by Lucy Parker
Jay blinked.
As Dominic stroked his fingers calmly, gently, down Sylvie’s back and moved away, he said in a low voice, “As much as you hate my guts, we both have a vested interest in Sylvie’s happiness. She’s so worried about you that she’s physically shaking. If you hurt her—then you and I have a serious problem.”
He left it, and them, at that.
Sylvie hesitantly took Jay’s hand, resting her other arm lightly on his shoulder as they moved into the dance.
He looked typically tall and handsome in his tux, the lights playing over his hair and cheeks.
Their eyes met—and she could have cried in the middle of the dance floor.
Because the man looking back at her wasn’t a cold, distant stranger. He was Jay.
“‘If Sugar Fair ever closes,’” he quoted her huskily, from what now seemed a million years ago, “‘it’ll be at our instigation.’” His hand tightened on her waist. “But it won’t ever be at my instigation. I’m sorry I even went there, Syl. And after all the shit I’ve given you about keeping emotions out of business. I promise you right now—I will give one hundred percent to our company, now and always. We will share those decisions, and successes, and all the bloody stress that comes with it.”
Her eyes briefly fluttered closed. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Because it wouldn’t be Sugar Fair without you. This is our journey, to take together.” She hesitated, tried to relax her fingers against his shoulder. “But—”
Jay broke in before she could put the rest of her fears into words. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t sleep last night because I felt so shit about everything that happened. And the . . . the barrier that suddenly sprang up between us, it just felt—”
“Wrong.”
“So wrong.” His lips pulled into a grimace. “Sylvie, I love you.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from him.
“And there’s one aspect of that love that is not what you need, and is not going to be good for me, either. It’s something I’ll be talking about with a family member I trust and with my therapist as I move forward and I hope past it, but this is the last time I’m ever going to talk about it with you.” A muscle in his cheek leapt, but his voice was now very firm. “I can’t pretend that in the short term I’m going to find this easy, especially when . . .” He jerked his head very slightly toward the bar, where Dominic was now talking, extremely unenthusiastically, to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. “But above all else, I’m your best friend. And the rest of my love? It’s unconditional, it’s everlasting, and I fucking want you to be happy.”
A tear slipped down her nose and she impatiently brushed it away. She’d shed enough tears. “I want you to be happy, too. So much.”
Jay nodded, just once. “I will be. You’ve found your path, and I’m—I’ve taken the first step toward finding mine.”
He gave her hand a little shake. “But De Vere is already drilling a hole through me with his eyes. If you keep sobbing with sympathy over all those blind dates I’m going to have to sit through before I either meet the person of my dreams or decide I’d rather be a single cat dad, I don’t fancy my chances of leaving this ballroom intact.”
Their smiles were shaky but genuine.
“Come on,” he said, gently steering her off the dance floor. “You can introduce me to the birthday girl. It would be nice to meet her in person before she provides us with the contract of the decade.”
Rosie and Johnny had been making their social circles of the room with very complicated body language, but they’d now reached Dominic at the bar, and had both noticeably relaxed in the company of someone who was on their side.
They all looked up as Sylvie and Jay joined them, Dominic’s eyes immediately searching Sylvie’s.
Whatever he saw there made something ease just fractionally in his expression.
As Johnny shook hands with Jay, Sylvie saw his personal protection officer come to stand a few feet away. The security appeared to be extremely heavy at this party, and she wondered if it was solely down to Johnny’s unwelcome admirer or if the royals were alert to other specific threats.
Not for the first time, she was so grateful that her own stint in the public eye was minuscule by comparison. The fact that Johnny was willing to step into all of this by choice spoke volumes about the reality and strength of his commitment to Rosie.
His PPO was eyeing Jay with sharp suspicion. Obviously, he was meant to be a visible deterrent, not a covert one, because he wasn’t exactly blending into the crowd. The guy was a walking tank, with hands the size of plates and a stare that could laser through titanium. His bone structure was brutally sharp, his features quite uneven, and she’d heard a snotty-looking woman with a probably real fur cape giggle under her breath about “the ugly brute at the bar.”
So many people right now who should be stepping on Lego every day of their lives.
Rosie had regained the composed face of a well-trained person under a lot of stress. She was probably dying to retreat to her private apartments, kick off her shoes, and curl up with a very large cup of coffee. And—Sylvie was crossing all fingers and toes—knock down that visible wall still between her and Johnny.
The princess looked past Dominic. “I’m glad to see your sister made it.”
Dominic immediately turned, and Sylvie released an audible sigh of relief when she saw Pet walking toward them. Oh, thank God.
Pet was wearing a long flapper-style dress with strings of beads that bounced with the hesitant tip-tap of her stiletto heels. Her hair was in its usual sleek bob, her red lipstick perfect as always, but as she came closer, Sylvie didn’t think she’d taken the care with her makeup that she would expect of Pet. The younger woman had been so excited about this ball, but she looked as if she’d just thrown on the nearest dress in her wardrobe and grabbed a taxi. Clearly, this had been a last-minute decision.
She still looked hopelessly pretty—and Sylvie wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Her eyes happened to be passing over the inscrutable, suspicious face of Johnny’s PPO, and she saw that laser gaze fasten on Pet. Naturally. Anyone barreling toward his charge was a potential threat, even pint-sized twenty-first-century flappers.
But when he saw her, he inhaled—and he didn’t immediately exhale.
And he blinked, three times in a row, very quickly.
Hmm . . .
Sylvie was dragged out of intrigued speculation as Pet reached them. She sent a fast, faltering smile at Sylvie and bobbed an awkward curtsy at Rosie and Johnny, but her eyes were fixed on Dominic. She ran her tongue over her carmine lips and spoke in a wobble. “I—”
Dominic immediately stepped toward her. “Pet—”
The royal couple were watching the scene with interest, probably relieved to focus on someone else’s tense situation for two seconds.
And in that moment of abstraction came the attack.
It happened so fast that Sylvie still found it hard to piece together all the fragments of memory later. The fire alarm went off first, a sudden piercing sound that first froze and then scattered the crowd.
It distracted the security team for mere seconds. That was long enough.
Sylvie saw, vaguely, the curly blonde hair in the moving crowd right next to them before the woman rushed at them.
But she didn’t see the knife in her hand.
Rosie and Johnny’s PPOs were just a beat too slow in intercepting Helena before she silently, expressionlessly, slashed at Johnny with the long, slender blade.
Instead, it was Pet who pushed Johnny out of the way, shoving him into Rosie’s arms.
And as the blade sliced into bare, vulnerable skin, Sylvie would never forget the sight of blood splattered across antique satin and beads.
Chapter Twenty-One
St. Agnes Accident & Emergency
Around Ten O’Clock
Seconds, minutes, and hours tend to blur together within these walls.
&nbs
p; Sylvie carefully carried the cup of steaming hot tea back from the small kitchenette. She sat down next to Dominic, on chairs that made the backbreakers at Hartwell Studios seem like plush recliners, and put the cup into his hand before he could refuse it. “Just a little bit. Please.”
Dominic’s lips turned up very slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. “Good old England. When in doubt, when in crisis, when awake—a cup of tea.”
“Look, it’s a thing for a reason.” She leaned in to touch her lips to his cheek. Against his skin, she whispered, “She’s going to be fine. The paramedic said it was mostly her arm. The cut over her ribs wasn’t deep.”
He flinched slightly, his hand tightening around the cup and threatening to squeeze boiling-hot water over his hand. She put her fingers over his, stroking him.
“She’ll be okay. I promise you, she’ll be fine. I don’t think they come much stronger than your little sister.”
The silver in his hair and beard, the fine lines around his eyes, all seemed more pronounced under the harsh hospital lights. Her heart aching, all she could do was hold on to him.
“She’s been through a lot,” he said harshly. “More than I realized. Gerald spoiled Lorraine, treated her like a fucking princess. I thought he’d do the same for Pet. I let myself believe she would be okay there. I failed her.”
“You were a kid.” She took the tea and set it on the floor before it spilled. “Dom, you were just a kid. You couldn’t have done anything more. She’s okay.”
“She’s hurt. And I think I’ve been the last straw.”
“No, you’re going to be a part of the wonderful life she has coming for her now.” Sylvie held his darkened gaze squarely. “We all walked very different paths that have converged together in this hospital tonight, and we’ll all be there for one another going forward.”
She could just imagine what cynical rejoinder that statement might have prompted from him in the past. Now, he looked at her for a moment, before he reached out and cupped her head, pulling her forward to kiss her mouth.
“I love you.” Stated so simply, as a straight fact, without emphasis or frills. So perfectly Dominic, and so unexpected just then that she could hardly breathe, let alone speak.
Her hand was resting on his thigh. Her fingers tightened, hard, on the muscle flexing beneath her palm.
“Mr. De Vere?” A nurse with a calm face and compassionate eyes came to join them, and Dominic took Sylvie’s hand as they both stood at once. “We’ve moved your sister to a private room, as requested, and you may see her now.”
“Is she all right?” he asked, his fingers tight around Sylvie’s, and the nurse—Dahlia, according to her badge—nodded.
“The cuts to her arm were deep and required stitches, and it’s possible she’ll have some residual tendon damage that may require physical therapy. But the wounds to her side were superficial. We’re giving her a course of strong antibiotics to ward off any possible infection from the blade, so she’ll be in for a night or two, but she’ll be just fine.”
Dominic exhaled, but the tension remained in his body, and Sylvie didn’t think it would begin to drain away until he’d seen Pet for himself. His mind was at least able to focus enough that, as they followed Dahlia to Pet’s room, he asked with a small frown, “You said Pet has a private room as requested? I didn’t—”
“No.” Dahlia looked back at them with a raised eyebrow. “I believe that request has come, shall we say, from quite high up the chain? We’ve also been warned of an increased security detail tonight. Your sister has one or two VIP visitors requesting entry.”
Rosie and Johnny.
The royal couple had been whisked away with the rest of their relatives in the pandemonium that followed the evacuation and Helena’s arrest, but Rosie had already rung Sylvie’s phone twice to ask for an update on Pet.
Dahlia brought them to the small room with Pet’s name beside the door, and stepped back to let them past.
Sylvie also tried to hang back and let Dominic have some privacy with his sister, but he still had her hand in his and he didn’t let go.
They walked in together and found Pet propped up against the raised head of the narrow bed. Her right arm was heavily bandaged, resting against a pillow, and a few smaller plasters were visible under the neckline of her hospital gown. Without her red lipstick, she looked very young and very pale, but she smiled when she saw them.
With her left hand, she was spooning brown goo into her mouth that Sylvie hoped was chocolate. She spoke around the plastic spoon. “Please tell me nobody cut my dress off. It’s genuine twenties vintage and it cost a fucking arm and leg. I can get blood out, but if someone shredded my baby, I’m livid.”
Dominic shook his head. Both in answer to her question and in admonishment. “An arm full of stitches and that’s your first question.”
Pet shrugged her left shoulder. “Hey, I have morphine and chocolate pudding. I’m good.” The lightness left her face as she looked into his eyes. “Really. I’m okay.”
The clock on the wall tick-tick-ticked in the silence.
Then Dominic walked forward swiftly, bent over the bed, and put his arms around his sister. He was very careful not to bump even the tiniest of her cuts, but his hold was nevertheless firm and encompassing.
Over his shoulder, Sylvie saw the tears rush into Pet’s eyes. Very carefully, she put down her spoon and reached up to put her arm around her brother’s neck.
Their first hug in twenty-five years lasted for a long time.
Sylvie started to back out of the room, keeping her steps light, and both De Veres spoke without looking up. “Don’t even think about it.”
Rolling her eyes, she went and sat in a chair on the other side of Pet’s bed. At least the chairs in here had cushions. Useful to have royals pulling strings.
As Dominic straightened, Pet bit her lip. “Dominic.” Her voice sounded strange. “Lorraine rang me this afternoon.”
He hooked the other chair with his boot and pulled it closer, wincing as the legs made a terrible screech against the linoleum.
“Funny, that’s the noise my soul makes when I see her number in my call log,” Pet cracked.
He couldn’t help a small grin, but he looked at her expectantly, with a certain grimness. “What did she want?”
“To complain about her life, mostly. Sounds like everyone else she knows is wisely avoiding her, including her husband. She also tried to talk me into investing the money you gave me from Mum’s estate into a start-up. I think she’s having an affair with some tech bro who’s conned her out of her share.”
Dominic absorbed that for a microsecond. “You’re too smart to even hear out the pitch.”
“Correct. I have other plans for that money, anyway. But she also talked about you. Bad-mouthing you as usual. Ungrateful cow. She . . . wasn’t happy to hear that we’re back in touch.” Pet hesitated. Then, as she touched the skin above her bandages, lightly rubbing, the words fell out in a rush. “Is it true that when you left home and came here to London, you took me, too? That Gerald tried to have you charged with abduction, when you were just a little kid?”
Even when Dominic’s face revealed nothing at all, Sylvie thought she had some grasp on what was going on behind that studied blankness now.
He was rapidly considering if telling the truth here would further damage Pet’s idea of her family.
There had been too much deception lately.
As she watched, he came to the same decision.
“Yes. It is true.” His words were taut. “I can’t begin to tell you what a fucking light you were to me in that house. This funny, clumsy, loving baby. When I couldn’t take any more, when I had to leave, I took you with me. I brought us both to Sebastian, and with thirteen-year-old logic, I thought he could keep us both. It didn’t work out that way. And when Sebastian took you back there, and came home with the certainty that you would be happy with Lana and Gerald in a way I hadn’t been—that was the only way I could reconci
le that outcome.”
Pet was crying silently.
Dominic reached out and took her left hand, squeezing her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, very evenly, “that didn’t turn out to be the case. More sorry than I can ever say. But I will say it again: it was never true that I turned my back on you without a second thought. It was never true that I didn’t care about you. I loved you. I still love you.”
Pet took a shuddering breath and took the tissue that Sylvie held out to her.
“And I love you.” Her smile wobbled to life, casting beautiful lights into her wet brown eyes. “Big brother. Which is why I’m asking you one last time if you’ll accept the money Lana left.”
She correctly interpreted Dominic’s expression. A shortsighted person standing five kilometers away without their glasses could have correctly interpreted Dominic’s expression.
“Not as your money,” she added. “As mine. I’d like you to take it and give me shares in De Vere’s in return. It’s always been a family business, and I’d like to be a small part of that.”
“You are part of that, without needing to put money in,” Dominic said, but he was studying her now with both the big brother and the businessman faces. “You’re serious.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, very firmly. “I’ll pay market value on the shares. You’ll let me come up with some social media campaigns and general promo ideas to help De Vere’s continue on a strong trajectory. You’ll invite me around for a family dinner every fourth Sunday. And I will keep at least a couch length from your demon cat at all times.”
A bubble of welcome laughter was rising in Sylvie’s chest, and something in her own body relaxed as she saw the amusement slipping into Dominic’s eyes.
“Is that the full list of demands?” he asked mildly.
Pet tilted her head, considering. “Don’t check the small print, because there may be something about a lifetime supply of chocolate in there, but basically—yes.”