Chapter 3
Chapter Three
IMOGEN
My phone lights up, buzzing simultaneously. I reach for it, a pang of homesickness hitting me at the sight of Emma’s name on the screen. Swiping up, I read her text.
Emma: You didn’t let me know you’d arrived okay. SMH, Salinger.
In spite of my low mood, I smile. Emma and I met the first year of college and became fast friends from day one. She was the first person I called after my parents told me about the wedding. If anything, her shock was greater than mine. I’d never mentioned my intended future to her, nor to my other college friends—partly because I convinced myself it wouldn’t happen.
Then, it did.
Me: I arrived okay.
Emma: You’re such a dick.
Emma: How are you doing? What’s he like?
Me: I’m fine. He’s… a jackass.
Emma: *Sad face emoji* I’m so sorry, Immy. I wish I could help.
Me: It’s fine. I have a plan. Sort of. It’s a work in progress.
Emma: Well, if you need ideas, I’m your girl.
Me: I might just take you up on that.
Me: Did I tell you Zenith gave me three months to accept their offer?
Emma: No, you didn’t. Why the deadline?
Me: That’s when the project starts, and they want the full team in place by then.
Me: Which means I have three months to make him divorce me.
Emma: Can you even get divorced that quick?
Me: This family can make anything happen if they want it badly enough. A separation will do. I just need him to tell me to leave, and I’ll have my bags packed within ten seconds flat.
Emma: Always here for you, Immy. Love you.
Me: Love you.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table and stare at the ceiling. I’m not remotely tired, despite the late hour. My brain simply won’t shut up. Heaving myself off the couch, I stuff my feet into my sneakers and head into the dimly lit hallway outside the rooms the De Vils have allocated to my parents and me.
My heartbeat pitter-patters like a spider scuttling over polished parquet flooring wearing tap shoes as I creep through the hallowed hallways of Oakleigh. I keep my eyes peeled and my ears cocked for any sign of footsteps, but the only sound is the rush of blood racing through my ears. Ominous pictures of what I presume are De Vil ancestors glare down at me from their places on the walls, their eyes following me, judging me .
Alexander has been noticeably absent since our prickly exchange yesterday. When he didn’t turn up to dinner last night, his father made some excuse about work. Suited me. The guy’s stunning to look at, but a complete asshole. He’s also cool as a spring shower, and completely indifferent to my attempts to rile him. I have a horrible feeling getting this divorce won’t be as simple as I’d hoped. However difficult it is, though, I have to make it happen. Even the thought of failure curdles my stomach. I cannot bear to think of this as my life, with no purpose other than being a brood mare and a trinket on a powerful man’s arm.
It’s not that I don’t want kids; I do. Someday. But not like this. Not with him .
I climb the stairs to the top floor and turn right. This looks vaguely familiar, and when I reach a door at the end, I remember why. Charles gave me and my parents a tour of the mansion after dinner last night, and he mentioned that each floor has a panic room. Although he was quick to point out there had never been cause to use them. He went on to say that this panic room is one that Alexander and Nicholas share, as they occupy this level of the house. Apparently, if the alarm sounds, this is where I am to go.
Reversing course, I head past the staircase in the other direction. Voices drift toward me, masculine and deep, and I skirt along the wall like an interloper. I have every right to go wherever I choose. I’m not a prisoner, and no one told me any areas of Oakleigh are out of bounds. I have a niggling worry about getting lost, but if I do, I’ll curl up on a couch in one of the countless rooms this house seems to have and wait until morning when the staff is up and about.
On the balls of my feet, I creep closer to the sound, curiosity pulling me along as if it’s woven into the fabric of my being. The smell of cigar smoke tickles my nostrils, and a triangular shard of light coming from a room a few feet ahead on the left shines up the wall. I pause on the periphery and peer inside.
Alexander sits alone on a couch at one end of a low table loaded with drinks and snacks, nursing an empty glass. His siblings lounge on two adjacent couches, one of them puffing on a cigar.
I hold my breath, intending to eavesdrop on their conversation, even though I shouldn’t. Mom used to tell me eavesdroppers don’t hear anything good about themselves, but as they appear to be discussing a win on a horse race, I think I’m safe .
Until I hear my name.
“You landed on your feet with Imogen.” I think that’s Christian, the third eldest brother. It’s hard to tell from this angle. I only briefly met them last night, and I was still too annoyed at Alexander to pay much attention.
“You marry her, then,” Alexander says in that cool, bored manner of his.
“Hard pass.” Christian laughs. “I’m not in the market for a wife anytime soon. With a bit of luck, by the time you and Nicholas have done your civic duty, Dad will have so many grandbabies puking on his Amosu suit, us three will get a pass.”
“Amen to that,” Tobias says. I know that’s him. He made an impression on me because he had the kindest eyes, and he bothered to ask how I was.
Alexander’s glower could strip paint off the walls, but his siblings don’t seem at all concerned by his fisted hands or the vein bulging in his forehead. Saskia, the only woman, and from what I’ve seen, my only hope of a friend, leans forward and snags an olive from the table, popping it into her mouth.
“Yeah, Xan. We’re relying on you and Nicholas to take the heat off us.”
Xan? For some reason, I’m surprised by the nickname. It’s too… casual. Then again, these are his siblings. As an only child, I have no direct frame of reference, but a few of my friends at college had nicknames for their siblings. Emma calls her older brother Einstein on account of how clever he is and how easily he aced college, whereas she had to work her backside off to get the grades she needed to land a good job in journalism.
“I figure a forty percent hit rate should satisfy Dad and his obsession with duty and tradition for a good few years,” Saskia continues, reaching for another olive.
“It won’t.” Alexander gets to his feet and crosses to a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. He refills his glass and returns to his seat, but as he does, his gaze falls on the doorway where I’m hiding. I whip out of sight, my breath clogging my throat, goosebumps flaring along the back of my neck.
He didn’t see me. He didn’t. He can’t h ? —
“Imogen.” He sounds as indifferent as ever, but he’s busted me, and there’s no point in pretending he didn’t catch me listening in on their private conversation.
I peer around the door. Greeted by five pairs of eyes, I give a half grimace, half grin. “Hi. Having a party?”
“Yes,” Alexander says before any of his siblings can get a word in. “A private one.”
“Oh, Xan, don’t be such an arsehole.” Saskia beckons to me, then pats the space on the couch next to her. “Come and join us, Imogen. It’ll be nice to have another girl to dilute some of the testosterone. It’s important we get to know our future sister-in-law.”
Alexander’s cold stare is meant to force me to decline. Too bad. In fact, doing the opposite of what he wants is a good way to piss him off and nudge him in the direction I want him to go. Namely to the divorce courts. Thrusting up my chin, I square my shoulders, tug down the sleeves of my sweater, and stride into the room as if I belong here.
“Thank you, Saskia.” I sit beside her. “I’m sorry to crash the party. I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard voices.”
“Your suite is nowhere near here.” Alexander’s eyes narrow as he returns to his chair.
“I’m aware,” I hit back, narrowing my eyes, too .
The brother sitting opposite—the one smoking the cigar—lets out a low chuckle. “Boy, oh boy, Xan.” He raises his glass to me. “This will be fun to watch.”
“Fuck off, Nicholas.”
Saskia tuts. “For goodness' sake, it isn’t a sport. It’s a wedding. A cause for celebration.” She twists her body, giving Alexander her back. “Ignore my brothers. They’re little more than Neanderthals.”
“Hey!” Tobias pipes up. “Not all of us. Just those three.”
Saskia ignores him as though he hasn’t spoken. “Must be something in the genes of men that makes them behave like children even when they’re old enough to know better.” Wafting her hand in the air, she adds, “Will one of you kindly get Imogen a drink? What will you have?”
“Oh, no, I’m okay. It’s late, and I’m not a big drinker, anyway.”
“You downed that gin and tonic fast enough yesterday,” Alexander mutters.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to blast a heated comeback, but Saskia gets there first.
“Shut the fuck up, Xan. What the hell is wrong with you? Whatever your problem is, shake it off. Your issues are nothing to do with Imogen.”
A scowl etches across his face, and he rises to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”
An urge to apologize for ruining their evening is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. I’m not the one who ruined it. Alexander is. It’s clear to me he doesn’t want this marriage any more than I do. We’re both trapped. Him, I guess, by duty. Me by a contract my father signed long ago. In other circumstances that kind of common ground would act as a building block toward the future, but I have no intentions of spending my future with this man.
“I should go, too,” I say after Alexander has stomped off. “I shouldn’t have gatecrashed.”
“Nonsense,” Saskia says. “I invited you to join us.”
Tobias leans forward and pats my knee. “Exactly. Don’t let his bad mood get to you.”
“If it helps,” Christian says, “I hear you more than held your own. Not just now, but yesterday, too. Not many people can say that about an altercation with Xan.”
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s okay. They make us tough in California.”
The chatter swirls around me, filled with in-jokes or business talk I don’t understand, but despite that, it’s sort of comforting, so I stay. I’ll take any kind of social interaction I can get. One by one, the De Vil siblings drift off until there’s only Saskia and me left. I get the feeling she planned it this way, although I didn’t see her give her brothers any kind of sign. But as soon as they’re gone, she shifts her position, raising one knee up onto the couch, her attention fully on me.
“How are you doing?” Her kindness is both unexpected and enormously welcome. I have to blink back a raft of tears that threaten to pour down my cheeks, and I’m not even that much of a crier. It’s the shock, that’s all. It’s all happened so fast, and I didn’t get time to prepare.
“I’m… okay.” I grimace. “It’s not as if I didn’t know this was coming.” Just not on the same day I graduated.
“Knowing something in the abstract,” she circles her hand in the air, “and having it actually happen to you are two completely different things. You’re allowed to feel angry, upset, confused, irritated, or any other emotion that bubbles up inside you.” She pops another olive into her mouth before tossing the cocktail stick onto the coffee table. “Hell, I know when my time comes, I’ll have all those feelings and more.”
“Will it? Come for you, I mean? I heard you guys talking earlier, and it sounded as if your elder brothers might fall on their swords, so to speak.”
“Oh, it’ll come. Arranged marriages aren’t only common in my family, they’re the only way any of us marry. It’s the way things are. I’m okay with it, depending on who Dad picks.”
She twists her lips to one side, her acceptance something to admire, if not one I mean to adopt. I have no intentions of sitting idly by and accepting my fate. Three months. That’s my target. If he doesn’t ask for a divorce by then… I’m not sure what I’ll do. Beg Zenith for an extension maybe? Or search around for a company with similar values and a project portfolio aimed at improving our world, not destroying it, as a lot of companies seem hell bent on doing.
“My advice, for what it’s worth, is to make a life for yourself here that’s more than your place as Alexander’s wife. Take walks in the countryside, bird watch, learn archery, photography, go horse-riding.”
It’s hard to ignore the fact she doesn’t say create a social circle, but I park that for now and focus on the first piece of good news I’ve had since I arrived. “You have horses?” Along with my love of architecture and drawing, horses are my jam. I used to ride a lot when I was younger, although I haven’t for a while. College work and socializing have kept me pretty busy.
“Oh, yeah. Lots. Dad owns several racehorses, although we have some regular horses, too. We all love to ride. I first got on a horse when I was…”—she wrinkles her no se—“two or three, maybe. Mum taught me.” Pain washes across her face, and she looks away, takes a few seconds to collect herself, then returns her attention to me. “Do you ride?”
I nod, taking her lead that talking about her mom is painful and not a subject she wants to discuss. “It’s been a while, and I can’t ride English style, but I’ve always loved horses, and they love me.”
“You should have Alexander teach you.”
I can’t help the laugh that climbs up my throat. “I’ll have to get him to talk to me first.”
She shakes her head. “My brother is?—”
“Don’t say complicated. That’s what assholes use as a get out of jail free card.”
A grin spreads across her face. “You’re going to make a fine match for my brother, Imogen, even if you don’t yet realize it. No, what I was about to say was he has his demons like many of us. Just give him a chance to show you the real him.” I stay silent, and she chuckles. “Fair point, considering how he’s behaved since you got here.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Your silence said it all.” She yawns, stretching her arms overhead. “Think it’s time for me to turn in.” Unexpectedly, she kisses me on the cheek and briefly hugs me. “Welcome to the family, Imogen.”
Left alone, I stare into the distance. Maybe it won’t be quite so bad being here after all. The rest of the De Vil family seems nice, although all the guys are a little intense. Except maybe Tobias. He’s… different. And Saskia is lovely.
The onset of a headache makes me finally get up. I need sleep, and I won’t get it lying here all night. I hope I can find my way back to our suite. The hallways are dimly lit, but there’s enough illumination for me to see where I’m going. If I remember correctly, I took a left, then a right, and one flight of stairs to get here, so if I do that in reverse, I should be okay. That will bring me to the correct floor, at least. From there, I should be able to find our rooms.
Before I get to the stairs, though, another light and ajar door piques my interest. I peer inside to what looks like an office. Alexander is sitting behind an imposing desk, his head bent, a pen in his left hand flying over the pages. Seconds later, he sets down the pen and leans back in his chair. Blowing out a steady stream of air, he closes the book, picks it up, and slides it onto a shelf behind him, which houses rows upon rows of identical books. Locking the cabinet, he returns to his seat and opens a laptop.
Is that…? Does…? Does he journal?
I’ve dabbled with journaling myself, but I can’t say I’m committed to the cause. But Alexander most definitely is if the sheer number of identical notebooks is anything to go by. Goodness, he must have been journaling for years and years to fill that many pages. Maybe there is more to this guy than just a pretty face and a chilly demeanor. If he journals then he must have some feelings, and that’s perhaps his way of expressing them.
“Is voyeurism a kink of yours, Imogen?” His unexpected question startles me. I step back, out of sight, even though it’s too late for me to hide. Holding my breath, I wait for him to say something else, but he’s silent. I creep forward again, peering around the door. He lifts his head, one eyebrow arched. “Well?”
“No… I mean… I didn’t mean to. I was on my way to bed.”
“Then, I suggest you continue.” He returns his attention to his laptop .
I sigh, then push open the door fully. “Look, Alexander. You’re clearly not happy about this wedding, and neither am I. There isn’t anything we can do about it, though, is there? So, what do you say to some kind of truce?”
“I wasn’t aware we were at war,” he replies in that clipped English tone of his.
There’s something about that accent that makes me feel as if I’m being scolded, and it irritates me enough that I fist my hands. Squaring my shoulders, I draw myself up to my full five feet eight inches.
“Well, you’re doing a mighty fine job of firing missiles.”
A muscle feathers his cheek, and his amber eyes stare at me for a few seconds. They’re so entrancing that I stare right back. He’s the only one of his family to have that color of eyes. The rest are shades of brown, like his father’s. Alexander must get his eye color from his mother.
Eventually, he blinks. “Go to bed, Imogen. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
He turns his back on me, his dismissal cold and unnecessarily cruel. I rack my brains for something equally horrible to say, but come up empty.
I pivot and return to the hallway, leaving him alone.