Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
NICHOLAS
No one is more shocked than I am by how much I’ve enjoyed my honeymoon. Originally, I brought Victoria here out of a sense of duty—something my entire family is well versed in. Every woman deserves a honeymoon, even if the marriage is an arranged one rather than a true love match, but I hadn’t expected a sense of melancholy to sweep through me at the idea of returning home this morning.
Four days wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. I cannot get my fill of my new bride, which has come as something of a shock. It’s not just sexually she’s got me in a vise, either. I’ve enjoyed spending time with her, showing her around a place I’ve always considered a second home. Turns out the sour, bitter, combative Victoria I thought I knew isn’t her at all. She’s inquisitive, passionate, interesting, and while she isn’t afraid to speak her mind, it doesn’t piss me off nearly as much as I thought it would.
Unfortunately, it’s time to return to the real world. I have back-to-back meetings starting tomorrow and running right through the weekend to catch up on what I’ve missed. My family’s businesses are extensive and diverse, and although we all shoulder our fair share of responsibilities, there are never enough hours in the day.
For the first time in my life, I’m not looking forward to the humdrum of daily life. My various business interests have always grounded me, giving me a focus, a way of drowning out the voices that tell me I’m not fucking enough . But I have a new focus now, and I’m obsessed.
When the car arrives at nine o’clock to drive us to the private airfield, there’s no sign of Victoria. I left her sleeping when I rose at six this morning, even though the temptation to roll her over and sink into her consumed me, but I could have sworn I heard the shower over an hour ago. I’m about to head upstairs when she appears at the top, suitcase in hand.
“Let me get that.” I take the stairs two at a time and peel her fingers from around the handle.
She gives me a wan smile. “Thanks.”
I frown. “Are you feeling all right?” She does look a little pale, which is entirely my fault. I’ve kept her up far too late every night, and woken her early the next morning, my urges too powerful to ignore. Not once has she turned me down, though, clinging to me as I devour her over and over, our hunger for one another equal.
“I’m fine.”
She doesn’t sound fine. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The word comes out short and snappy. She sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I’m a little tired, that’s all, and not looking forward to a long, bitter English winter.”
“I’ll warm you up.” I put one arm around her shoulders and keep her close to me as we walk down the stairs, but there’s a stiffness to her body that hasn’t been there these last few days. She’s not okay, no matter what she says, but having a sister is helpful in these situations. It’s better to let her tell me what’s wrong in her own time rather than push and prod.
I still bear the scars of the time I told a fourteen-year-old pubescent Saskia to calm down and stop getting emotional. My sister is far scarier than almost anyone I know when she’s riled.
On the short journey to the airfield, Victoria says exactly four words. No, yes, okay, and fine. I scour my thoughts for what might have upset her, but come up empty. Come to think of it, she’s been fairly quiet since we returned from sailing on our second day here, although the only memories I have of that trip are of fucking my wife on a sandy beach and having her carve scratches into my back.
In fairness, this sudden change in our lives hasn’t been easy on either of us, but it’s worse for her. Tomorrow will mark seven weeks since Elizabeth was murdered, and while for me it’s rage that burns deep, for her it’s grief. I never loved Elizabeth, and I don’t love Victoria. I’ll never open myself up to the depth of feeling loving someone unconditionally brings, but out of the two sisters, I do by far prefer Victoria’s company. There’s an intelligence about her which was lacking in Elizabeth. Not that she was ignorant by any means, just too meek to interest me on an intellectual level. I thought that was what I wanted; a wife who’d give me an easy life and a couple of kids to continue the family name.
Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.
As soon as the plane takes off and Victoria shows no sign of wanting or needing conversation, I grab my laptop. I’ve purposely avoided work during the last four days, and as I open my email program and several hundred messages flood in, there’s nothing I’d like more than to avoid it for the next four, too.
Sighing, I scan those my assistant has marked as priority and begin typing responses. By the time the plane lands on a gloomy October day, I’ve barely made a dent in them. Closing my laptop with a snap, I stuff it into my carry-on and unfasten my seat belt. Victoria follows suit, standing and stretching her arms overhead. The action pushes her tits against her shirt, her nipples visible through the cotton. I snuff out a groan and quickly adjust myself.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m thirty-fucking-three, not sixteen. I’ve had more sex in the last four days than the previous four years, and still my dick is ready for more.
She catches me staring, and the first sign of a real smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
“Maybe if you’re not too busy with work, we could have an afternoon siesta.”
I get up and encircle her waist, pulling her close to me. “I’ll make sure I’m free.” A blast of cold air rushes into the cabin when the flight attendant opens the door, but despite the chill, I take the time to kiss my wife, using my body heat to keep her warm.
She responds favorably, opening her mouth to allow my tongue free access. Less than a week married, and already she fits me like a tailored suit.
When a shiver runs through her, I let her go and help her into her jacket. While she’s not exactly chatty on the car ride back to Oakleigh, her body is more relaxed. I clasp her hand, caressing her knuckles with my thumb, and scroll my phone with my free hand, responding to a couple of texts and cancelling two meetings I had between three and five.
If my wife wants a siesta, that’s what she’ll get.
We arrive at Oakleigh, and by the time I get out of the car, Victoria is a few steps ahead of me. I rush her and sweep her into my arms. She squeals, whacks me on the back, then laughs.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you over the threshold.” I march inside the house, the sounds of my wife’s giggles warming every cell in my body.
She worried me this morning, but whatever was troubling her seems to have vanished. As I set her back on her feet, Imogen appears at the top of the stairs.
“You’re back.” She races toward us, and all I can think is if Xan saw how fast she scampered down the stairs, he’d have a heart attack. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you, too,” Victoria says, embracing her now sister-in-law.
“Can I steal her away for a few minutes?” Imogen asks. “I know you just got back, but I need her advice on something.”
“Ahem, excuse me. Nicholas is not the boss of me. You don’t need his permission.”
There she is. The independent woman I know. Odd, but I’m not irked. I’m amused.
Chuckling, I pull her close to me and kiss her cheek. “Remember our date at three.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I let her go, but I don’t take my eyes off her until the two women turn the corner at the top of the first flight of stairs and disappear from sight. I’m about to go check in with Dad and let him know we’re home when Christian shows up.
“Great timing. I need you.”
“Welcome back, Nicholas. How was the honeymoon?” I lace every word with sarcasm, but Christian isn’t fazed. He simply shrugs and shoves me toward the front door. I dig in my heels. “Where are we going?”
“I found a friend of Mum’s from years back. She’s only a few miles away. I called her yesterday and asked if we could go visit her. Figured she might have an idea what that key opens. She agreed, and that’s where we’re going.”
My life’s been so chaotic these last few weeks, I’d almost forgotten the little mystery Xan and Imogen uncovered a few weeks ago. Xan’s obsessed over finding what that key opens. Me, I’ve been far more consumed with hunting down Elizabeth’s murderer or murderers, but it seems Christian’s stayed on the case.
“Did you mention the key to her?”
“No. I didn’t want to lead the witness.”
I roll my eyes at his over-dramatization. “Then, for all we know, it might be a pointless trip.”
“It might… or it might not. Besides, what else are you going to do? Your wife couldn’t wait to get away.”
I heave a sigh. Ribbing each other is what we do, but it doesn’t mean I have to sit and take it. “Fuck you.”
Rolling his eyes, he gives me another shove. “Come on. Sooner we go, the sooner we’ll get back.”
“I have meetings,” I grumble, although I’m in no hurry to get to them. All I can think about is my afternoon siesta with my sexy wife.
“I canceled them.”
My nostrils flare as I let out a frustrated breath. “Jesus, Christian. I’ve already missed a ton of important shit.”
“Slacken your butt cheeks, brother. Nothing’s that urgent.”
He walks off, knowing I’ll follow. “Does Xan know?”
He stops, waits for me to draw level, then shakes his head. “He’s too close to this, too infatuated in finding out a truth that might never surface.”
“You think it’s a wild goose chase, too?”
He doesn’t answer until we’re outside the house and the door is closed behind us. “Xan believes this key holds some kind of importance, and as our brother, I’m willing to go along with his need to find whatever it opens. Do I think we ever will? No, I don’t. Even if we did catch a break, do I think it’ll give us new insight into why Mum killed herself? Also no. We know why she did it. She couldn’t live with what happened to Annabel. I’m not sure what else there is to find.”
A spear pierces my chest, the agony of knowing I wasn’t enough for her as fresh now as that day I went looking for her and found her lying beneath the water in her bathroom. She and I were incredibly close. She meant everything to me. Everything. Finding out she hadn’t felt the same has haunted me for years.
Pushing aside the memories that engulf me in a cloud of the blackest grief, I check my watch. One-fifteen.
“How far away is this woman?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Fine. I’ll come. But I have to be back by three at the latest. Two forty-five is better.”
Christian angles his head, studying me. Then he laughs. “I get it, Mr. Newlywed. Don’t worry, I’ll have Cinders home by midnight.”
“It had better be a lot fucking sooner than midnight,” I growl.
I made a promise to my wife, and I damn well intend to keep it.