Chapter 51
GRACE
Drasko avoided her for two days. Two days and no sight of her husband!
Grace tried to fight the bitterness as she sat alone at lunch and read the latest Tribune article:
Grace Mawr’s Hidden Talent:
Her Song “Two Chances of Bliss” Is Truly a Poetic Work of Art, Quickly Becoming the Public’s Favorite.
Irritated, Grace tossed the paper aside.
Stupid.
This was all stupid. Her songs. Her pathetic attempts to seduce her husband. She was too caught up in her feelings while he was simply treating her as… the deal, right. They had agreed upon it. So now, after their night together, he was avoiding her.
Another newspaper headline drew her attention:
The Diamond King Hires an Army to Guard the Summer Ball As His Wife Wears the Most Expensive Necklace in London.
Was that his ploy to advertise the auction? Dressing her like a doll, decorating her with diamonds, the stones he himself never touched?
A seedier newspaper—and Grace had requested a servant to buy as many as he could find—was much bolder.
If Wealth Defines This Country, Then Who Are the True King and Queen?
Of course, the article was about her and Drasko.
To others, he was the Diamond King. But Grace had known him for a while now. And behind the powerful Drasko was a different one. Quiet. Withdrawn. Sometimes playful. Most of the time gentle.
She had learned to observe him secretly, noticing a frown on his forehead, the way he got quiet when no one was looking, deep in his thoughts. In rare moments like this, his gaze lost its coldness and acquired almost nostalgic warmth. Those weren’t happy thoughts.
Could she ask him what bothered him? He would dismiss her, with his forced humor, like he always did.
That was why she never asked him about the two nights . The desire to be with him made her weak. She shamed herself for that and tried to act cold.
And she found the release—in her music, the notes that carried with them all her feelings, the lyrics that told her story.
The auction was in a few days, and she knew, rather felt, that it was important to Drasko for a different reason than to prove the grandeur of the Mawr treasures. But Drasko would not tell her.
Grace met Rivka in the botanical garden.
“Why, you are all bright-eyed today!” Grace exclaimed as she embraced her friend. Her own mood had been sulky the last several days. “Is there something happening with you I am not aware of?”
“Nothing,” Rivka dismissed her too quickly.
“Liar. You are such a lovely liar!” Grace laughed. “Tell me at once!”
“There is nothing to tell!”
“Very well then. I shall not tell you what Mr. Brodia said about you the other week.”
“Zeph? What did he say?”
Grace narrowed her eyes on her friend. “Since when do you call Mr. Brodia by his first name?”
Rivka huffed in annoyance and pretended to study the magnolia tree they were passing.
Grace cocked her head, observing her friend with curiosity. “I have never seen you like this, Rivka.”
“Like what, my lovely?”
“Hesitant.”
Rivka, always so confident and wise, was suddenly quiet, her gaze roaming around, her smile ghostly.
“Very well, don’t tell me,” Grace said, disheartened.
They walked in silence for a while before Rivka spoke again. “Mr. Brodia and I went to the theatre yesterday.”
“I see. Zeph, you mean.”
Rivka blushed.
“Why is that a secret?” Grace asked.
“It’s not.”
“Why are you coy about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You refused him many times. He told me so. What made you change your mind?”
Rivka’s prolonged silence was unlike her. “There is a brief accident in the future…” She went quiet again. “Did you know that some have pre-set paths in their lives? Others have variations. I don’t know how to explain it…”
“You never told me that before. Did you see something?”
“Something… grave, I suppose. And if it’s avoided, he and I…” She shrugged nervously. “I don’t want to have a choice or blame myself for someone’s life if it were to happen.”
“Can you not see it?”
“Not my own path. Not clearly, no.”
Despite the sadness in Rivka’s voice, Grace was intrigued, never having been able to pry anything about her own future out of Rivka.
“But you did not seek me out today to talk about me, Grace,” Rivka said knowingly with a much more cheerful smile. “What is bothering you, my lovely?”
“You won’t tell me anything. What’s the point?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Do you care?”
“Of course, I care what happens to me!”
“To you? Or to the two of you?”
“This is a deal, Rivka. Drasko and I are a deal. He said so. We decided so.”
“He is a great businessman. Seems as though you are learning to make deals too, Gracie.” Rivka laughed. “I told you to be patient, and you listened. Everything should be fine. I am happy that you finally don’t resent the man and can peacefully live by his side.”
“But that’s not what true marriages are!”
Rivka raised her eyebrows. “Plenty of them are. So is yours. Yours is a good deal, Gracie.”
“But marriages… He is not… I am…” Gah! She couldn’t find the right words.
“Gracie, I think you got the best deal of all of them. This deal is working out. And the deal is only as good as the parties fulfilling them.”
If Grace heard the word “deal” one more time, she would jump in front of a carriage.
But Rivka only laughed. Laughed! While Grace wanted to cry!
“I see what you are doing,” Grace said with hurt.
“Your deal?—”
“Quit it!” Grace shouted and right away was ashamed of her own reaction. She took Rivka’s hands in hers and met her eyes. “I am sorry, Rivka, I didn’t mean to yell.”
Rivka pulled her hands away and started walking, Grace following her.
“You need to ask yourself one question, Gracie,” Rivka said, suddenly no smile on her face.
“If it came down to the worst scenario, if something threatened your marriage, perhaps threatened Drasko, if he sacrificed himself for you—despite what you think he feels, and you are probably wrong—but if he did, would you be able to carry on without him with no regrets?”
Grace frowned at her. “What are you saying?”
“Would you?” Rivka pressed on grimly. “And if it came down to it, what would you be willing to sacrifice for this deal of yours? Because when you think about it, truly think about it, you will realize how much you are not telling yourself or him. And perhaps you should. Truth, however hard, is a weapon.”
Grace halted, watched Rivka carry on until her friend noticed her absence, turned around, and met her gaze.
“Rivka,” Grace said, her stomach twisting with unease. “What are you not telling me? What do you see?”
Rivka walked back to her. “Humans are incredible creatures, Grace. There are little people with the hearts of warriors. And there are brutal warriors with tender hearts. Most people are not what they seem. What you need to do is look inside yourself. The biggest strength is not wearing a mask for others and putting on a show. The biggest strength is having the courage to see oneself for who one is, show it to others, and be able to carry on with one’s chin lifted high. ”
The words haunted Grace for the rest of the day.
She sat alone at dinner, the empty seat of her husband gaping at her with scorn. She barely ate and sat in the dining room until the darkness fell.
Samira turned on the lights and asked her softly if she wanted tea.
“Did he send any messages?” Grace asked.
“No, madam.”
“Did he come home at all while I was gone?”
“No, madam.”
Grace nodded, rose from her chair, and walked to his office.
The heavy doors opened into a large room with a giant cherry wooden desk, black leather furniture, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Plush carpet, palm trees, Indian avatars on the walls—this was so Drasko, exotic and mysterious.
In all the months that Grace had lived here, she had never made it to his office. Perhaps she should have, but he had never invited her.
Grace inhaled deeply, absorbing the scent of sandalwood and frangipani, laced with whisky and tobacco, all of it such a bizarre combination, yet so Drasko.
She brushed her fingers along the cold wood of his desk, then went around it and took a seat in the leather chair, so big it swallowed her.
She looked around, trying to see things through Drasko’s eyes. This was what he was accustomed to seeing from his throne, day after day, yet not even once had she walked through these doors.
Her gaze swept across the paintings from exotic lands and the sculptures of Indian deities, the art so unique and not the usual collection of lifeless masterpieces that many of the rich liked to hoard.
And then her eyes dropped to the desk in front of her with neat stacks of papers on both sides, pens, and quills, and?—
She took in a sharp inhale.
A small painting drew her attention. She picked it up and studied it up close.
There it was—the scene that had nagged at her for years, that awoke the dark feelings as she first met him.
A flash of memory.
A scene from her nightmares.
No, it can’t be…
Goosebumps covered her skin at the sight. His biggest secret was right there, in front of her eyes. The story he had never told her. The story that none of his servants ever talked about, no matter how much she asked.
She needed to see him!
It was close to midnight when she rushed out of the house.
Nina followed. “Ma’am, it is much too late.”
Grace only shrugged, summoning the carriage. “If it’s any consolation to you, we are going to look for my husband. Do you know where Mr. Mawr is? Perhaps he is in a questionable establishment.”
“I think not, ma’am.”
“And you would know?”
“He is not that sort of man.”
“Again, you wouldn’t know.”
But Grace knew it too.
She was afraid of her feelings, so intense and taking her by storm. Was afraid of that unexplainable connection she’d felt the very first time she saw him in the crowd. And she was afraid to lose it.
She had been wrong all along. Drasko Mawr wasn’t cold. He had a beautiful soul that he hid in the deepest corners of his heart, afraid to let others see it. Powerful men had that fault. They shared compassion and wits, keeping their best parts to themselves, as if they were the biggest treasure.
Grace had found out where he had spent the first nights after their wedding—his place of solitude, the tower. If he wasn’t still working or wasn’t at the tower, then she was wrong about him, but it was worth trying.
Determined, she rode to the Mawr Building, the ride gloomy, her heartbeat racing ahead in hopes of finding him there.
The night guard at the Mawr Building greeted her with a deep bow. “Mrs. Mawr, welcome.”
“Is my husband here?”
“I believe so. His guard is upstairs.”
“Wait here,” she told Nina and took the elevator upstairs.
Tripp sat in the chair at the office door.
“I need to see my husband,” Grace declared.
He rose, protecting the doorway. “He is at the tower. He is not to be disturbed when he is there, ma’am,” he said apologetically.
“I need to see him,” she stated simply, already relieved at the news.
“I am not allowed to go up there, but you can leave a message.”
“By God, Tripp! Step away from the door!” she snapped, having lost her patience. “I will see my husband. And if you don’t let me through, I will not talk to you for the rest of my days. It’s not a threat, but a promise. Step. Aside.”
Casting his gaze down, Tripp opened the door for her.
She walked through Drasko’s dark empty office and paused at the door that led to the tower.
Her bravery died right there, but there were things she wanted to know—from him, not from the newspapers or silly gossip.
Determined, she pushed the door open.
The tower was just as dark. The little windows along its walls shed the dim moonlight inside. Grace held her breath as she set her foot on the first step of the windy metal staircase, then another, and slowly made her way up, every step making a bell-like ring.
She reached the top, a small platform surrounded by a cylindrical wall and a door. What would wait for her there?
Her heart galloped as she knocked and, without waiting for a reply, pushed the door open.
A lone lantern illuminated the small room with windows all around it. A mattress lay on the floor, a pillow and a sheet over it.
Her eyes fell on the figure across the room.
Drasko sat with his back against the wall, his forearms resting on his raised knees. Smoke curled around him from a cigarette burning in an ashtray on the floor. A bottle dangled from his fingers. He was barefoot, his trousers rolled up, his shirt half-unbuttoned and untucked.
He was again so very… humble.
Their eyes locked across the dimly lit space. He didn’t look angry, but his gaze burned through her.
His voice was unusually quiet but with a hint of a dare when he blinked slowly and finally said, “So, you are here, Grace.”