Chapter 23 #2
A flicker of a smile tugs at his lips. “When we married, I thought I was getting a wife in name only. Instead, I got a partner in life.” He brings my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles.
I shiver, not from fear, but from… I’m not sure how to describe the feeling. A fluttering in my stomach, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting. A warm, comforting sensation spreading through my chest.
“Same,” I whisper.
When we enter the dining room five minutes later, the chatter stops, and every single person looks at us.
Alexander’s gaze drops to where my hand is still inside Tobias’s, and his usual sharp gaze thaws.
I think he’s happy. Although, as the gruffest of all the De Vil siblings, I find him both difficult to read and a little intimidating.
“Ah, there you are,” Charles says. “Just in time for dessert.”
Not a single person refers to Tobias’s uncharacteristic outburst or makes him feel terrible for storming out. Envy curls in my gut for the things I missed out on, first growing up and then when I married Marcus. I don’t begrudge anyone for being this lucky, I only wish I’d been as fortunate.
Tobias pulls out my chair for me, then takes his own. Once I’ve shuffled forward, he takes my hand again beneath the tablecloth, where no one can see. I’m unsure if it’s grounding him or if, like me, it feels right. Either way, I’m not complaining.
“I apologize for shouting,” Tobias says. “I’m not sure what came over me.”
“Damn.” Vicky slaps a hand on the table. “I owe Grace twenty quid. She said you’d apologize, and I said you wouldn’t because there’s nothing to apologize for.”
If I could, I’d race over there and kiss Vicky for saying the right thing at the right moment. I squeeze Tobias’s hand, and he squeezes back.
“Still, I shouldn’t have spoiled our dinner.”
“You haven’t spoiled anything,” Nicholas says. “Usually, it’s Xan spitting his dummy out over something or other. It makes a nice change for it to be another one of us.”
“Fuck off,” Alexander says.
Nicholas hits back with another retort, then Christian joins in, and the moment of awkwardness is forgotten.
After dessert, Tobias excuses us. We walk upstairs in silence. When we reach our floor, where my rooms are to the right, his to the left, he releases my hand.
“Thank you for tonight.”
“What are wives for?”
His close-lipped smile and sparkling eyes make my stomach flip. After Marcus, I never thought I’d find another man attractive again, but I can’t deny what’s happening to me any longer. I’m madly attracted to my husband. There’s one small problem, though.
Tobias isn’t where I am, and he never will be.
Yes, he’s grown comfortable holding my hand or giving me a hug, but that’s platonic. He’s made his position clear, and I will not ruin what we have by doing something stupid like kissing him.
God, I want to kiss him.
“Well, goodnight.” He backs up a step. “Sleep well.” Spinning on his heel, he disappears inside his living room without looking back.
I’m despondent when I reach my rooms, tired yet antsy, so I check on Isla.
She hasn’t moved and looks so comfortable.
No matter what my feelings for Tobias are growing into, Isla comes first. If I told Tobias what I was feeling, I’d wreck our friendship and make things awkward, and that could impact his relationship with Isla. I’d never do that to her.
I flick through the TV channels, sighing. Nothing grabs my attention. May as well go to bed and at least try to sleep. I saw once on a military documentary that soldiers repeat the word “sleep” over and over until their brain listens. That’s worth a shot.
An hour later, I’m still staring at the ceiling, wide awake.
I fling back the covers and shove my feet into my slippers.
Maybe a glass of warm milk will help me drift off.
I pick up the baby monitor and head into the hallway.
I could call and have one of the staff members bring me a drink, but it still gives me the ick to do that.
I’m like them, working class. I feel uncomfortable being waited on, and I probably always will.
The kitchen lights are on when I enter, although it’s empty. I open one of the gigantic fridges that’s filled with meat and vegetables, no milk. I move to the next fridge. Ah, there it is. I take out the jug and set about finding a pan and a mug.
It doesn’t take long for the milk to simmer, and I pour it into a mug and head back upstairs. As I reach the top, a sound drifts toward me. Was that someone crying out? I cock my ears and hold my breath.
There it is again.
Instead of turning right toward my rooms, I head left, pausing outside Tobias’s door. I raise my hand to knock, but the cry comes again, strangled and full of anguish. I turn the knob and enter.
On the other side of the cozy living room, a door is ajar. That’s definitely where the sound is coming from. Feeling like an interloper, I tiptoe over and peek inside.
Tobias is in bed, his quilt half on the floor, and he’s scissoring his legs like he’s trying to fight someone off.
He’s dressed only in a pair of black boxer shorts.
I avert my gaze from his body. It doesn’t feel right to stare when he’s in distress, like I’m taking advantage of him at a vulnerable time.
“No.” His hands are in front of his face now, warding away whatever demons have infiltrated his dreams. “No, please. Not again. Please, no. Mum. Muuuum.”
My stomach clenches. I move to the side of his bed and set down my mug of milk. I don’t touch him. I don’t want to startle him.
“Tobias,” I say gently. “It’s me, Rebecca.”
“NO!” He kicks out, narrowly missing my stomach, forcing me to back up.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.” I use the same tone I use with Isla when she has bad dreams. “I’m here.”
He launches upright, eyes wild, hair sticking out at all angles. He looks at me, but he doesn’t appear to see me. Then he blinks once, twice, a third time.
“Rebecca, what’s wrong? Is it Isla?”
“No, no. Isla’s fine.” I move a little closer. “You were having a nightmare.”
A frown drifts across his face. “I was?”
I nod.
He rubs his forehead like he’s trying to retrieve the memory. “I don’t remember it. Did I say anything?”
“Yes, you were saying no a lot. And calling for your mum.”
“Manly.” He gives me a wry smile. “Please take that to your grave. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting your mum. You were so young when she died. That’s bound to have left its mark.”
He grabs the quilt and pulls it over himself. “Oops. Didn’t mean to flash you.”
“It’s not a problem.” If only I could share how little of a problem it is. I pick up my mug of milk. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“You didn’t.”
He gestures to the mug in my hand. “Is that what the milk is for? Can’t sleep?”
“Yeah, it happens sometimes. My brain gets busy, and I can’t switch off.”
“Insomnia is no fun. Xan used to suffer terribly. Less so now with Imogen.”
One corner of my mouth curves in a crooked smile. “The love of a good woman, huh?”
A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “It seems so.”
Ask me to stay. Ask me, and I will.
“Well, goodnight. Maybe we could have breakfast together in the morning,” he says instead.
“I’d like that.”
“As it’s Saturday, and I’m not working, perhaps I could give Isla another riding lesson if the weather holds up?”
I can’t help but notice how the invitation is for Isla and not for her and me. It further cements the truth that this will never be anything more than what it is: a friendship. I should be content with that. I am content. I have to be.
“I’m sure she’d love to.”
“Great. Well, try to get some sleep. Hope the milk helps.”
“Thanks.”
I head back to my rooms and drink the milk.
It doesn’t help one bit.