Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
ALEXANDER
The bottom falls out of my world, and the room tilts and spins. I grip the edge of my desk and wait for things to right themselves, except they won’t. They can’t. The one thing I promised myself I’d never do is happening to me, and I don’t understand how I got here. My mind is spinning plates, and no matter how hard I try to keep them up, they’re smashing all around me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Feeling out of control, as though things are happening to me rather than by me, is a trigger point for me. My worst fucking nightmare, and I’m living it.
I grip the lapels on Carter’s jacket and yank him to me, my face inches from his. “How the fuck did this happen? And if you say that I should talk to my father one more time, so help me God, I will throw you through the fucking window.”
“Alexander.” Imogen places her hand on my arm, but whereas her touch usually soothes me, I’m irritated this time. I thrust my arm in the air, shaking her off, and grab Carter once again .
“You have five fucking seconds to tell me how this happened, and I’d strongly advise you to steer away from the one-in-a-hundred bullshit. I’m aware of the odds, but this isn’t that. I fucking know it. I want answers, and you’re going to give them to me.”
Carter’s eyes bulge, and he looks from left to right as though he’s expecting someone to come and save him.
“Five,” I say.
He stays quiet.
“Four.”
Still nothing. I drag him closer to the window. “Three!” I bellow in his face. “Two. O?—”
“It was a placebo!” Carter yells. “Your father told me if you ever came to me and demanded I give your wife a contraceptive, I was to inject her with a placebo.”
Imogen wavers, pitching forward to rest her hands on the arm of the sofa. I let go of Carter so suddenly, he falls smack on his arse. When he tries to get up, I put my foot on his chest.
“You’re lying.” I’m not yelling now. My voice has taken on a deathly air, the tone I use right before I end a mark.
“I’m not. I swear, Alexander. Ask your father. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
I remove my foot, crouch, and grab him around the neck. “But you did, Carter. You already lied to me. I know where your loyalties lie now, and they’re not with me. You know what happens to disloyal employees? They’re fucking gone.”
“Alexander.” Imogen’s voice is firmer now, demanding my attention. “Let him go.”
When I flex my fingers and Carter’s lips turn a shade of blue, his legs flailing, she drops into my sightline. “Let him go, baby. For me. It’s not his fault.”
I stare into my wife’s eyes, and when I see only love and understanding staring back, the fire in my belly dies, and a serenity settles over me. I release my grip on Carter’s throat. He rolls onto his side, coughing, gasping, and clutching his neck. I stand up straight and help my wife up from her bent over position.
“Get out, Carter, before I change my mind.”
He scrambles to his feet, grabs his medical bag, and sprints for the door. After he’s gone, I draw my eyes back to Imogen’s. “I guess I’d better go talk to my father.”
“No, Alexander. You’re not going to talk to your father. We are going to talk to your father. I’m your wife. Your refuge in the storm. Your support structure, as you’re mine. Besides, this was done to me. I think I deserve to hear your father’s explanation firsthand.” She wraps her arms around my neck and moves into my body. “We’re going to find a way through this. I promise you.”
I want nothing more than to believe her, except I’m not sure I can.
After checking a few of my father’s rooms, we find him in his personal library. His eyebrows flicker up as we enter. He puts down the book he was reading and takes off his glasses, setting them next to the book.
“Hello, you two. Why so serious? Is something wrong?”
In the ten minutes it took us to locate him, I’ve run through various opening gambits, but now it’s here, all my well-practiced monologues vanish.
“Imogen is pregnant. ”
Without a beat, he breaks into a beaming smile and gets up, thrusting out his hand for me to shake. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations. I’m thrill?—”
Leaving his hand hovering midair, I snap, “I spoke to Carter.”
Imogen touches my lower back. I’m not sure if it’s to support me or to warn me to stay calm.
“Ah.” My father gestures to the couch adjacent to his chair and retakes his seat. “Won’t you sit?”
I remain standing. “Why? That’s all I want to know, Dad. Why?”
He steeples his fingers in front of his mouth and pulls in a deep breath. “Please sit down. Both of you.”
Imogen moves first, and once she’s sat, there’s little point in me standing. I perch on the edge of the couch, every nerve in my body pulled tight. It’s a betrayal. A horrific betrayal by someone I should feel confident always has my back.
Just like I betrayed Imogen when I had her injected with it and the tracker in the first place. The duality isn’t lost on me. For the first time, I can truly put myself in Imogen’s shoes and understand why she felt so let down and left me for those two torturous weeks.
“You want to know why? Because, my dear son, sometimes a parent knows what is best for a child more than the child themselves does.”
“So, because you wanted grandchildren, you think it’s fine to ride roughshod over what I want? What I need?”
“What you think you need and what I know you need aren’t the same thing.”
Heat rises in my chest, my jaw tightening, my hands curling into fists. Imogen touches me on my shoulder this time. I take a breath, then another, and a third. As my heart rate slows, my brain kicks into gear. How does my father know about my decision not to have kids?
“Who talked? Was it Nicholas? It was Tobias, wasn’t it?” I never should have told my fucking siblings about my decision not to have kids. I can’t trust anyone other than myself. Unless… has Lilian been reporting back to my father all this time? Carter has, so why wouldn’t she, too? Have I been lied to for years?
“No one talked.” My father leans forward. “Alexander, you are my son. I know you as well as I know myself. Despite knowing you were to marry Imogen after she graduated, as the time drew closer, I knew your decisions were still driven by what happened to Annabel and your mother.” He hitches his right shoulder. “That’s why I intervened.”
“You had no right!” I roar. “No right to do that to me, or to Imogen.”
“Just as you had no right to force birth control on her without her knowledge, but that didn’t stop you.”
I wince, and he sighs. “We all do things we’re not exactly proud of, but, son, being a father is your destiny. Once the baby comes, you’ll realize it was all worth it.” He places a hand on my knee. “This is your duty, Alexander. The De Vil family name is more than me, more than you, more than all of us.”
A lump crawls into my throat, and it takes several swallows before it clears.
“What if something happens, Dad? You couldn’t protect Annabel or me from being taken. What if I can’t protect my child?”
It’s a sucker punch, and a cruel one. He shrivels before my eyes, his shoulders bowing under the weight he’s carried for all these years. How he must have tortured himself with what-ifs. I lost a sister, but he lost a child and a wife. If it crushed me, then it must have destroyed him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.” Dad shakes his head. “I’ve told you many times, son, you never have to apologize to me. As for protection, there are no guarantees. We have better technology now than we did nineteen years ago, but life comes with risks. As much as I’d love to wrap all my children in cotton wool, I can’t, and you won’t be able to with your children, either. But cutting ourselves off from the pain of life isn’t the answer. That way, we’re not fulfilling our potential.”
He smiles at me, then at Imogen. “I’m sorry I took the decision away from you, Imogen, but, and I say this to both of you, when you hold your child for the first time, it’s a love like no other.” He returns his gaze solely to me. “To deny yourself that because of an event that may never happen wasn’t something I could let you go through with. Maybe I didn’t go about it the right way, but it was the best way for you, and for this wonderful woman who I know will be an incredible mother to this child, and all the children I hope will come after.”
Is what Dad says possible? Have I created a supposed truth borne from a lie, allowing fear to convince me that I don’t want to be a father when the reality is the opposite?
Assaulted by a hundred conversations I’ve had with Lilian over the years, I glance at Imogen.
“Dad, would you excuse us? I need to talk to my wife.”
Standing, I hold out my hand. She takes it, sliding her palm against mine. Instead of heading up to our apartment, I lead her downstairs and out the front door. The morning rain shower has cleared, and fluffy white clouds fill the sky, the sun warm enough that we don’t need our jackets.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“You’ll see.”
When we arrive at the chapel, instead of going inside, I head for the graveyard where my mother and sister are buried. I stop by their graves. Imogen says nothing, but I feel the strength of her support, of her love, and it humbles me.
“After Annabel died, I cut myself off from my emotions. They were just too damn painful. On the odd occasion I felt joy, excitement, or pleasure, the guilt would crush me, because Annabel didn’t get to feel those things and, as you know, I blamed myself for not being able to save her. But that was only one facet of how losing her and my mother fucked me up.”
I turn to face her, threading our fingers together. “I’ve had hundreds of therapy sessions, but I’ve never truly listened to what Lilian was saying. I never did the work outside of my once-a-week visits to peel away the truth of my feelings. Instead, I masked them with lies that became so entrenched in my beliefs, my brain couldn’t separate them from the truth. I convinced myself I didn’t want children because I couldn’t guarantee their safety. What I failed to recognize was how I’d let the fear of one possible future dictate how I lived my life. I thought I was protecting myself from harm when the opposite is true. By denying myself the chance to be a father, I was self-harming to the point of destruction.”
I bring her hands to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. “I’m sorry, Imogen. I’ve done everything wrong. When you said the test was positive, the first thing I should have done was check in with you. Ask how you’re doing, how you’re feeling. Instead, I behaved the opposite of what a loving husband should be. Forgive me, please. I promise with all my heart that I will do better.”
“I only have one question,” she says.
My heart jumps into my throat. “What’s that?”
“Do you want this baby?”
I return my gaze to my sister’s grave. She was in the ground before she ever had chance to live, to love, to grow into the wonderful woman she would have been—what an incredible mother she’d have made. And in many ways, Imogen reminds me of her. She’s got the same fire in her belly, the same lust for life, and the same set of balls bigger than most men I’ve come across.
If Annabel were here, I know what she’d say. Then again, if she was here, I wouldn’t have the same gut-wrenching fears of bringing children into a world where evil lurks around every corner, waiting for a chance to destroy a life.
Talk to me, Belle.
Imogen is quiet waiting for me to answer her question, but I sense her growing anxiety as she rebalances her weight. If I say no to her question, she’ll leave me. She will pick the baby over me, and I wouldn’t blame her for it.
A breeze rolls across the back of my neck, and I shiver. Was that Annabel or my mother letting me know their thoughts?
“I’m scared.”
Moving into my body, Imogen wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m scared, too, but we’ll figure this out together. We’re strong enough to withstand this, Alexander. I don’t want to lose you.” Tipping back her head, she looks up at me, and there’s so much love in her eyes, emotion wells up inside me.
“Whatever you decide to do doesn’t negate the fact that you’re going to be a father. This baby will have the De Vil name, which means we’re kind of past the what if stage. And don’t you think we’re better off living here, with you, where you can protect us?” She pauses, allowing her words to sink in. “And for what it’s worth, I think the discipline and direction you can offer a child will make you a wonderful father. I hate the way this has happened. It’s unfair to force you into accepting something you’ve always feared, but here we are.”
She’s right. Whatever happens, I’m going to be a father. The deed is done, the seed sewn. Literally. And no one can provide better protection for my wife and child than I can.
I cup my hands around her face and let out a shaky breath. “My fears haven’t gone away just because you’re pregnant. I doubt they ever will. I can’t promise I won’t be overbearing. They’ll have enough security to suffocate them even while on the estate, and they’ll probably hate me for it. Nor can I promise I won’t insist on having them tagged. I need to sit with that one for a while, but if that’s what I decide, I need you to support my decision.”
Her smile, so honest and raw, dazzles me. “Well, we may as well screw them up in our own special way.”
I smooth a hand over her hair and grin. “True.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you, Little Pawn. More than I ever thought possible.”
We stand there in silence for a few minutes, holding one another, processing the enormous shift our lives have taken and will take. As the first blob of rain falls, Imogen looks up at me.
“If we have a girl, can we name her Annabel?”
A wave of pure bliss washes over me, my heart expanding, filling the dark corners of me with light and hope.
“My beautiful wife, I’d love nothing more.”