Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
VICKY
Today is my twenty-fourth birthday, and guess what I got as a gift?
My period.
Lucky me.
I guess on the one hand I should be relieved I’m not pregnant, especially with the amount of sex Nicholas and I have had in the last few weeks, but did it have to be today? Mother Nature could have waited twenty-four hours to drop this on me, surely?
To make matters worse, I woke up alone, same as I have every morning for the past week. Nicholas left on a business trip with Alexander a couple of days after the not-Beth incident, and he hasn’t messaged or called me once. Not once.
I don’t get it. One minute he’s all in, treating me as if I’m the only person in his world, that I’m the center of his world. The next he’s aloof and distant, almost as though he’s forgotten I exist.
Alexander has called Imogen every single day, several times per day, and whenever I’m in her company, her phone doesn’t stop pinging with messages from him, too. I know they’re from him because she gets all giggly and sometimes blushes. Whenever that happens, jealousy steals a small part of my soul. I want that, but I guess that’s the difference between a man who’s madly in love with his wife and one who likes fucking her just fine, but she isn’t on his mind enough for him to take time out of his day to get in touch.
The reality of my situation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t say I care for. I’ve always been fiercely independent, reliant on myself to make me happy, but lately the pendulum of happiness seems to sway one way or the other depending on Nicholas’s behavior toward me.
At least my business is now up and running, and once I deliver the initial draft plans to Anthony and his wife and they’re approved, I’ll get my first stage payment. Nicholas’s absence this week has allowed me to make great strides, and I should be able to send Anthony something in a few days. I’m nervous but excited at the same time. This is what I trained for, what I yearned for, and I’m proud of myself for doing it. Business start-ups aren’t easy, but I’m determined to make a success of mine.
I’m not hungry, but I make my way to the dining room anyway, the smell of coffee a scent I can rarely ignore. Imogen’s tucking into a huge pile of bacon and eggs, but the second she sees me, her fork clatters to her plate and she jumps up, enveloping me in a bear hug.
“Happy Birthday, Vicky.”
“Thanks.” I force a smile. It’s not Imogen’s fault I’m married to a jerk who can’t even be bothered to send me a happy birthday text, let alone a card. And don’t tell me he isn’t aware it’s my birthday. Nothing gets past the De Vils.
“Here, I got you something.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to.” My smile this time is genuine. She hands me an expertly wrapped box topped off with a red and white polka dot bow. Inside is a beautiful pair of ornate, gold drop earrings and a matching necklace. “Imogen, they’re lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She retakes her seat and shovels another forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “What are your plans for today?”
I shrug. “Working, I guess, and I’ll probably go to see my parents.” Since they haven’t bothered to stop by to see me, message me, or call since I returned from my honeymoon. I’m starting to think that not only did my marriage to Nicholas save Dad’s business, but it got rid of me, too. I can picture them dusting off their hands and going, “Phew. One less problem.”
“Work doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you should be doing on your birthday.”
“It’s fine.” It isn’t fine, but whatever. “I’m meeting up with Briony and Eloise tomorrow. I can celebrate then.”
I won’t lie and say I’m not feeling salty, because I am. We’ve always made time for each other’s birthdays, but this year, everyone seems to want to avoid mine. “Have you heard from Alexander this morning?”
Imogen nods. “We spoke for an hour on the phone.”
Another snap of jealousy sears my insides. “Oh.”
“Nicholas still not called you?”
“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ and grab the coffee pot before pouring myself a large mug.
“I’m sorry.” She tilts her head to one side while I flop into the nearest chair, shaking my head as one of the staff members who work this floor approaches me to take my breakfast order. I wave them away. They do a one-eighty, leaving me and Imogen alone.
“Don’t be. I know where I stand with Nicholas.”
That’s a big fat lie, but I’ve a fervent need to save face in front of Imogen, especially as she’s well aware of how much he means to me. She spotted the signs of my attraction long before Beth passed away, but luckily for me, she was the only one who did. I’d hate to think Beth knew how much I obsessed over her fiancé.
The funny thing is I know Nicholas didn’t love Beth any more than he loves me, but I never knew how she felt about him. I was always too scared to ask her in case she saw right through me to my raw, bleeding heart. She never volunteered her feelings, either. Having said that, not once did she complain about marrying Nicholas, and if I think back, she often looked content.
Apart from that last night. The night she died. Even though Nicholas is determined to track down those responsible, I don’t think we’ll ever know why she left the club and climbed into a cab despite armored vehicles with close personal protection being at her fingertips. I guess it’s a bit like the mysterious key Nicholas told me about. Some puzzles aren’t meant to be solved. It doesn’t make them any easier to live with, though.
After breakfast, Imogen heads off to a doctor’s appointment, leaving me alone with only my thoughts for company. Still not hungry, I down the dregs of my coffee and go get my shoes on. I may as well visit my parents early, then I can dive into my work without interruptions.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Mum calls. Oh, good. Perhaps they’re coming here instead. I mean, it is my birthday. I shouldn’t be the one driving over to see them.
“Hi, Mum. I was just about to leave the house to come and see you.”
“Happy birthday, darling.”
“Thanks. I should be there in about thirty minutes.”
“Ah, that’s why I’m calling. Your father has been invited to one of those golf days, and I’ve decided to go along, too. Marjorie and Solange are going to be there, and I haven’t seen them in ages. Besides, you don’t want to hang around with your parents on your birthday. I’m sure you’d much rather be with your husband.”
She gives this tinkly laugh that makes me want to scoop out my eardrums with my fingernails. Anyone would think she hadn’t lost a daughter a mere two months ago. I know life goes on, but it’s as though hers didn’t stop for a second, which, considering Beth was her clear favorite, strikes me as odd. Then again, my mother has always been a little on the strange side. I often wonder if she was dropped on her head as a baby.
“How is married life treating you?”
Like you’re interested. “It’s good. Great, actually.” A desire to hit back engulfs me, but as usual, I swallow it down. Bitter experience has taught me that it only makes me feel worse about myself. “I appreciate you letting me know. Saves me a wasted journey.”
“Of course, darling. Your card should arrive by post sometime today. I sent it a couple of days ago. I wasn’t sure what to get you. Maybe in a few weeks when you’re free we could go shopping, and you can choose something you’d like.”
“Yeah, good call,” I say dully. “Well, I’ll let you go.”
“Have a great day. Bye.” She hangs up without waiting for me to say goodbye to her. Lovely.
I trudge back upstairs feeling like the most worthless piece of crap ever.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
* * *
“Vicky? You in here?”
At the sound of Imogen’s voice, I emerge from the bathroom in my pajamas.
“Oh, there you are,” Imogen says, frowning. “Why are you dressed for bed? It’s six-fifteen.”
“So?” I shrug. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” All I have ahead of me is an evening of eating ice cream until I’m physically sick and binging Schitt’s Creek for the fifth time.
“Yes, you are.” She bustles past me into the dressing area, and by the time I follow her, she’s already pulled out several cocktail dresses, which she thrusts at my chest.
“Imogen, I don’t want to go out. I have a whole evening planned.”
Her nose wrinkles like she smelled something bad. “By yourself?”
“I’ve been by myself all day. Another few hours won’t make a difference.”
“It’s your birthday, and I know it probably hasn’t panned out like you’d hoped, and I’m sorry I can’t come to lunch with you and Eloise and Briony tomorrow, but I’m making up for it tonight. I think the plum dress will look great.”
I pull a sigh up from my toes. “Great for where?”
“De Luxe. It was Alexander’s idea. I told him it was your birthday, and he suggested a night at the casino.” She rubs her hands together. “No limit. Come on. It’ll be fun. Spending a ton of Nicholas’s money has got to make you feel better about your AWOL, asshole of a husband.”
“The De Vils own De Luxe. How is that spending his money?”
“Because.” She winks. “They have to cover all losses from their personal accounts, and you know this family. It isn’t about the money. It’s about winning. Think of how much of a bill you could run up in a few hours.”
Now, that sounds a lot more interesting. It’s better than what I had planned, even if pistachio ice cream and Schitt’s Creek is an epic evening of entertainment. “Okay, count me in.”
She claps her hands. “Excellent. I’ll organize the car. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
At eight o’clock, our car slows to a stop outside De Luxe. Max shadows Imogen, and Andrew does the same to me as we step onto the pavement and make our way up the red carpeted entrance. The door opens from the inside, and a uniformed attendant does this half bow thing like we’re royalty, then moves back to allow us to enter. I snuff out a laugh at his formality and follow Imogen inside.
I’ve never been to a casino before, and I haven’t a clue how to play any of the games, but who cares? The worse I am at them, the more of Nicholas’s money I’ll spend. Serves him right.
The sound of slot machines dinging and raucous laughter greets us as we make our way through what looks like the main part of the casino. Imogen doesn’t stop here, though. She carries on, sweeping by the roulette tables, where people cheer as the ball lands on black, and past serious looking men playing cards, with towers of chips stacked in front of them. The money this single business must take is staggering, and yet it’s a drop in the ocean of the vast wealth the De Vils have.
Well, let’s see how much of a dent I can make in the wealth of one particular De Vil.
“Where are we going?”
Imogen beckons for me to hurry up. “Private gaming room.”
“Ooh, fancy.”
She beelines for a set of oak double doors. Outside stand two uniformed security men, with bulges under their jackets. Guns are illegal in the UK other than for armed police, but the De Vils, and members of The Consortium, don’t adhere to conventional laws. They make their own rules, and no one bats an eyelid.
Imogen pauses on the periphery to glance over her shoulder at me. She’s wearing this secretive little smile, similar to the one she wore when she surprised me with a hen party after telling me it was just the two of us.
What’s she planning now?
Turning back around, she bobs her head once, and the security guy on the left steps in front of the doors and opens them.
“Surprise!”
Grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, Imogen grabs my hand and tugs me into the room. It’s packed with my friends, my parents, the entire De Vil family, as well as a few other people I vaguely recognize from my wedding.
Nicholas appears from the crowd, his arms outstretched, a grin as wide as the River Thames on his face.
“Happy birthday, Victoria.” He cups my face and kisses me, and a chorus of whoops and hollers fills the room. “You didn’t really think we’d forgotten, did you?”
“I-I… You…” I palm his shoulder, hard. “I’ve had a horrible day. I did think you’d forgotten, and I’ve been miserable. ”
In a move unlike me, a raft of tears fills my eyes. If one of those bastards dares fall, I’m going to gouge out my eyes with a gambling chip. I blink once, twice, a third time, and they recede.
Horror snakes across Nicholas’s face. “Shit, God, I’m sorry. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You didn’t even text me or call me. Not once.” I hate how needy I’m coming across. The last thing I want is for him to see through to my battered heart and realize my feelings for him run deeper than he thought they did.
He cups my face and kisses me again. “I am sorry.”
Eloise and Briony rush forward to hug me. “Babe, I told him you hate surprises, but it didn’t make a difference. He plowed on regardless.”
“We wanted to tell you,” Briony adds. “But your husband can be quite… persuasive.”
“Threats of a hot poker to the eyeball?” I sniff, and Nicholas laughs.
“Still got that terrible impression of me, huh?” He takes my hand. “Come on. Everyone wants to see you and wish you happy birthday.”
He coaxes me farther into the room, where I’m enveloped in hugs and kisses from people I truly thought had forgotten my birthday. Mum and Dad are the last to greet me, hanging back until I break into some clear air.
“Happy birthday, darling.” Mum presses a kiss to my cheek and a gift into my hand. “Open it later.”
“Twenty-four and married. Who’d have thought it?” Dad winks and kisses me too, and for a few precious moments, I feel like I matter to them. That I’m not second-best.
“Think you had a hand in that, Dad,” I say, sliding the gift box into my handbag.
“And look how it’s turned out.” He points his chin at where Nicholas is standing talking to Alexander and Imogen.
“I wasn’t keen on the whole surprise aspect,” Mum says. “But Nicholas insisted.”
Hmm. Bet he won’t make that mistake again.
Once everyone gathers into small groups, Nicholas reappears. He presses his forehead against mine, his arms sliding around my waist. “I’m sorry about not calling you. I wanted to. Truly, I did, but…” He lets out a heavy sigh, then lowers his voice so only I can hear. “You’re on my fucking mind all the time. The problem is, if I’d heard your voice, all I’d have wanted to do is come home and climb into bed with you and fuck you into multiple orgasms, and I couldn’t.” Leaning back, he stares deep into my eyes. “I didn’t think.”
Whoa… I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I promise I’ll never do anything like this again. And next time I’m away, I will call you no matter how much it makes me want to sack off work and race home.”
He’s saying all the right things, but after spending the entire day thinking no one gave a shit about me, I’m not about to let him off the hook that easily.
“You’d better.”
He flashes me those dimples, and my anger withers. “Am I forgiven?”
“No, but you’re getting there.”
“I guess I deserve that.” He kisses my cheek. “Go on. Have fun. Unlimited budget.”
I arch a brow. “Oh, it was always going to be unlimited.”
He laughs before drifting off to join a group consisting of Alexander, Christian, and his father. I move from group to group, making sure I spend time with everyone. Despite my intention to spend Nicholas’s money, I end up winning big on roulette despite never having played before. Then again, it’s a game of chance. No skill required.
After an hour of playing, I look around for my husband. I can’t see him anywhere. I’m about to collar one of his brothers and ask them if they know where he is when I spot him slipping through the double doors that lead into the public area of the casino.
By the time I cross the room and follow him, the crowds outside have swallowed him up. Damn it. Where’s he going? I’ve spent time with just about everyone, and now the hurt I felt has receded, I want to thank him for putting all this together while reiterating that if he ever does anything like this to me again, I’m going to make paté out of his man parts.
“Mrs. De Vil.” Andrew appears at my shoulder, my ever-present shadow. I have to commend the guy for his diligence. There’s no escaping him.
“Did you see where Nicholas went?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Hmm.” I quickly scan around, then set off with purpose. He must be here somewhere. I’ve almost completed a full circuit of the room when a familiar voice calls my name.
“Vicky?”
I pull up and spin toward the voice. “Matthew?” My jaw drops. “Oh, my goodness. What are you doing here?”
Before I know what’s happening, he flings his arms around me and wet lips land on my cheek. “You look amazing. They pour you into this dress?” He laughs.
I extricate myself and step back, frowning. Who says that to an ex? “Thanks. Are you on leave?”
“Yeah. Two weeks.” He rakes his gaze over me, and there’s something in the way he does that makes me want to take a shower. “Damn, Vicky, you look sexy as hell. Don’t suppose you’re interested in a hookup while I’m in town? I could get on that body again, no problem. Are your tits bigger? They sure look bigger.”
I’m too shocked to answer. Has the military done this to him? He wasn’t this crass when we were going out. Was he?
“Mrs. De Vil, would you like me to deal with this… individual?”
Matthew’s eyes go wide, and he looks at Andrew, appearing to only notice him because he spoke. “Mrs? You’re married?”
“Yes,” a voice snaps behind me, sending prickles scattering over the back of my neck. Nicholas slides an arm around my waist, possessively tugging me into his body. “To me.”
Lethal vibes pour off my husband, and for the first time, I see the predator beneath the smooth, billionaire exterior. I’ve always known on some level what he’s capable of—what all the De Vil men are capable of. When you move in our circles, stories get around. And there was the guy who punched me at my hen party, and the bruises and scrapes on Nicholas’s knuckles afterward. But this is the first time the gloves have come off in my presence.
While I’m considering how to defuse the tension, Matthew thrusts out his hand.
“Matthew Courteney. Vicky and I used to date in college.”
Nicholas stares at his hand, then lifts his icy gaze to Matthew’s face. After a couple of seconds, Matthew’s arm drops back to his side.
“I know who you are.”
My shoulders bow. Of course, he does. I bet he’s got a thick dossier of information containing everything from Matthew’s inside leg measurement to what his nighttime routine is.
“Andrew,” Nicholas snaps.
“Yes, sir.” Andrew steps forward.
“Take my wife back to the party.”
“Nicholas, no.” I grip his forearm. “Matthew was leaving, weren’t you?”
“Wasn’t planning to, no. I only just got here. What’s this party? Can I gatecrash?”
Jesus, read the room, Matthew.
“Andrew, now.” Nicholas grips Matthew by the upper arm. “Mr. Courteney and I are going to have a little chat.”
“Nicholas, you promised,” I call out.
He doesn’t answer. The last thing I see is my husband pitching my ex through a door marked: Private.
Oh, fuck.