Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
VICKY
Earlier that night…
“This is such a bad idea.”
“Oh, shush.” Imogen digs her elbow into my side as the SUV reverses in the driveway, then heads out onto the road. “You’re only getting married once. I didn’t have a bachelorette party, so consider it a favor to me.”
You’re only getting married once. I force a swallow down my dry throat. My only chance at being someone’s everything, and father dearest offers me up as a De Vil sacrifice. Nicholas made it plain to me he doesn’t believe in love, and from what I witnessed during his time with Beth, he meant it.
Not good enough yet again.
The stray and frankly ridiculous thought about making him fall in love with me to prove I can withered a few hours after his visit last Sunday. My future is about survival and making the best life possible. That means working alongside Nicholas to find out who murdered Beth, and building a business that’s mine and mine alone.
Besides, I’m getting bored with my own whining. It is what it is. I can’t change the past, and I have no control over what lies ahead.
If Beth were here now, none of this would be happening.
A sharp pain stabs at my chest—the same one I get every time I think of my sister. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, just as I don’t deserve what’s happening to me.
Life fucking sucks.
“Some party,” I grumble. “No offense, Imogen, but two people is the lamest excuse for a party ever.”
When my friends told me they couldn’t make it due to prior commitments, I’d lost all interest in the idea of a hen do, or bachelorette party, as Imogen calls it.
Not that I was hugely into the idea in the first place. A hen party is a chance for a blushing bride-to-be to have one last blast with her closest friends, usually involving lots of alcohol, dancing, and maybe a stripper or two. I can’t see me and Imogen doing any of that. For one thing, she’s pregnant, which means even a glass of prosecco is off the table. For another, I can’t see her whooping and hollering and stuffing five-pound notes in the G-string of some oiled, overly muscled stripper.
I know she’s trying to do her best by me. She understands my grief and my struggle to come to terms with marrying my sister’s fiancé. It’s a lot to deal with, and I can’t say I’m anywhere close to processing the shift in direction my life has taken.
A quiet dinner at a hotel in London isn’t exactly seeing me off in style, though, is it? Still, she’d pleaded with me to come, and here I am. Maybe I’ll enjoy myself once I’m there. Beth would hate to think of me in a constant state of mourning. She’d want me to live my life to its fullest, and despite being forced into an arranged marriage, I’m determined to throw myself into every moment as though it were my last. It’s the least I owe Beth.
I expect our driver to stop outside one of the classy London hotels: Claridge’s, The Dorchester, or The Savoy, maybe. Instead, we pull into the VIP parking area of Noir Mayfair. I turn to her with a frown.
“I thought we were going for dinner.”
“Who said that?” She winks and gets out of the car, her bodyguard Max waiting to shadow her wherever she goes.
I rise from the other side. “You did.”
“No, I didn’t. You said that, and I didn’t disagree.” She tilts her head. “Come on. Don’t worry, there’s food.”
Andrew, the bodyguard the De Vils have assigned to me, drops back a foot off my right shoulder. I’m not used to being watched wherever I go, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that this is my life now. One more element of my freedom stripped away from me.
My enthusiasm is in the toilet as I trudge into the club after Imogen. The last thing I feel like is dancing, especially in Noir. This isn’t the same nightclub as the one where Beth died, but it’s still De Vil property. I’d kind of hoped I could have one night where I wouldn’t have to think about them and what my life will become in a little over one week’s time.
We’re led through the main area to the VIP section toward the back. The crowd in front of me thins, and I get the shock of my life. Right in front of me are my two best friends and Nicholas’s sister, Saskia.
“Oh, my God.” I dash forward, throwing my arms around Eloise and Briony. “You said you couldn’t come.”
“We wanted it to be a surprise.” Eloise glances over my head and tips up her chin. “Imogen kept our secret. She’s one of us now.”
“I hate surprises.” Even so, I’m smiling like an idiot.
“We know,” Briony says.
“I thought you didn’t care.”
Eloise rolls her eyes. “Bitch, please.”
Saskia edges forward and briefly hugs me. “I hope you don’t mind me tagging along.”
“Of course not.” I don’t know Saskia all that well, but she is going to be my sister-in-law. “It wouldn’t be right if you weren’t here.”
“I know Nicholas isn’t who you’d have chosen, but I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to help you settle in at Oakleigh. Imogen will, too. We want you to be happy.”
Imogen appears to my right, grinning. “We do, Vicky. But first, we want you to have the best sendoff possible.”
“You’re a sneak.” I wag my finger at her. “What if I’d have refused to come?”
“Ah, I had a backup plan.”
“Which was?”
She hitches a shoulder. “Kidnapping, of course.”
Her joke lands like a punch to the gut. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully forgive myself for the part I played in getting Imogen kidnapped. Even though she was rescued relatively unscathed by her husband, things could have gone an entirely different way.
“Hey.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I know where your mind’s gone. Stop. This is your night, and we’re going to throw you the best bachelorette party we can. Right, girls?”
“Right,” the other three chorus.
A bottle of champagne appears from somewhere, and the popping cork bounces harmlessly off the wall before rolling to a stop at my feet. Glasses are filled, although Imogen’s is sparkling water rather than Bollinger, and when the first sip hits my stomach, a warmth spreads through me.
I raise my glass in the air. “To Beth.”
Somber faces greet me, and all four women join me in toasting my sister. God, I miss her, but I’m lucky to have Eloise, Briony, and Imogen to prop me up. I find myself scanning the club. On occasion, I catch glimpses of women who remind me of Beth, and for a split second, I think it’s her. As hard as it is when that happens, I figure it’s my subconscious trying to find a way to deal with the crushing blow dealt by losing Beth in such horrific circumstances.
Our VIP server brings out plates of finger food, and once our stomachs are full, we all pile onto the dance floor. Max and Andrew, along with another bodyguard who I presume is Saskia’s personal protection, stand on the periphery, scanning the crowd for signs of trouble, and at first, I can’t help but notice them. After a while, though, I forget they’re there and throw myself into having a good time.
“I’m out!” Imogen shouts after a half an hour, raising her hands in the air. “This baby’s already sucking all my energy and I’m not even showing yet.”
“I’ll come with you,” Saskia says. “I should have known it was a mistake to wear brand new shoes.”
They vanish to our private seating area, leaving me and my two best friends behind. It’s been ages since we had a night out, and who knows how long it’ll be before I can do this again. I haven’t a clue what Nicholas’s idea of marriage looks like, but if he thinks he’s going to stifle me like Alexander did to Imogen when they first got together, he’s got rocks in his head. While I understand that security is essential, these amazing women are a key part of my life, and that won’t change after the wedding.
The DJ switches out the upbeat music for a slower tune, leading couples to take to the floor, their arms around one another, eyes locked in a private conversation. A surge of envy rushes through me.
I’ll never have a man look at me like that. It’s one more loss in a series of losses that seem to be piling up around me. I’m buried beneath them, struggling to breathe.
Eloise touches my shoulder. “Let’s get a drink.”
I follow her and Briony through the mass of swaying bodies, jumping when a hand grasps my arm.
“Where you going, beautiful?” a tall stranger slurs, getting a good look down my top from his lofty height. “How ‘bout a dance?”
“No, thanks. I’m engaged,” I say, trying, and failing, to free myself. The crowds of people have swallowed up Eloise, and I can’t see Imogen or Briony, nor the bodyguards, only an expanse of bodies swaying in time to the music.
“I don’t see a ring, darlin’, which means you’re fair game.”
Fair game? Give me strength. I yank my shoulder up, but I still can’t break free of his grip. “Even if I wasn’t engaged, I’m not ‘fair game’, as you put it. Now, fuck off.”
“What did you just say to me?” His grip on my arm tightens, his eyes flashing, probably incensed I dared to speak back to him. Misogynistic pig.
“I said fuck off. Want me to write it down for you? Oh, no, wait. You probably can’t spell.”
The punch comes out of nowhere. Pain explodes in my cheek, and I lose my balance, stumbling into the couple behind me before landing on my backside. An electric shock-like feeling zips up my spine, and if I wasn’t winded, I’d have screamed.
Chaos erupts. Max appears from nowhere, grabs the guy by the scruff of his neck, and hauls him off the dance floor. Andrew drops to his haunches to help me up. The next thing I know, we’re moving. I’m not even sure my feet touch the floor.
The chilly autumn air hits me as we exit the club. Our driver hurries from the car and opens the door, and Andrew bustles me inside. Seconds later, Imogen gets in, too. Max slams the door and climbs into the row of seats in front of ours, where Andrew’s already sitting.
“Go,” Max barks at the driver. “Valley Forge A & E. It’s the nearest hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital.” I gingerly touch my cheek and hiss. Fuck, that hurts.
“Vicky, you do.” Imogen cups my chin and carefully turns my head to one side. “That might be broken. You need an X-ray at least.”
I roll my eyes. “Great.”
She squeezes my hand, then threads her fingers through mine. “What happened?”
“Some guy came onto me. Didn’t like being told no.”
“Oh, Vicky. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Thank God you weren’t. If anything happened to you again on my watch, Alexander would kill me.”
“He wouldn’t.”
I arch a brow. “You do know your husband, right? Possessive, vengeful bastard. And what with you being pregnant and all, he’d murder me for sure. I bet Nicholas would be glad to lend a hand, too.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re being so matter of fact.”
I shrug. “I’ve been punched before. No big deal.” I don’t tell her it was by Beth when she was ten, and it was a mistake. She was twirling around our living room, lost her balance, and I took a smack to the face. Very different to getting hit by a six foot one dude with power behind his punch.
“It is a big deal.”
I change the subject. “Are Eloise and Briony okay? And Saskia?”
“Erik, Saskia’s bodyguard, took her back to her car. I’m not sure about Briony and Eloise. Max hustled me out of there so fast I didn’t get time to check.”
“I don’t even have my phone to message them.”
“Here, I grabbed your purse for you.” She lays my handbag in my lap.
“You’re a lifesaver.” I open up our group chat and type a quick message letting them know I’m alive. Two replies come in quick succession, even though they’re together and one would suffice. Both demand to know where I am and what’s happened. I tell them I’m on my way to the hospital, adding reassurance that it’s precautionary only, and promise I’ll message once the doctor has checked me over.
“I should text Alexander. Have him tell Nicholas what’s happened.”
“Don’t,” I say. “It’s not like he cares, anyway.”
“Vicky, I’m sure he’ll want to know you’re okay.”
“I am okay.” I’m far from okay. For every minute that passes, the pain in my cheek doubles. I am not a fan. 0/10 do not recommend. All Nicholas will do is make me feel worse than I already do. No thank you. I’ll pass.
Her face twists, and I can tell she isn’t happy, but as I don’t see her dip into her handbag for her phone, I take a guess she’s going along with my wishes.
The A & E department is teeming with patients of differing needs, and after I book myself in, they tell me to sit in the waiting area and someone will triage me as soon as they can.
“’As soon as they can,’ could be anywhere from an hour to several,” I say to Imogen. “You should go home.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“She’s safe with me, Mrs. De Vil,” Andrew says. “Max will see you get home safely.”
“That won’t be necessary, Andrew,” she clips out.
“As you wish, ma’am.” Andrew sits down beside me, and Max chooses the chair next to Imogen. We haven’t been there long when I hear my name being called—and not by the receptionist. I glance up and groan. This night keeps getting better and better.
“What the fuck happened?” Nicholas charges over, glaring at first Max, then at Andrew.
I shoot a look at Imogen. She holds up her hands. “It wasn’t me.”
“It happened fast,” Andrew says, a blush creeping over his cheeks.
So, he was the snitch. Wonderful. I make a mental note to have a little chat with Andrew. If he’s my security detail, then I want his loyalty with me. It’s probably hopeless considering the De Vils pay his wages, but it’s worth a shot.
“All fucking security breaches happen fast.” Nicholas drops to his haunches in front of me, fingers clasping my chin as he twists my head this way and that. Surprisingly, his touch is as gentle as Imogen’s was.
“Who did this to you?” Something dark and barely contained threads through his voice.
“Some random idiot. It’s fine, Nicholas. I’m fine. Don’t blame Max or Andrew. It wasn’t their fault.”
His face contorts as though he’s eaten a particularly bitter lemon. I feel sorry for the bodyguards. Nicholas isn’t the kind of man to let them off with a mild scolding.
“What has the doctor said? Why are you out here rather than in a room?”
“I haven’t been seen by a doctor yet.”
“What?” he bellows, causing several people nearby to glance our way. Not that Nicholas gives a shit about drawing attention because he only gets louder. “Why the fuck did you bring her here?” He jabs a finger in Andrew’s face. “You should have taken her to Ashcroft.”
Ashcroft is a private hospital catering to people who can drop five grand on a one-night stay. Can’t say I’ve been there myself, but I’ve heard of it.
“They don’t have an accident and emergency department,” Andrew says.
“And?” Nicholas glowers at him. “They have fucking doctors, don’t they? And X-ray equipment. MRI scans.” He reaches for my arm. “Get up. I’m taking you to Ashcroft.”
His trademark control is nowhere in sight. He’s almost vibrating with rage as he tugs on me to get up. I stay right where I am.
“I’m fine here.”
A muscle ripples through his cheek, and his pupils are blown wide enough that his eyes look black rather than brown. “No, you are not. I won’t have my future wife sitting on plastic chairs all night waiting for an X-ray when Ashcroft will have it done within the hour.”
“I’m not your property yet,” I reply, aware I’m being combative for the sake of it while secretly pleased he not only came to see me, but is fighting my corner, too. “You can’t order me around.”
“Your misbelief is cute, but I’m not in the fucking mood to argue the toss. Do I have to throw you over my shoulder? Or are you going to get up and walk out of here on your own two feet?”
He’d do it, too. The De Vils aren’t the kind of people who make idle threats. “Fine,” I grumble, getting to my feet. “Ashcroft it is.”
“Right answer.” He slides an arm around my waist. “Andrew, Max, take Imogen home.”
“I’d like to stay,” Imogen says.
“Xan will want you home, and that’s where you’re going.” He glares at Max, then Andrew. “Are you both still here?”
“Call me,” Imogen shouts back as Max steers her toward the exit, with Andrew striding after them. “Look after her, Nicholas.”
We follow Imogen and the two bodyguards outside. They slide into the car we arrived in while we climb into one parked behind. Barron, Nicholas’s personal bodyguard, shuts the door and situates himself into the front passenger seat.
“Ashcroft,” Nicholas snaps.
I wince, rubbing my temples. “Stop shouting. You’re giving me a headache.”
“Better than the fucking heart attack you gave me.”
“I wasn’t aware you cared.”
I wait for him to deny that he does, bracing myself for that sharp stab of rejection. Except he says nothing. The only sign he heard me at all is his fisted hands pressed into the leather seat.