Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NICHOLAS
What’s it been now since I left Victoria with a woman we thought was dead? Two hours? In that time, I’ve worn out the carpet in my living room with my pacing. My family is as incredulous as I am. Elizabeth is alive. It’s unbelievable. The quiet little mouse who almost became my wife faked her own death.
Why, though? I thrust my hands in my hair, tugging at the roots. A woman who can put her family through what Elizabeth has made hers suffer is nothing more than a manipulative bitch, and I left Victoria with her. What’s she telling my wife? What lies is she filling her head with? I should never have left her alone with someone capable of such subterfuge.
God, where is she? How much longer will this torturous waiting go on?
I’ve pulled out my phone, typed out a message, and then deleted it more than a dozen times. I keep looking at the screen, praying I’ll see a missed call or a text from Victoria, but there’s nothing.
I’m a man of action, yet I’m paralyzed. There’s nothing I can do until my wife returns home with what had better be the full story. If Elizabeth tries to bullshit her sister, I’ll shake her until she rattles, and all her vicious truths spill out.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table where I tossed it a few minutes ago. It isn’t a call, but a text.
My wife: On my way home.
I can’t type a reply fast enough.
Me: That’s it?
Three dots appear. She’s replying. I stare at the phone, willing her to type faster.
My wife: It’s too complicated to type. I’ll be home in thirty minutes. I’ll explain everything then.
Patience never has been my strong suit, and the surge of irritation at having to wait reaffirms that’s still the case. I resume my pacing. Every minute feels like an hour. As the time edges closer to the thirty minutes she promised, I drift over to the window and, sure enough, headlights shine in the distance, a car making its way to the front of the house. It takes all my self-control not to hurtle down the stairs and hit her with rapid-fire questions the second she steps inside the house.
It’s another few minutes before the door to our apartment opens and Victoria enters. She’s so pale, her eyes are sunken, and her shoulders are bowing, as though she’s ready to collapse. Fresh animosity toward Elizabeth sprouts in my chest.
“Hey.” She tosses her handbag onto the table by the entrance and kicks off her shoes, then she just stands there, head hanging low.
“Come here.” I hold out my arms, and she runs into them. The second I close them around her, she bursts into tears. As much as I’m desperate to know what the fuck has gone on, pelting her with questions in this fragile state makes me a bastard, and I refuse to do that to my wife.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, is fair fucking game.
I rub circles over Victoria’s back as she trembles in my arms until she eventually gathers herself. I let her go, only to grab a handful of tissues and wipe her face, and then she’s in my arms again. The only time I’ve seen her this vulnerable was when she confessed her difficulty climaxing. Victoria has a spine of steel. To see her like this, almost broken… well, it breaks me, too. I can’t bear it.
Elizabeth will pay for what she’s done. I’ll fucking make sure of it.
How could I have ever considered marrying her when the right woman for me is the one in my arms? I must’ve had a fucking lobotomy to even consider it, let alone make a conscious choice.
“Do you want something to drink? Or to eat?”
It’s killing me to wait for her to be ready before she tells me what the fuck is going on, but I don’t want to rush her. She’s obviously wiped, the shock of finding out her sister is alive plastered all over her face.
“I’m okay.” She rubs her lips together. “Get ready to have your mind blown.” She tucks her hand inside mine and leads me to the couch, where we both sit. Taking her time, she reels off the story Elizabeth told her. My jaw falls farther open with each revelation. It’s like she’s recounting the plot from a Netflix crime drama. When she tells me the man Elizabeth ran off with is called Joel, my chin almost hits the floor.
“You’re fucking kidding?”
Blinking, she frowns. “No. Why?”
“The guy you saw in the café in Windsor? The one we followed home. His name was Joel.”
She steeples her fingers beneath her nose and blows out a heavy breath. “God. This is all such a mess.”
Fucking understatement of the century. “Who did we bury, Victoria? Who’s in that plot on De Vil land?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. All Beth said was that she was a homeless girl who seemed to be completely alone in the world.”
“I call bullshit on that. Everyone has someone, even if it’s a friend rather than family.”
“I know. I agree. But what do we do?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and blow out a stream of air. “We’ll have to have the body exhumed and examined. By someone fucking legitimate.”
“God. I’m sorry, Nicholas. This is all so… unbelievable. So horrible.”
Indeed. “Hit me with it then. What’s the reason she’s chosen now to come back?”
She avoids my gaze for a few seconds, but when she finally looks at me, my stomach swoops like a pelican diving for fish. I don’t like this. I don’t fucking like this at all. Without her uttering a word, I know I’m not going to handle this well.
“She’s dying. For real this time.”
I blink several times in succession. Christ. That’s not what I expected her to say. No wonder she’s wrecked. What a mindfuck. To find out her sister isn’t dead, to go through the shock of that, then discover she’s dying after all.
Even so, I still can’t muster up a shred of empathy for Elizabeth. It takes a special kind of person to put a family through torture and grief like she has. All my empathy is for my wife. Whatever her sister has done, she still loves her, and knowing what a conniving bitch Elizabeth turned out to be must hurt like a motherfucker.
If it were me, I’d cut her off like a gangrenous leg. But Victoria isn’t me. She’s a far more forgiving and empathetic person than I am.
“C’mere.” I hold out my arms, but she stays where she is.
“That’s not all.”
My stomach vaults again. She’s gnawing on her lip, and her eyes keep flicking to mine, then away, then back to me again. Every instinct I have tells me to brace myself. As if the story so far isn’t incredible, the real kicker is yet to come.
“Go on.”
“A few weeks ago, she caught an infection, and the antibiotics they gave her didn’t work fast enough. The infection got into her kidneys and destroyed them.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah. She’s on dialysis four times a week, but that’s not a long-term solution.” She looks me dead in the eye, then hits me with it. “Her best chance is a kidney transplant.”
Oh, I get it now. Instantly. Like a shot to the face. I launch to my feet. “No. Absolutely not.” I don’t need her to say it. I already fucking know why Elizabeth came back. Of course, she came back because she needs something. If she didn’t, she’d have let her family think she was dead for the rest of her selfish fucking life.
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I set off pacing again. If Elizabeth was here now, I’d throttle her. “I won’t let you risk your life. Not for her.”
“Nicholas, sit down, please. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Sit? You think I can sit?” Another two laps of my living room ensues. “She’s only come back because she needs your fucking kidney!” I’m yelling now, but I can’t stop. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I swipe the back of my hand over it. “She was perfectly happy to let you think she was dead until now.” I spit out a laugh, short, sharp, and filled with resentment. “No, Victoria. I forbid it.”
Like a swan, she gracefully stands and moves in front of me as I’m on another pacing turn. Taking hold of my upper arms, she looks me dead in the eye.
“Number one, good luck forbidding me to do anything. I’m not that woman, so quit that right the fuck now. Number two, do you think I don’t know that? I’m furious, Nicholas. I can’t see straight. Everything’s red. It’s like I’m looking at the world through bloody eyes. I wanted to shake her, hit her, say the vilest things to her. But I couldn’t. I can’t. Whatever she’s done, she’s still my sister.”
My eyes flare wide open. “Don’t tell me you’re considering this?”
She lets go of my arms and rubs her palms over her face. “I don’t know. I need time to think.”
“What about your parents? One of them can give her a kidney. Why does it have to be you?”
She hitches a shoulder. “I don’t know. Her doctors said I’m her best chance. Maybe it’s their age or…” She shrugs. “I don’t know, Nicholas. My head is spinning.” She flops onto the couch and closes her eyes. “I’m exhausted. This has been a horrible day. Just horrible.”
My chest squeezes tight. I sit next to her, encircling my arms around her. She’s boneless, the way she sags against me, and when her shoulders begin to tremble, I realize she’s crying again. A fresh swathe of loathing for Elizabeth drowns me. The malice behind what she did is bad enough, but she’s taken it to another level. I can’t muster a single fucking cell of compassion for her—not even when it was her selfishness that gave me Victoria.
While stroking her hair, I let her sob on my shoulder. Once she’s spent, I carry her to bed, undress her, tuck her under the covers, and wait for her to fall asleep.
When her breathing finally evens, I leave her in bed and go looking for Dad. I find him in his study. Uncle George is there, too, along with Xan and Christian. All four of them are wearing the same stunned expression I imagine I’m wearing, too. All this time I’ve been searching for Elizabeth’s murderer, and it was a set up. A fucking good one, too. Had me fooled.
“How’s Victoria?” my father asks.
I stuff my hands in my trouser pockets. “In pieces. I’ve put her to bed. She’s sleeping now.”
“Unsurprising,” Uncle George gets up and claps me on the shoulder. “Poor girl. We’ll all have to rally round and make sure she’s okay.”
“Hell of a head fuck.” This from Xan.
I turn to my brother. “You think that’s a head fuck? Elizabeth returning from the dead isn’t the whole story.”
His eyebrows rise an inch. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Fucking sister dearest needs a kidney transplant, and guess who she wants it from?” I can’t keep the anger eating me up inside from leaking out. If Victoria goes through with this, I’m not sure what I’ll do. The fear of losing her is choking me.
“Oh, fuck off,” Christian says. “Jesus, there’s balls and then there’s big fucking balls.”
“Tell me about it.” I cross to the corner of my dad’s study and help myself to three fingers of whiskey. If I don’t take the edge off my rage, I’m liable to lose it. I’m teetering, and it won’t take much to push me over the edge.
“What’s she going to do?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know.” I down the drink in one go, then refill it. Nursing this one, I sink onto Dad’s battered, old Chesterfield he refuses to trade for a newer model, the leather creaking with every move I make.
“Do Laura and Phillip know?”
I shrug. They’re not my priority. My wife is. “From what Victoria said, Elizabeth was planning to go and see them next.”
“Terrible shock for them.” Uncle George retakes his seat by the fire. “Terrible.”
“Terrible for them? What’s terrible is the fucking brass neck of Elizabeth thinking she can come back from the dead and demand a fucking kidney.” It’s not often I rail on my family, but my anger is raw, like my skin’s been cheese grated.
“Nicholas.” Dad leans forward and touches my knee. “I get you’re angry, and you’ve every right to be, but this will be a shock for Elizabeth’s parents. I cannot imagine what will be going through their minds.”
I know where he’s coming from, but I can’t summon any sympathy for them right now. I just can’t. I put my untouched second whiskey on the coffee table and get up. “Y’know, I don’t think I can be around people right now.”
They let me go without argument. I head down to the gym and, for lack of a change of athletic gear, I strip down to my boxers and take my rage out on the punch bag. After fifteen minutes, my skin is broken and blistered, and I’m dripping with sweat, but I feel marginally calmer. I head back upstairs, throwing an apologetic smile at a couple of staff members who give me the side-eye as I streak past them in my underwear, soaked in perspiration.
I beeline for the bedroom. The bed’s empty, but there’s running water in the bathroom. I peel off my sweaty boxers and get under the spray with my wife.
Encircling her waist, I hold her against me, her back to my front, and we stand there getting pelted by the rain shower, saying nothing. I figure ten or fifteen minutes must pass where she lets me hold her before she leans forward and turns off the water.
Twisting in my arms, she brushes wet hair off my forehead. “I don’t know what to do, Nicholas.”
Her lost, distraught expression cracks my chest wide open. I want to fix this for her, but my solution is to whisk her away from here, lock her up if I have to, until Elizabeth is out of our lives. I don’t feel a shred of guilt for feeling that way, either. I couldn’t give two shits about Elizabeth Montague. She deserves every ounce of my wrath and more. Empathy’s never been my strong suit, but with her it’s plunged straight into the negative.
“You don’t have to do anything right now. A good night’s sleep is what you need.” I grab a towel off the heated rail and wrap her in it. Drying myself off quickly, I turn my attention to her, and once she’s dry, I drop a nightgown over her head, sit her in front of her dressing table, and pick up a brush.
She chuckles softly. “If your business associates could see you now, they’d think you’d gone soft.”
“You think I care? All I care about is you.”
I separate a lock of her hair and run the brush through it until all the tangles are gone, then I start on the next section until it’s smooth and knot free. Picking up the hairdryer, I turn it on, using my fingers instead of the brush, massaging her skull at the same time. She lets out a soft groan and closes her eyes.
“That feels good. I don’t think I have the strength to lift my arms and dry it myself.”
“Good thing I’m here, then.”
Once her hair is dry, I blast my own, then call down to the kitchen to bring us some food. When it arrives, I’m relieved to see Victoria eat something. After we’re done, I turn down the bed, and we climb in. It’s only nine o’clock, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. I tuck her into my side and turn out the light.
“Nicholas?”
“Yeah, Half-pint?” Her smile against my skin conjures one of my own.
“Thank you.”
I’m not sure what she’s thanking me for, but her gratitude sends a blast of heat through my chest. I kiss her freshly-washed hair. “Go to sleep.”
I drift off, but sleep fitfully. A sound rouses me, and I crane my neck to check the time. Eleven o’clock. Victoria has rolled away from me, her hair splayed over the pillow, her breathing steady. I climb out of bed and go into the bathroom to take a leak. As I return to the bedroom, a gentle knock sounds on the outer door to the apartment.
“Nicholas?” Dad’s voice comes through the door. “You awake?”
Closing the bedroom door behind me, I cross the living room and open the main door. “Dad? What’s up?”
He grimaces. “Victoria’s parents are here and they’re demanding to see her.”