“I don’t want you. I own you, remember? You’re mine. My right person. And I would go back and walk the line quietly if it meant the last six months turned out differently. Because my only regret in this life we’ve chosen is losing our little girl. Everything else…I would do it all again in a flash of a heartbeat.”
A sober softness smooths his face. In an instant he’s got me on my back. My body protests at taking his weight, but as he kisses my face over and again, dotting his physical affection on me, the physical pain slowly ebbs away.
“You didn’t lose her, Arabella.”
He slips down my body, his lips trailing kisses down my neck to my chest. Although I’m naked and I feel his awareness of the fact, he doesn’t once try to sway the moment into something sexual.
It’s one of the things I’ve always found astonishing about him. Christopher loves to fuck. We both do. But he never lets that cloud his awareness of the situation. He’s always so attuned. So good at gauging things.
“You don’t lose a baby. I’ve always hated the way people say that. It’s so dismissive. Like another life is something you can misplace.”
“That’s not what I meant.” My heart feels for him. Not as someone that has gone through all this with him. But as someone who loves him so dearly that I feel his pain on top of mine. I feel his sorrow and his resentment. And despite what I told him last night—I am sorry for leaving him. I’m sorry for not being there to hold his hand for both our sakes. Even if I’m not sorry for doing what I could to protect him.
“It’s impossible to lose a baby,” he says again, laying his head on my stomach.
His finger traces my scars, and I really expected to feel something other than the comfort of our closeness.
“They’re alive and it doesn’t matter how small or new or any of those fucking clinical terms they like to use. They are real and they have hearts. Beating hearts. So you can’t lose them. Sometimes they-they…they die. They’re people and they die.”
They’re people and they die.
It’s a hard fact. There’s no way to pretty it up or sugar-coat it.
Closing my arms around his head, I hold him to me, trying as hard as I can to give him some form of relief.
Where I woke up to our dead child, he watched her go. I can feel a lot of things and hurt in many ways, but I’ll never know or understand what that moment did to him.
And it’s wrong of me to envy something so morbid, but I do. I wish I knew. I wish I felt it. And I wish I understood.
I wish I had been there with them. That I could miss her weight in my hands. Instead, I live with the constant physical emptiness. The ghost of a bump and the ghost of our baby.
“When we look back on this, I want to see a trail, Christopher. A thick, crimson path, and I want to know that I helped pave it. Not because it’s justice or retribution. I just want blood. I want to win.”
“You can have whatever you want, Belles. Any fucking thing.” There’s deep, never-ending affection and devotion in the way he presses a kiss to my belly. The caress of his fingers is like a biological obsession of his body with mine. “It’s all yours, so long as you don’t leave me again.”
“I never left you, Christopher. Who do you think left a trail for you to find me in the first place?”
Dark orbs flit to mine faster than a flash. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not stupid enough to walk into the lion’s den without a loaded gun.” Brushing his hair back, I twirl the longer strands on top around my finger. “When I took the ledgers from Kit’s apartment…I left copies of everything for Leo to find, and in case it took him longer than I had to work through his stuff, I took a photo of one of the pages and left it in my cloud for Freddie to find. So you would know I was doing something.”
“The photo had names. Leo said the pages have numbers.”
“Kit was helping Grace looking into some trail that connected all these events, I don’t know what they are because apart from the notes he had, I can’t figure it out. I know half of them are dates, but so much shit comes up when you search them…”
He looks completely engrossed in my words, the ticking of his thoughts apparent in his strained features.
“What about the logo?”
“I used headed paper from the club. It was a way of linking everything to make sure Freddie knew I was on to something and to let him know where I was. I knew he would be too much of a stalker not to hack my shit.”
“And you thought of all that?” I’m not sure whether he’s surprised, pissed off, or impressed as he braces himself over me again.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure whether I’m angry or relieved. Honestly? I’m more concerned that you felt the need to put yourself in danger to make up for something that wasn’t your fault.”
I open my mouth to reiterate that not only was I doing what my father asked of me to try and stop him from getting hurt, but I was doing something to help move things along. Before I can say anything though, he silences me with a finger on my lips.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, and none of this is worth that. I’m not worth that.”
“Don’t be cavalier.” Hissing back at his words through his finger, I pull him down on me. “You’re worth everything.”
“Promise me you won’t do something so stupid again. No matter who tells you to.” His hands cup my face as mine slip under the elastic of his joggers.
“I wasn’t and it will never be stupid to me, and I’m not going to promise that I won’t do what it takes to keep you alive and out of harm’s way. I’m not even sorry. I’ve given you everything, Christopher. My life. My future. My soul. Everything. But that false promise is something I’ll never give you.”
The thuds of my heart quicken, echoing in my chest, the longer he stares me out. Two lines furrow between his brows as he holds me with his gaze.
“I can’t fight you for it. Can I?”
“No, you can’t. Like you can’t expect me to promise something you would never give me in return.”
“So we’re at an impasse.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Na-ah, we’re married.”
Chuckling, he strokes his thumbs over my cheeks, lowering his forehead onto my lips.
“We are.”
I kiss his forehead, squeezing his butt until he’s laughing so hard, I feel it in the way the hard planes of his body pressed into mine.
“You know what I’d really like?”
Chin butting on mine, he looks up at me, waiting for my reply.
“I want to go home.” Disappointment tinges my request, because right now, our home is a building site. But I desperately want our own space. I want to close the door, bolt it, chain it, lock it however many times we need to, in order to escape everything.
“I know. I want that too, but freezing my bollocks off doesn’t sound cosy or remotely inviting.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“But it really fucking is.” Laughing, he wriggles back down my body. “And let’s face it, you love my balls.”
I fail to hold my laugh.
“Well, you have until Christmas because love your balls or not, I am not spending it in a hotel…or with all the family.”
“I thought I married a social butterfly.”
“Once you give me my home, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
“You already are, precious girl.” Tears well in my eyes at this new endearment. I have no idea where it’s come from or how it’s stuck. But I love it. I love him.
This ridiculously privileged boy that sauntered into my heart and stole my soul with his cocky attitude and arsehole tendencies.
Chapter 37
Arabella
The atmosphere in the house is strained with the overshadowing uncertainty of what will happen next. Christopher and the other guys are going over all the knowledge I relayed to them.
Nothing that they didn’t already know, the only
thing that has come from me opening my mouth is Leo’s hurt. He won’t look at me, but if our gazes catch, he’ll shake his head with a grumble and look away.
He’s the only thing I had left of Kit. Our friendship is one of the things that helped me keep going. Looking at him and seeing his brother in his smile or in his observant stares, it made my heart hurt as much as it took away the longing that missing Kit filled it with.
“He won’t be mad at you forever.” Casper sits next to me at the piano.
“Yeah?” I continue playing the melody I picked up from the obscene number of times “Bury a Friend” has been on the radio. “He’s the master grudge bearer around here.”
“Can you blame him for being upset? Technically you broke into his dead brother’s apartment and took something that was important to him.”
“It wasn’t his to begin with, and anyway, Kit left Francis the key with instructions on where to find the ledgers and his notes.”
“Don’t get prissy me. I’m here trying to make sure you’re okay.” Tapping an odd key when I change the melody to something a little less passive-aggressive, he nudges me gently.
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not saying you were wrong, but it was a reckless thing to do. Christopher won’t hammer that in—I get why. But one of us has to. And one of us has to tell you that the least you can do is apologise for going behind Leo’s back. You left a trail, so you might as well have come to us.”
“It’s always so straightforward and easy for you. Right? You just do what you want. You never leave your lane, but I’m the bad person because I didn’t come to you guys and ask permission to do what I needed to.”
“Is that what you think? That we want to control you?”
Control is what everyone around here wants. Even me. I want control over my future. I want power. Really, I want to be the king.
Would it be so bad if the king in this game was me? A woman?
“You’re your own person, Bella.” Tilting to the side, he rests his head on the top of mine.
It must be an awkward position for him given that there’s a significant height difference between us.
“You can follow the path laid for you on your own terms. You can make your own rules…you don’t have to work for Dad’s love. You’re his favourite anyway.” His chuckle does nothing to hide the friction between him and our father.
“Because of Christopher,” I say.
We exchange silent side glances. Casper’s trying to find something to say that will discredit my remark, but it’s pointless we both know it’s true. Until Christopher showed interest in me, Casper was the only child he saw. Georgina and I were spoiled with everything we wanted to make up for his lack of presence.
“That’s not true,” he says, playing a dissonant chord that falls flat over the melody I’m playing.
“I never wanted to be his favourite. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted is Christopher.”
“Like I said, you’re your own person and you can make your own rules. You can live how you want even if you go down the path that’s been paved for you. Just don’t be selfish. Don’t forget the people around you…the ones that care.”
“Are you done preaching?”
“God you’re so stubborn! You were wrong. Admit it!”
Maybe the way I handled the situation wasn’t altogether right, but it wasn’t wrong either. They keep secrets too.
“I’m not going to back down, and you’re not going to bully me into being sorry for any of the things I’ve done,” I tell him without taking my eyes off the keys.
The wind outside howls through the naked trees, vibrating the old leaded glass window the ancient upright I’m playing is in front of.
Ivory keys are weathered like teeth, but the scratched-on notes from years of teaching grandchildren how to play still boldly withstand time.
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to realise that Dad played you…like he always does. He used your vulnerability, and you let him. You don’t need to do everything he asks of you. It’s not your duty to pander to his ambitions.”
“You’re starting to sound like Georgina.” I take a deep breath to centre myself. With all the things I want to say batter-ramming me from every angle, I can’t actually form a coherent argument that won’t come out full-on defensive and give him a scab to scratch at in order to wear me down to his point of view. I see it. I understand it. But I don’t agree with it. “I’m going to tell you what I told her. Christopher is the only thing that matters. And I’m done with this conversation.”
The irritation vibrating through him is palpable. Tapping a random key to throw me off the tune, he asks, “Do you actually still like Braveheart?”
He taps another key when I carry on playing the love theme from the film. “You know the only reason Mum let you watch it is because she had no fucking clue what actually happens in it.”
“I’m certain the blood and screaming gave it away.”
“They can take away our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!” His whisper yell is broken up with a chuckle.
“Actually, my favourite line is when Princess Isabella sends for Wallace to try to warn him of the danger coming his way. He asks her why, and she says, ‘Because of the way you’re looking at me now.’”
“Isn’t that the bit where he fucks her? Again, Madre had no idea her eight-year-old was running around half-naked pretending to be a revolutionist who fucks the enemy.” He taps another key.
“Please don’t annoy me. I’m trying centre myself, okay?” Normally I would have made an overly aggressive threat that I probably couldn’t follow through on, but that would only make him tease me harder. “And, it wasn’t the fucking. I was eight. I wanted to be her because she loved William. And I liked that even in the midst of so much destruction, that something as frivolous as love could bloom. She betrayed her husband and the king for something that held no value to anyone but her and the man she loved.”
“Such a girl.” Instead of pressing a key, Casper nudges my arm. “Her part doesn’t count as betrayal because she was a bartering piece in a doomed power play.”
I ignore the insinuation he’s making. Always so fucking righteous because he refuses to follow any of the rules. They think Christopher and Freddie are the loose cannons, but Casper is something far more threatening. He might be loyal, but he won’t ever go against his grain for anyone. It’s why he and Dad always butt heads.
Mum laughs about it. “Dos gorgojos no se besan.”
Two weevils can’t kiss.
It’s the truth and it’s the reason I didn’t go to him in the first place. All he sees is Dad being the Deputy Prime Minister, and not me getting what I need. Being something more than arm candy.
“My second favourite part is when the king is dying, and she tells him that she’s pregnant with William’s baby.” Heart stuttering in my chest, I take a deep breath to steady myself.
Will it always be like this? Will I always picture the little girl Christopher and I made and imagined?
Swallowing down the longing-filled ache clogging my throat, I press on with the melody and the conversation. “She’s the real hero in the story because regardless of the outcome, she gave William everything he fought for. In fact, she gave him more…she gave him the throne.” I shoulder him as he tries to mess with my rhythm again. “But I think what really got me was the face-painting and the men wearing skirts. It was confusing. These big burly guys running around with mean-looking weapons, chopping heads off and getting all covered in blood, all while wearing kilts and falling in love.” Chuckling, I trip over the keys with a cringe. “It’s an epic film.”
Our chat dims, and even though it’s on repeat, I carry on playing the same tune. The chords reverberate through the air, bouncing off the wood-panelled walls.
“Bella?” Although I make no move to pause, he takes my hands quickly before closing the lid. When I look at him, he has worry crumpling his chiselled face. Th
ick, dark eyebrows are pulled together, and onyx eyes narrow on me. “Is everything okay with you and Christopher?”
“Yes.” I relax at the genuine smile that stretches my lips. “Is everything okay with you?”
A tight-lipped smile lights his face, but it doesn’t escape me that it doesn’t really touch his eyes. Casper has never been a big smiler or talker. He’s the quiet person that takes everything in. Doesn’t miss a beat or a glance.
His nod is enough to tell me something is bothering him, but he can’t bring himself to say it.
Lifting the lid of the piano, he murmurs, “She didn’t win. He got butchered to death.”
“I did the right thing for me and my husband.”
A dark chuckle leaves him as he stands, and I carry on playing, changing the song because he’s ruined it with his remark. That part of the movie is the worst, I hate that the good guy has to sacrifice himself for his cause. There’s no justice in it, and it plays on every one of my fears.
Sometimes, I hate Casper and his ability to make a simple statement more impactful than a shakedown from Dad or Emily.
What’s worse is that I can feel him watching his words sink in. I try to ignore it, but the longer I sit, concentrating on my fingers so they don’t trip over themselves, the more my anxiety knots me up inside. My heart goes into overdrive, beating itself raw until I can’t take the pain anymore.
Christopher
The pool table is lined with the copies Arabella made. Leo is still fuming, and I can’t blame him, but at the same time I need him to forget about that part of the story and focus on what connects all the information.
Looking up at me, he’s beyond baffled. I’m not sure whether he’s actually seeing anything in front of him. Leaning over the edge of the table, he practically pours himself over the notes he and Freddie have added.
The two of them have been poring over all the information we have night and day, and it makes me feel guilty for not being more on it like them. A part of me feels like I’ve let them down because my focus has been on Arabella. But I can’t find it in me to be sorry for it. I can’t change any of the things that have happened. Everything in front of us is history, where she is my present and future.
Scorch (Virtues & Lies Book 2) Page 30