Chapter 6
Chapter Six
VICKY
Dark circles look like violent bruises beneath my eyes, the lids red, and the whites so bloodshot it looks as though I’ve spent a night on the booze. If only. Instead, I spent equal parts of the night staring at the ceiling and crying, which only infuriated me because it showed weakness. And if I’m to stand a chance of surviving this ridiculous marriage—one I’ll be trapped in for all of eternity—then a tough outer shell is a must.
Along with feelings of hopelessness and defeat, anger also burns.
Anger at my parents for putting me in this position, and at myself for being so indoctrinated into this way of life that I didn’t have it in me to refuse. Anger at Nicholas for agreeing to it, and yes, at Beth, too, for dying. If she were still alive, she’d already be a De Vil. And even though my turn to marry would have come eventually, it wouldn’t have been to one of them .
God, that family is well named. Fucking devils—every single one of them. Okay, maybe not all. Tobias isn’t too bad, and the uncle, George, seems genial and far less intimidating than his brother. But Nicholas… that man is a monster.
I slide my arms into a thick, woolen dressing gown and stuff my feet into my fluffy pink slippers. The house is deathly quiet as I trudge downstairs. Hardly surprising considering it isn’t quite eight-thirty on a Sunday morning and my parents always lie-in on Sundays. The heating only came on a few minutes ago. It’s chilly, but it’ll warm up soon. I can’t be bothered to go to the trouble of lighting a fire.
As one foot hits the bottom stair, the front doorbell chimes. Who’s that at this time of the morning? It can’t be the postman. We don’t get mail at weekends. I peer through the full-length pane of glass to the right of the door and groan.
Wonderful—my fiancé. What the hell is he doing here?
The first drops of an autumn shower hit the ground. It won’t be long before it’s pouring down, and I’m this close to leaving him out there in the rain. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to turn his head and see me standing there, I would have too. Just my luck. Heaving a sigh, I slide the bolts back and unlock the ancient door. It creaks as it opens.
“What do you want?”
“To stand here getting wet. What do you think?”
“Well, since you asked, I think with an attitude like that, getting soaked is precisely what’s going to happen.”
With a sigh, he takes a step forward. “I didn’t come here to argue, Victoria. I came to talk.”
“You started it with your sarcastic response to a perfectly legitimate question.”
Spinning on my heel, I head for the kitchen, leaving the door wide open. There’s a dull thud as it closes.
Standing on tiptoes, I reach to the back of the cupboard, my fingertips closing around the handle on the coffee pot. I set it on the counter and flick on the kettle.
“Black, two sugars,” Nicholas says, lounging against the doorframe like he owns the place. Fortunately, as I’ve fallen on the sword my parents held up for me, they still own it.
I think they owe me far more gratitude than they’ve shown me this far. Then again, I’ve always been second best, and nothing’s changed even though I’ve saved their arses. They’re happy for me to give up my life if it means continuing with theirs. Beth knew about Dad’s company, and she was happy to marry Nicholas. But I’m not. That’s the difference.
“Is this how it’s to be?” I open the fridge door and remove the half-used packet of fresh coffee. Normally, I’m lazy and make instant, but this is my Sunday morning treat. Shame it’s been ruined by my betrothed turning up unannounced.
“How what’s to be?”
“You bossing me around.”
A faint smile tugs at his too-perfect lips, and a blanket of shame coats me once more. To think I once believed I loved this man. His dark and dangerous good looks aside, there’s nothing lovable about him, and if I ever find myself weakening, all I’ll have to do is remember that he played a part in the death of my sister, and the hate will come flooding right back.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Good luck with that strategy.”
I spoon four heaped tablespoons of coffee into the pot and pour on the boiled water. The silent menace emanating from Nicholas is one of the most uncomfortable atmospheres I’ve ever been in, but I refuse to fill it with small talk.
Once the coffee has brewed, I gradually press on the plunger until it hits the bottom. I make the coffee and, because I’m feeling petty as fuck, I add six sugars and a slosh of milk to his. Leaving his mug on the counter, I pick mine up and saunter into the living room. He follows, his brows arrowed ominously low, his pupils dilated, eclipsing the majority of his dark brown eyes. He unzips his casual jacket and tosses it over the back of the chair nearest to the fire and sits down, setting his mug on the table next to him.
“Look, let’s clear the air once and for all, and then we can find a way forward.”
“Clear the air with what?” If he thinks I plan to make this easy for him, tough luck.
A muscle feathers along his jaw, a sign of his growing impatience. Good. Let’s see if I can twang a few more nerves, just for shits and giggles.
“My so-called part in Elizabeth’s death.”
“Oh, so you admit you had a part in it?”
His eyes briefly close, a sure sign he’s annoyed. “I said so-called . I had nothing to do with it, but you still think I did. And while I’m not usually inclined to explain or defend myself, considering our recent change in circumstances, and for the sake of our sanity, at least listen properly while I tell you what was said and done.”
He’s tried this before, the day following Beth’s murder, after the hospital discharged him. I hadn’t wanted to listen then, and I don’t want to listen now, but, as he so succinctly put it, our circumstances have changed. Therefore, I’ll give him this first and last chance to put his version of events across.
I make a silent gesture to him and lean back into the couch, sipping my coffee for comfort, using the cup as a barrier between us.
“You and Imogen headed off onto the dance floor, and I thought Elizabeth looked a little pale. I asked her if she was all right. She told me she was fine, a bit tired, but that’s it. She felt there was a lot left to organize with the wedding, and I guess she was feeling somewhat overwhelmed.”
“But there wasn’t a lot for her to organize. The wedding planner was handling everything.”
He pops a shoulder. “While that’s true, Elizabeth clearly felt differently. I told her it’d soon be over and then she could relax. She agreed. Xan and I started chatting—I can’t even remember what about. Work, probably. When I turned back around, she’d gone. That’s when we came to ask you if you’d seen her and, well, you know the rest.”
I drink my coffee, a chill taking root in my bones as it does every time a conversation, an incident, or stray thought takes me back to that night. If he’s telling the truth, then it doesn’t sound like he said anything terribly upsetting, although Beth was a sensitive soul. She might have felt aggrieved that he’d talked to Alexander rather than her. Yes, that must be it.
“So,” he prompts when I stare pensively into my mug. “Now you see. I said nothing to upset her.”
Call me a bitch, but there’s not a chance I’m letting him off that easily. “You may not have said anything directly, but I’m sure she didn’t appreciate you ignoring her and favoring talking to your brother instead of her.”
He drums his fingers against the side of his thigh, his jaw clenched tightly. “Maybe that’s true, but there wasn’t any malice in it, and Elizabeth will have known that because she knew me.”
An uncomfortable feeling reminiscent of envy spreads through my abdomen. I quash it as best as I can. I have no right to feel envy or jealousy or any other negative emotion regarding Beth’s engagement to Nicholas. What I do have a right to is the shame those feelings bring on me, and the crippling grief of losing her. Those I own.
“Look, I liked Elizabeth. She’d have made a good wife.”
He doesn’t say “Unlike you” but it’s there, hanging in the air between us. One more rejection in a whole line of rejections I’ve had to put up with for my entire life. Wouldn’t it be nice if, just once, I was picked first? For anything. Even at school, I was the last woman standing when teams were selected for netball or hockey. I mean, sure, I can’t catch or throw for shit, and I broke a girl’s ankle once with a hockey stick, but it still stung to hear that despairing groan as I trudged over to the team unlucky enough to get stuck with me.
“Liked? Not loved?”
His nostrils flare as he lets out a heavy breath. “Don’t be obtuse, Victoria. It doesn’t suit you. This is the world we live in. It can’t come as a surprise to you, surely? No, I didn’t love Elizabeth. At the risk of sounding cliché, I don’t do love—not the romantic kind, anyway—but I always treated her with respect.”
A stabbing sensation pierces my chest. Nicholas isn’t a man who believes in marital love, so even if he had chosen me ahead of Beth, he’d never have loved me the way I crave to be loved. Passionately, madly, deeply. And now I’ll never have the chance to experience those feelings. I’ll always be the girl who came second.
My oscillating emotions are giving me a headache. One minute, my heart is full of hatred for this man. The next, I’m bemoaning his admission that he doesn’t believe in love. What’s wrong with me?
He’s right on one point, though: this is the world we live in, which means I can’t escape this marriage, not with what’s at stake. I know my parents love me, but Beth was the one they treasured. It’s not the British way to go overboard with love. We’re stingy with our hugs and kisses, with how often we tell others that we love them. If I think about it, I can’t remember my parents ever telling me that they love me, but that doesn’t mean they don’t.
I guess I assumed I’d find the love I yearned for in my eventual husband, and now I know I won’t, it’s one more thing to grieve. I feel weighed down, the loss of something I never had but wished for yet another crushing blow to deal with.
“Are you any closer to finding out who killed Beth?” I wince, as is often the case when I think about my sister being torn apart by a bomb. The only crumb of comfort is the knowledge she wouldn’t have suffered. For her, the lights would have gone out in a millisecond. It’s the rest of us who are left to mourn and try to deal with our pain.
“No.” Two deep lines form between his eyebrows, and he presses his lips together. I wait for him to expand, but he doesn’t, leaving me to push him for more information.
“What’s the plan, then?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he lets out a weighty breath through his nose. “Keep going until I find answers.”
“ We , Nicholas. She was my sister. I’m as entitled as you are to know what happened to her and be involved in finding the culprit or culprits.”
“Fair enough.” He sweeps a hand over his face. “And we will find them. I guarantee it.”
“Then what?”
“Then?” A malevolent gleam shines in his eyes, and I get a glimpse of what crossing Nicholas might entail. “Then I avenge the death of your sister. That’s what you’d want, right?”
By avenge, he means murder. An eye for an eye. It’s no more than they deserve.
“That’s precisely what I want.”
“Good. We’re on the same page. In that, at least.”
Falling silent, he reaches for his coffee and takes a sip. I expect him to gag at the six sugars and the milk when he’d asked for two sugars and black or call me out on my childish behavior. But he doesn’t say a thing. I note, though, that he only takes a single sip before returning the mug to the table. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.
I finish my drink and place my mug down, wondering how much longer he plans to stay, and whether I should ask him to leave.
“Tell me, Victoria.” He rests his hands casually in his lap. “How do you feel about everything?”
“How do I—?” Absorbing the shock that he bothered to ask, I consider how best to phrase it, then give up and say what I really feel. “I’m angry. I presume you know the trouble my father is in with his business and how he has no option but to offer me in exchange for a cash bailout?”
Nicholas brings his steepled hands up to his chin. “That’s not quite how my father explained it.”
“Well, it’s exactly how my father explained it, but let’s not pore over semantics. The facts are that I’m having to marry you to bail out my parents, and I’m pretty pissed off about it.” When he says nothing in response, I add, “You asked.”
“And I’d expect nothing but directness from you. Thank you for your honesty.”
He’s being too reasonable. I prefer it when his physical tells show how irritated I make him, how hard he’s having to hang on to a thread of control. As much as I once thought I was in love with him, he and I have never seen eye to eye. Although I did my best to avoid him while he was engaged to Beth, so we haven’t spent much time together. I guess I’ll get to spend a lot more time with him once we’re married.
A shudder runs through me, and it’s not from revulsion. Maybe Imogen was right and the love I once thought I felt for Nicholas isn’t dead after all. Especially now I’ve finally let him tell me his side of the story, and while he’s not all the way off the hook, I have to admit that what he says happened doesn’t sound like he’s entirely culpable for Beth leaving that night.
The question remains, why did she? It’s a mystery I don’t think we’ll ever solve because the one person who can give us her motivation isn’t here any longer.
“Do you think they were watching?” I ask, diverting conversation away from him and me once more. “The people or person who planted the bomb? Were they watching and waiting for an opportunity to kill her?”
Nicholas shakes his head. “I’m not sure Elizabeth was the intended target that night. There’s no way they could have known she’d get into that cab, but with the absence of a driver in the wreckage, he has to be a part of the conspiracy.” He rubs his forehead as though his brain hurts. “I keep going over and over it, and no matter how many times I do, it doesn’t make sense.”
“If anyone can find the answers, it’s you.”
A small smile graces his lips, changing his demeanor from broody to sensual. My stomach turns over as though I’ve careened down the first dip on a rollercoaster. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”
“Don’t expect another any time soon.”
He slow blinks, then shakes his head. Reaching into his inside pocket, he takes out his phone. “As you’re insistent on being involved in the investigation, I wonder if you’ve ever seen this guy before.”
He turns the screen to face me, and I take the handset from him. Our fingers touch for a split second, electricity arcing between us. If he felt the same jolt as I did, he doesn’t show it. I glance down at the screen. It’s a sketch by someone who knows how to draw. I look at it for several seconds, then hand his phone back to him.
“I haven’t. Who is he?”
“The driver of the cab Elizabeth was in.”
I sit up straight. “How did you get that?”
“My team found a witness from the night it happened. I went to see him the day of Elizabeth’s funeral and had an artist draw a sketch from the guy’s description.”
“So, that’s where you went.” I rub my lips together, marginally embarrassed at what I’d said now I know where he disappeared to. He’s as much at fault, though. He could have told me, or he could have sent someone else. Then again, Nicholas strikes me as the kind of man who always has to be the one pulling the strings.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” I glance toward the window, where the rain is still coming down in thick sheets. “I suppose you think I should apologize for what I said at the wake.”
“I do, yes. And not only to me, but to my entire family.” Standing, he grabs his jacket and slides his arms into it. “I realize marrying me doesn’t fill you with glee, and clearly the same is true for me considering I had the choice and I chose Elizabeth, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to make this bearable for both of us.”
Take a knife and plunge it into my chest, why don’t you?
Nicholas half smiles, oblivious that his casually spoken words have pressed on an open wound. I don’t intend to enlighten him, either. That’s my pain to manage. I’m not taking the risk of him belittling my feelings or telling me to grow up and deal with it.
“Perhaps,” I murmur. “Just dial back on trying to boss me around, and I won’t have to stab you while you sleep.”
He chuckles, and my heart flip flops against my ribcage. I can’t stop staring. He looks so different when he laughs. A faint frown flickers across his face, and I drag my gaze away from his and focus on the unlit fire.
“You know where the front door is.”
There’s a pregnant pause before he speaks. “Enjoy your Sunday, Victoria. I’ll be in touch.”
All he gets from me is a curt nod, and a few seconds later, a dull thud of the door closing reaches me. I drift over to the window, watching as he makes a dash for his car to avoid the teeming rain. His driver pulls away, and I’m still standing in the same spot when my parents appear thirty minutes later.
During that time, a harebrained thought has snuck into my mind and taken root. What if… what if I were to somehow make Nicholas De Vil fall in love with me, a man who boldly stated he doesn’t believe in romantic love? Just to prove that I can.
The idea of bringing a man like Nicholas De Vil to his knees is intoxicating, a heady mix of power and vindication I never knew I needed.
Until today.