Undone by the Ex-Con

by Talia Hibbert

  Alexandra, who had been gazing dreamily out of the window, turned to stare reproachfully at her sisters. “Ava, you’re doing it on purpose. And Audrey, Lizzie told you not to ski.”

  And Isaac, slumped into one of his room’s fancy chairs like a broken toy soldier, tried to control his reaction to the sound of Lizzie’s name.

  It didn’t work.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ava asked sharply, forgetting the sisterly discord. “Why did you make that noise?”

  Isaac shrugged.

  “It sounded like a dog when its tail is stepped on,” Alex said. “A stray dog.”

  When the hell had she gotten so bloody talkative?

  Isaac maintained his silence since it was the only thread of dignity that he had left. He wouldn’t have let the girls in at all—he hadn’t let John in, or Candy, when they’d come. But he couldn’t ignore the girls.

  Still, that didn’t mean he had to entertain them.

  “You’re very boring at the minute, Isaac,” said Ava, in the manner of a scientist observing some strange phenomenon. “I thought you were only boring when grownups were around.”

  “I’m a grownup,” Audrey argued.

  Alex snorted. “You certainly are not.”

  Audrey sniffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Just…" Audrey floundered. "Shut up.”

  “All of you shut up,” Isaac snapped. The words burst from his chest without thought, without warning, without permission from his brain. But then, his brain had been sluggish since the events of yesterday.

  Oh. Fuck. It was only yesterday.

  And already he was shouting at children.

  The girls stared at him, matching expressions of shock on their faces. Alex remained by the window, Audrey’s bare foot rested on the coffee table, and Ava had her shoes on the no-doubt priceless sofa as if it were a bloody park bench. Thus frozen, they blinked in matching bafflement, creating an almost comical picture. But Isaac couldn’t have laughed if you’d paid him.

  “Sorry,” he gritted out. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean that. I’m—I’m in a bad mood. You should probably go.” He forced a weak smile, dragged his facial muscles into position with every scrap of will he had left. It was no doubt a poor effort. “Better tomorrow.”

  “Hmmm,” Ava said, peering closely at him. “I don’t know if you will be. I rather think our news will make things worse, actually.”

  Isaac frowned, blind-sided. “News?”

  “Yes,” Audrey nodded. “We came up here for a reason, you know.”

  The slight quirk of his lips caused by that sentence was, at least, one hundred percent real. “Thought you wanted to see me,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, we did,” Ava nodded, her wheat-coloured hair swinging about her little face. “But Candy said that you’d be wallowing in self-pity because something was wrong with you and Lizzie—”

  “Ava!” Alex snapped. “You have the biggest mouth in England!”

  To her credit, Ava managed to look regretful as she slapped a hand over her lips.

  But it was too late for that.

  Isaac sat up straight, his dulled senses suddenly springing to attention. “Why did she say that?” He could hear how frantic his own voice sounded, how pathetic he must seem, but he couldn’t stop it. “Did Lizzie say something to her?” Because for some reason, even as he told himself that Lizzie was exactly what he’d first judged her to be—a manipulative brat, not to be trusted—Isaac was desperate to come up with some explanation that would completely exonerate her. That would allow him to overcome his pride and his humiliation and his pain, that would allow him to forgive her, and mean it.

  Thus far, he’d come up with fuck all. And pissed himself off in the process.

  Ava just shrugged. Which was enough to have him sinking back into his chair.

  “I don’t think so,” Audrey added. Her voice was vacant, distracted, her eyes glued to the phone that she’d just produced from her pocket. “I think she guessed. Because Lizzie left so suddenly. And you wouldn’t leave your room. And then… Well.”

  All at once, a stillness fell over the girls. Isaac marvelled at the effortless connection between three people who seemed to spend most of their time arguing. But too late, he realised he should be thinking less about the eerie similarities between the sisters and more about the cause of their sudden silence.

  He looked at Ava, who was fiddling with a thread from her jumper. She pulled at the cashmere, avoiding his gaze. He looked at Alex, who had overcome her sudden verbosity and was once again staring out of the window. And then he looked at Audrey, who was still clinging to that phone.

  “What?” He demanded. His mind flew to dark and dangerous places. Force of habit, always expecting the worst. But now, instead of the house fires and family illness that had haunted his teenage fears, his mind went immediately to Lizzie. Lizzie in a plane crash; Lizzie in a car accident; Lizzie missing her insulin.

  Audrey held out the phone, and he took it, his heart in his mouth. When he saw the words on the screen, he nearly laughed with relief. It was nothing. It was fine. Just another bullshit gossip column about him and…

  And a mystery woman?

  Fuck. Swallowing hard, Isaac scrolled down the screen, tapping to enlarge the image.

  The blood drained from his face as the picture ballooned, showing he and Lizzie in the spa, naked, and far too close. His face was barely visible in this picture.

  Hers wasn't.

  He looked up, his cheeks burning. Why the hell did it have to be the girls who brought this to his attention? He wanted to jump out the fucking window.

  His voice gruff, he asked awkwardly, “Everyone seen this?”

  “Well, I assume so,” Alex said. “It is a national newspaper. I’m not certain of the circulation, but—”

  “I mean,” he interrupted tightly, “have your parents seen this?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Um. Yes.”

  “And they said...?” He asked, working hard to keep his irritation hidden.

  “Well, they didn’t really talk about it in front of us…”

  “Kate says Lizzie should be sacked,” Ava murmured helpfully.

  “I bet she fucking does,” Isaac growled. “Jesus. Okay. I... Thanks. For telling me. I need you to go.”

  “So you can call Lizzie and ask her to marry you?” Ava grinned.

  “No.” Three faces fell at the harsh finality in his voice. Suddenly self-conscious, Isaac cleared his throat. “I mean—I don’t have her number. Need to call my publicist.”

  “Oh,” Ava smiled. “Of course! Well, don’t worry about that.” She stood and skipped over to the side table, snatching up his phone. Fractured shards of screen fell like snow as she picked it up. “Um—did I break it?”

  “No,” he said tersely. “What are you doing?”

  She ignored him, tapping away at the half-destroyed screen. “There. Now you have her number.” As if it were the easiest thing in the world. Well; clearly it was. She put the phone on the table in front of him, and Isaac stared at the slim, battered piece of metal. The piece of metal that now had as much power as a fucking black hole. One slip and he’d be sucked in. Should he ring her? He shouldn’t. He should. He had to, now, surely? Or was he just making excuses? He had no idea. It would’ve been a lot fucking easier if he simply couldn’t.

  But what did children like Ava know of couldn’t? When had she ever heard the word can’t?

  Suddenly, Lizzie’s stuttering words returned to him, as clear as if she were still in his room, holding back tears. “It was wrong, and I was desperate, and I'm sorry.”

  He shook the memory away.

  When he returned to his senses, it was to see the girls standing in a tight little trio, Audrey’s arms slung around her sisters’ shoulders as she leaned dramatically on her good foot.

  Despite the urgency coursing through his veins, Isaac took a moment to glance sceptically at her a
nkle. “That bad?”

  Audrey blushed. “Not really. But Lizzie said—” She broke off at the look on his face. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m fine. Later.”

  “We’ll see you at dinner?” They began hobbling towards the door like a line of can-can dancers.

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to come,” Ava whispered.

  “I think he can hear you.”

  “He can’t; I’m whispering.” And then, raising her voice, she chirped, “Bye, Isaac!”

  He directed a half-hearted wave to their backs. Blessedly, they left and shut the damn door behind them.

  Finally alone, Isaac released all the emotions that had been swelling painfully in his chest—the hurt, the worry, the anger, the pure exhaustion. It came tumbling out in a sigh as vast as a tidal wave. He rubbed his hands across his face, scrubbing at his eyes to relieve the splitting headache he’d developed some time in the past ten minutes. Like a lightning bolt, pain scorched its way through his brain. This was too much.

  Lizzie was gone. She was never truly there in the first place. His arrogant fantasies of belonging, of partnership, of something like love, lay burnt-out on the ground—and the devil on his shoulder laughed at the embers. He had no idea what to do about this fucking contract, or about the warning Lizzie had given him. He couldn’t fathom what in the hell was going on with Mark. His phone kept fucking ringing, his chest was burning, his head was dull, his fingers clumsy, he couldn’t write a Goddamn word, he spent all night dreaming of her—

  And now this fucking mess. Because of him, Lizzie’s privacy was torn to shreds. Maybe he shouldn’t care, all things considered; maybe he should shrug and say it served her right. But God, he couldn’t think like that. Even if he’d hated her, he couldn’t think like that.

  Why didn’t he hate her?

  His movements slow and painful, as if he’d woken from a century’s sleep, Isaac leaned forward and picked up his phone. The battered screen displayed his brand new contact. Lizzie, it said, with little hearts at the end. He had no idea how Ava had added those hearts. For a moment, he considered editing the contact, just to delete them. But he couldn’t make his fingers move.

  He should call Jane. Clearly, this was why she’d been harassing him non-stop. And he owed her an apology, anyway. She probably wouldn’t make that easy. He didn’t have any excuses for his rudeness recently. I fell for a frozen woman; she became a forest fire. Had a nice ring to it, but Jane wasn’t one for poetry.

  Resigned to a verbal scalping, Isaac found his publicist’s number and hit ‘Call’. She answered on the first ring.

  “Finally. What the fuck is going on with you?” Her words were right, but her tone was all wrong. She didn’t sound furious or caustic, but concerned. Isaac’s gut tightened uncomfortably.

  “Nothing.”

  “Mmhm. Sounds like bullshit. But I’m not your therapist. Have you seen the papers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay with this?”

  He frowned. “Why would I be okay with this?”

  “Well, y’know. The bad boy image does you good. Some people find this sort of attention worthwhile.”

  Isaac’s jaw set as fury burned at his chest. “Not just about me. Lizzie.”

  “Oh, so it’s true? According to my contacts in the city, that’s Elizabeth… Elizabeth O… How the fuck do you pronounce this?”

  “Uh…” Isaac stood, wandering over to the window. Squinting into the sunlit snow, remembering the night he’d held her in moonlight. “I don’t think I know her full name.”

  There was a pause. Then Jane barked out a laugh edged in disbelief. “You fucked this girl in a spa and you don’t know her name? What’s up with you right now?”

  Isaac closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. He opened his eyes again, and let the calm, white view soothe him. Followed the jagged soar of the mountains up into the sky. Then, finally, when his anger was under control, said, “Please don’t talk about her like that.”

  “Oh,” Jane said. “Oh. Sorry. Well... What do you want me to do? Have you two spoken about it?”

  “No.”

  “I know you’re not big on verbal communication, but I’m gonna need some more direction here.”

  Fair enough. “Can you tell me—?”

  “What happened? Yep. It was that fucking blogger. She’s some upper-middle class time-waster, it turns out. Found out about the retreat and booked a bed-and-breakfast in the village. I threatened to slap her with a court order so she spilled, but she'd already published the pictures, so… Oh, and I dealt with the hotel.” Jane’s voice took on the dark, robotic cadence she used when dealing with business. It was the tone that had cowed a thousand men and would likely cow a million more. “They've refunded the whole party’s stay. They’re deeply ashamed that such an invasion occurred due to their lack of security.”

  “I bet.”

  “Mark sent me a very grateful email. He also refused to confirm or deny the girl’s identity, which I guess is good for our purposes. The papers still haven’t published a name. But there are whispers. You know this girl’s dad is some Nigerian oil tycoon? And her mother is the daughter of a viscount?”

  Isaac sighed. “Heard something like that.”

  “A viscount! I didn’t even know we still had that shit.” Jane cackled. “Inbred fuckers. Oh; sorry. Anyway, I’ve got things under control for now. But I wanted to check in with you since you’re always so unpredictable. Not that you made it easy,” she added, her tone suddenly severe.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She paused, probably waiting for more. But the familiar anxiety was clawing at his throat, sending his mind into a panic, like a deer spooked by wolves in the shadows.

  “You should talk to this woman,” Jane was saying. “I mean—does she talk? Or is she like you?”

  “She’s nothing like me.” Understatement of the year.

  But all Jane said was, “Good. Should make my life easier. Call me back, okay? Keep me updated.”

  “Okay.”

  “You promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Good. Look after yourself, chick. You sound like shit.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Thanks, Jane.”

  “No problem. Don’t ignore my calls again or I’ll carve my initials into your balls.” She hung up.

  Isaac really wished she hadn’t. He wished she’d stayed on the phone, badgering and berating and threatening him, for at least another hour.

  But things never happened the way you wanted them to; he should know that by now.

  Still, Isaac put off the next step for as long as possible. He went to the bathroom, filled the sink with cold water, dunked his fucking head in there and held his breath til his lungs burned. When he emerged, his nerve-endings sang in icy contentment. He felt something close to clarity. It helped. Chasing the feeling, Isaac changed his clothes and shoved on his boots, lacing them up tight. Then he left his room for the first time all day, skulking through the corridors with a scowl on his face, no doubt scaring the shit out of the other patrons. A couple speaking rapid Italian gave him a wide berth as he stormed through the hotel’s foyer, but it wasn’t enough to make him pause. He couldn't control himself at times like this, times when he felt savage. He didn’t have the energy to zip everything up tight inside of himself, to choke on his own pent-up feelings for everyone else's comfort.

  He had to get outside.

  The cold slapped him hard and he welcomed the blow, stamping through the crystal-sharp layers of fresh snow. He could follow the salted paths to the ski slopes, or down into the village, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to storm across untouched territory, towards the army of firs that edged the hotel’s land, because that was where he felt strongest. Solid. Ready.

  But when he finally reached the mess of pure, untouched nature, pressed his palm against the raw fucking bark, for Christ’s sake, it still wasn’t
enough. He still wasn’t ready.

  He rang her anyway.

  It didn’t take long for her to pick up. Not long at all. Almost as if she’d been waiting for him. Despite himself—despite the betrayal that hung around his neck like an iron chain, the humiliation that shackled him—Isaac’s heart leapt as the call was answered.

  Until a man’s voice said, “Keynes.”

  Isaac swallowed, hard, grinding his teeth. The last thing he needed right now, when he was at the edge of humanity, was to speak to someone who wasn’t Lizzie. Someone who should be Lizzie, by rights. Because as much pain as her voice would cause him, it was all he'd been ready to hear.

  So he didn’t hate himself too much when he replied, his voice harsh, “Who the fuck is that?”

  There was a slight pause, heavy and stiff. And then the man said, “I already told you. Keynes.”

  “Where’s Lizzie?” Isaac demanded, and he could hear himself as though from a distance, sounding like a fucking caveman or worse. Didn’t help. Didn’t stop him.

  “Lizzie isn’t available at the moment, I’m afraid.” And there was something—something in the purposeful cadence of those words, in the icy stiffness each syllable was imbued with, that was so familiar it felt like a punch to the gut.

  “You her brother?” Isaac asked.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” the man said. Yep; definitely Lizzie’s brother. “I should be asking who you are. But I believe I already know. Isaac Montgomery, I presume?”

  Isaac pressed his hand so hard into the trunk of a nearby tree that its bark grazed his skin, carving right through his callouses. “Yeah. Where’s Liz?”

  The man—Keynes—let out a sharp laugh. “What on earth makes you think that I would ever let you speak to my sister?”

  “I think,” Isaac said tightly, “that your sister is a grown woman who doesn’t need your permission to talk to me.”

  “I suppose that’s true. And yet, I find myself unable to care. I returned to London to find my sister in pieces. She won’t tell me what it is that makes her look so hopeless; all I know is that she has been embarrassed in the national news because of you. When I spoke to her last, she was doing well. Now she's a ghost. Am I wrong to think that it's your fault?”