then sets it beside her plate. “I haven’t. I suppose I should.” She frowns as though berating herself for not being on top of Isla’s schooling.
“We have many good private schools in the area,” Dad continues. “I can arrange a few tours if you’d like.”
Rebecca nibbles her lip. “Um, yes, that… that’s good of you.”
“But…?” I coax.
She fires me a grateful smile. “I admit, I’m worried about it. She still isn’t showing any signs of talking. I’d hoped her therapist would’ve coaxed a word or two from her by now. I’m just not sure how she’ll cope at a regular school.”
“We’ll find the right school for her,” I say gently. “There are another few months to go yet. It’s only early April, and school doesn’t start until September.”
“You know, there’s another option.” Victoria sets down her glass and threads her fingers together. “Have you considered a governess? Someone who could offer one-on-one education until you feel more confident in letting her go to school.”
An icy blast shoots through my veins, origin unknown but fucking powerful. My hands curl into fists, gathering part of the tablecloth and sending my fork crashing to the floor. I launch upright. My chair tips over.
“Absolutely fucking not!” I roar. “Isla will not have a governess.”
Silence falls like a guillotine. Every head at the table turns to me, air crackling with shock. Rebecca’s eyes widen, confusion and alarm written all over her face.
The pounding in my ears deafens me. My chest heaves. I can’t breathe.
“Tobias,” Dad says quietly, his voice an anchor in the chaos coursing through me. “Son, sit down.”
I can’t look at him. I can’t look at anyone. My pulse rages, my heart striking my ribcage with painful beats. “No governess,” I grit out. “Ever.”
“Tobias, it’s okay.” Rebecca’s voice, small and tinged with fear, cuts through the jumble of thoughts careening through my mind. “We can talk about it.”
“No talk. It’s not fucking happening.” I whip away from the table and stride from the room. Hushed conversation follows me, fading fast as I take off up the stairs. I lurch into my apartment, palms slick with sweat. Bracing my hands on my knees, I fight for every breath.
What the fuck just happened?