Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
REBECCA
Stunned silence hovers in the air, thick with shock.
I should be scared. Tobias’s out of character outburst is reminiscent of one of Marcus’s abrupt rage tantrums. Except when I think about what happened, it’s not the same at all.
Both men were angry, but unless I’m way off base, Tobias’s came from a place of fear.
Not for himself. For Isla. The source of that fear is unknown, but it was real to him.
“I’ll go and talk to him.” Christian’s already halfway to the exit.
“No.” I jump to my feet. “I’ll go. I’m his wife.
” For the first time, I feel like I am. A real wife, not simply the battered woman he’s saved more than once.
I’ve felt the shift in our relationship, a slow crawl to something different.
I’ve no idea what to call it. We’re not the same people we were when we agreed to marry, that’s for sure.
My first port of call is to check on Isla. The baby monitor Imogen suggested as a way to help me feel comfortable moving around this colossal mansion without Isla Velcroed to my side has worked, although my heart doesn’t properly settle until I’ve seen she’s safe with my own eyes.
Careful not to make a sound, I push open the door to her bedroom.
She’s sleeping on her own now. Tobias even had builders put in a connecting door between Isla’s bedroom and mine to make us both feel secure.
He’s always thinking of us, making sure we’re okay.
Now it’s my turn to do the same for him.
In true Isla fashion, one arm is casually flung over her head, and her quilt’s hanging off the bed. I fix it, spend a few seconds gazing at her sleeping form, then press a kiss to her forehead and slowly back away before I pad down the hallway toward Tobias’s rooms.
I’ve never been in here, only in the communal living room he shares with Christian and Saskia. He may not be here. This place is vast, and if he doesn’t want to be found, I’m guessing there are dozens of hiding places where he can ensure he gets alone time.
Making a fist, I knock twice. I swear I hear someone moving inside. I knock again. “Tobias, it’s me. Please open the door.”
A few seconds pass, then the door opens. He looks wretched, hair askew, his tie discarded and the top two buttons undone on his shirt. He’s removed his jacket, too, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. I try not to stare at those veiny forearms. It isn’t easy.
“Hey,” I begin gently. “Can I come in?”
Without saying a word, he stands back and, once I’m inside, he pushes the door closed.
His personal living room is warm and inviting, with a corner couch that’s built for comfort, and a dozen colorful scatter cushions lined along the back and sides.
Heavy, dark curtains frame large windows, allowing the moon to shine through.
There’s a fireplace, although there’s no fire burning in the grate.
It’s warm enough in here not to need one.
A huge TV with separate speakers is built into the wall, and there’s a large, framed photograph of Tobias with a man I don’t recognize.
“Who’s that?” I point to the photograph.
“Sachin Tendulkar.”
I frown. “None the wiser.”
“Legendary cricketer. Also happens to be a great human off the field, too.”
“I don’t know anything about cricket.”
His nostrils flare as he expels a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry I don’t know anything about cricket?”
The beginnings of a smile pull at one corner of his mouth. “My jokey persona is rubbing off on you.” He winces. “Goddammit.” He rakes both hands through his hair. That explains the way it’s stuck at all angles. He must have been doing that repeatedly since he stormed from the dining room.
“I’m here if you want to talk. Or we can just sit. Whatever you prefer.”
“I’d prefer not to have made a gigantic fool of myself.” He shrugs. “Guess that ship has sailed.”
“You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”
“Tell that to my family. Think that’s the first time I’ve ever yelled at a family dinner. They probably all need a defibrillator.” He flashes a grin.
Jokes. He hides his pain behind jokes. It’s something I’ve long suspected, but it’s obvious now.
“Tobias.” I say his name softly, and his face crumples, all signs of humor fleeing.
“I’m sorry for losing my temper and yelling at you. After everything you’ve been through, you’re the one person I promised I’d never get angry around, and look what I did. I scared you.”
“You didn’t scare me and you didn’t yell at me. You yelled”—I make a vague gesture—“generally.” I move a little closer. “I’m not fragile. I don’t want you to hide your feelings for my benefit.”
“I’ve been doing it so long, it’s basically my entire personality at this point.”
A piece of my heart breaks off, floating aimlessly inside my chest. I motion to the couch. “Will you sit with me?”
He does as I ask, his hands shaking. I sit, too, giving him enough space to not feel crowded. He stares at a spot on the carpet, but really, he’s staring at nothing. I recognize what he’s doing: processing. After taking several deep breaths, the tremors in his hands ease.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nods.
“Do you know what triggered that outburst? Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be angry.
You’re entitled to any feelings you have, and they’re far better out in the open than festering on the inside.
” A small smile pulls at my lips. “You have Jane to thank for that piece of advice.” I pause.
“The way you acted to what Vicky suggested was so out of character from the man I’ve come to know. ”
He rubs the bridge of his nose, his brows pulled in and down.
“All I can tell you is that the suggestion of a governess set off a bomb inside me. The thought of someone being alone with Isla… teaching her…” He scrubs his face.
“I can’t bear it.” When he faces me, his eyes are bleak.
“But no matter what you say, I never should have let you see me like that. I want to provide calm, balance, a place for you to heal. Instead, I behaved like him. Like Marcus.”
I inch closer. Reaching out, I hover my palm over his. “May I?”
He hesitates, then nods.
I hold his hand, squeezing a little. “You are nothing like Marcus. Do you hear me? Nothing. I don’t want you to ever speak about yourself like that again.
Marcus was an abusive bastard who did unspeakable things to me and terrified his own daughter to the extent she stopped speaking.
Whereas you…” I squeeze his hand again. “You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met. ”
He gazes at me, sadness and confusion swimming in his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I react like that to such an innocuous suggestion?”
I nibble my lip, thinking. “Did you ever have a governess growing up?”
They’re rich enough to have afforded one. For me, the term governess was something referred to on TV programs like Downton Abbey, or in books that told stories of those with extreme wealth.
A frown pulls his eyebrows low. “I-I don’t think so. We always attended private schools.” He sighs, letting his head bump the back of the sofa. “I should apologize to everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I ruined dinner. And yelled. I never yell. I’m the jovial one. Xan? Now, he yells, although less so since he married Imogen.”
“They’re your family. They’ll understand, and everyone is entitled to yell from time to time.”
He looks so concerned, so anxious, it makes something clench behind my ribs.
“So, I didn’t scare you?”
“Nope. I don’t think there’s a single thing you could do that would scare me.”
He nods, although I’m not sure whether he believes me. “There’s something I have to tell you, but I haven’t found the right time. And this probably isn’t the right time, either, but it can’t wait. I don’t want you to think I’m keeping things from you.”
“Oh?” An uncomfortable feeling circles in my chest. My go-to response is always erring on the negative. “What?”
“Remember when we returned from Cornwall, and I said I had some business to attend to?”
“Yes.”
“I went to see Preston La Salle.”
My lips part. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “Why?”
“To tell him that if he wanted his remaining son to stay above ground instead of beneath it, he’ll make sure Rory never comes near you again, nor has you followed.”
Wow. “How did he take that?”
“With bluster at first. I don’t think he had a clue what Rory had done. I doubt you’ll have anymore trouble with him.”
“I see.” I rub my hands together, palms clammy. “Did he say anything about the custody case?”
“Not much. He did ask me to pass on a message to you, though. He wants you to consider allowing him and Felicity to see Isla.”
My stomach bottoms out. I worry my lip. “Do you think I should?”
“What I think or don’t think is irrelevant. It’s what you think that matters.”
I heave a sigh. “You know, before all this, Isla was pretty close to her grandparents. They never liked me, and it showed, but they cared for Isla.”
He touches my arm. “Take your time. You don’t need to decide anything right now.”
“I just…” Another heavy sigh lifts my chest. “Isla’s never met my mother, for good reason. If I don’t let her see Felicity and Preston, I’m robbing her of her other grandparents, too. And when she grows up, she might hate me for that.”
“Isla could never hate you.”
I hope not. As a mother I’m constantly second guessing every decision I make, wondering if I’m fucking things up somewhere. Felicity and Preston tried to take Isla from me, and I’ll never forgive them for that, but I have to think about what’s best for my daughter in the long run.
“I think I should go back down. This dinner is important to my father.” He curls his fingers around my hand. “Will you come with me?”
“Try and stop me.”