by Geneva Lee
"Don't look so heartbroken for me," she said, calling him from his thoughts. "I'm no damsel in distress, remember?"
If only that was true, Smith thought. The best thing that could ever happen to Georgia would be if she allowed someone to save her. He couldn't imagine what kind of man that would take. He had an inkling that she couldn't either. Maybe that's why she continued to seek him out. The trouble with Georgia was that she looked in all the wrong places.
"I want specifics," Smith said, deciding to get back to business. He would never be the one to heal Georgia, no matter the sentimental attachment he held for the woman. He hoped she would find someone who could. If she wouldn't act in regards to Jacobson, he would. There was no other choice. He could see that now. All roads led back to the same decision: to stay under the thumb of an evil man or to destroy the danger once and for all. He’d made his choice long ago, and now it was time for the reckoning.
14
"I am exhausted," Clara announced, flopping onto the couch beside Edward.
Belle sighed heavily. There went her plans. At some point, she felt it was necessary to take Edward on a stag night. There were plenty of pubs in the nearby village, and even Norris wouldn't be able to argue with letting Clara go for such a reason. The trouble was that poor Clara was always tired.
"Why did you leave the nanny at home again?" Belle asked her.
Clara frowned, as if it was obvious. "She has a family, too. There was no need for her to give up her holidays to take care of my child."
When Clara put it like that, Belle couldn't argue with her selflessness. Still, it presented a problem.
"Why so gloomy?" Edward bumped her shoulder.
"I planned to take her to the pub tonight," Belle confessed. "I feel like I should give your bachelorhood a proper send-off as your matron of honor."
"I thought I was the matron of honor," Clara pouted.
"You're both the matrons of honor." Edward stepped in before the two got bent out of shape.
"Regardless," Belle said meaningfully, "I wanted to take you on a stag night. It'll be harder when everyone's here for Christmas."
She respected Edward's desire to keep the whole affair a secret, but that did make it a little more difficult. The extended family didn't plan to depart until right before New Year's Eve. That left no time for a night on the town.
"Go on without me," Clara encouraged.
"We couldn't," Belle said, which earned her an eye roll from her best friend.
"You could," Clara corrected her. "And you will. You two are still young and childless. Enjoy it now." She winked at Belle behind Edward's back.
That hadn't occurred to Belle. Not only were Edward's days as a bachelor numbered, if Smith’s and her new hobby panned out, hers might be as well. It was hard enough for her to get away from her husband for the evening. How much more difficult would it be when she had a baby's needs to meet as well?
"I feel like I'm missing out on something," Edward said, looking between the two of them.
Belle plastered a smile on her face and shook her head. "I was just thinking of where I would take you first."
"Norris better drive you," Clara interjected.
"Are you saying we can't handle our liquor?" Edward said in mock horror, grabbing his chest as though she had wounded him.
"Nope," Clara retorted. "I'm saying you can't stay out of trouble."
The Road’s End Tavern sat delightfully at the road's end. It wasn't uncommon for locals to spot the royal family here during the holiday season, so no one batted an eye when Belle and Edward stepped through the battered door. They grabbed a table in the corner and ordered a few pints.
"I wanted to take you to a strip club," Belle told him apologetically. "But my options were limited."
"I think there's a fair chance that if you get any of these men drunk enough, they'll take off their clothes." Edward teased. The two of them looked around the room and then back at each other.
"Maybe we should skip that," Belle suggested.
"So, I've never done a stag night before," Belle told him as their beers arrived.
"I think we're supposed to chase women and howl at the moon," Edward informed her. "I'm afraid I'm not a fount of information on it, either."
She laughed at the image. If the two of them were going to chase a woman, it would be to advise her to wear a different type of shoe with her dress.
"Nevermind a bachelor party. What about a hen night?" Edward suggested. "Is that more suitable?"
Belle shrugged. "I don't know. I never really had one."
"We're terrible at this friend thing, aren't we?" Edward pointed out.
"Maybe." She agreed.
"How about we get pissed and you tell me about the dangers of marriage?" He suggested.
"As long as your spouse doesn't have a murderous employer, I think you'll be all right."
She took a long sip of her beer and pondered what he'd said. Were there things she'd wished she had known before she married Smith? She hadn't had time to really consider her decision. They'd eloped on an impulse, and miraculously, it had worked out. Belle supposed that when you have people trying to murder you, you don't sweat the small stuff.
"You've grown dangerously silent," Edward said, lifting his glass and tapping it to hers. "Care to share?"
"I was trying to think of something to warn you about," she said, "But I can't come up with anything."
Edward groaned, and laid his head on the table. After a moment, he lifted it and gave her a crooked grin. "If only every relationship could be as perfect as yours."
"Mine's not perfect," she reassured him, screwing up her face as if the thought was unpleasant. If he knew the half of it, he would never suggest it.
"You never fight, always have a post-orgasmic glow. Your husband is gorgeous and rich. What don't you have?" It was a rhetorical question, but Belle answered before she could think about it. "A baby."
Edward set his beer glass down. "Is that something we want?"
Belle bit her lip and nodded. She had already come clean to Clara. It was time to open up to Edward as well.
"I suppose my days are numbered," he said sadly.
"What days?" She asked. They would still spend time together. They'd even go out to the bars every once in a while. It took her a second to realize that for the second time this evening, she was treating motherhood as an inevitability instead of an outside possibility. She wanted to slow down, and not get attached to the idea, but it appeared it was too late.
"David will want to adopt," he said, "and then we'll be having play dates instead of pub dates."
Belle scrunched up her nose. "When I think about spending the afternoon with Elizabeth, that doesn't sound so bad." None of them had complained about taking care of Elizabeth because they all adored her. The thought that Belle and Edward could add to the adorable brood didn't scare her.
"At least you can get pregnant," he said casually. "We'll have to adopt."
"You won't have any trouble." She said with a tight smile. "You have the pedigree."
"I suppose I could just walk in and take any baby I like." He said flatly.
"You are the Prince of England," she pointed out.
"I don't think it works that way, but if you're telling me that this whole time I could have been walking in places and taking whatever I wanted, I feel this should have been brought up sooner."
"It will work out," she reassured him. "It will probably be easier."
"Than your getting pregnant?" Edward asked. "I doubt it.”
“I've seen both you and Smith. Somewhere, the two of you are at the height of a Darwinian evolution chart. He could probably impregnate you just by looking at you."
Belle's eyes found her glass, and she stared at the tiny bubbles floating to the top of the golden liquid.
"I hope it's that easy," she said in a small voice.
Edward reached over and took her hand. "It will be." He had no reason to believe otherwise.
&
nbsp; Belle hadn't shared her miscarriage with him, or her fears about getting pregnant. Maybe if he knew, he wouldn't have said it, but something about the reassurance, the confidence in his voice, made her believe it too. She squeezed his hand, then lifted her glass.
"I'm not pregnant yet. Let's drink."
15
It felt good to leave the house, although if I were being honest this was like a second home to me. The seat vibrated as the engines roared to life. In another life I'd belonged here. It was strange how easily pieces of who I was had slipped away over the last two years. Nearly all of them had been filled by her, and I would have given up far more of myself if it had been necessary. But while Clara brought out the fighter in me, this was one part of myself that I needed to reclaim. I had been a pilot once, a soldier, a leader in more than name and title, and I had saved men's lives because of it. Clara was still breathing today because of my time on the battlefront.
Brexton's voice filled my earpiece, and I turned to look at my friend.
"I don't think I'm supposed to let you fly, Poor Boy."
"Try to stop me," I said into my mic.
Other people were out doing their Christmas shopping, but nostalgia appealed to me on a very different level. I flipped a few switches and signaled to Brex that we were ready. Then we were airborne. I hadn't flown since that fateful night that nearly claimed Clara's life. Not really. I'd been on private planes and commercial jets. I'd done my fair share of traveling, but that was flying as a passenger, and it was a hell of a lot different than being a pilot.
Brex had put up a minimal fight about letting me take one of the helicopters. Although he had transitioned to my security team, he was still an acting officer of the Royal Air Force. That had certain perks. Whereas my own requests were met with deaf ears and red tape, Brex had gotten a hold of a chopper immediately.
"When I said we needed to talk in private," Brex called over our comms, "this isn't what I meant."
I didn't have to look at him to know he was grinning from ear to ear.
This is how we had met. We had formed a lifelong bond based on our time in the field. I liked to brag that Brex had kept me alive during that time, and he had. All the men I'd flown had kept me alive. I had been in a dark place then, and while I never cared if I came back, I wasn't going to lose any of them. They'd saved me simply by being there. I got the impression that Brex had entirely different reasons for becoming a pilot. Most of them could be found under short skirts.
I couldn't blame him. I'd be lying if I said I'd never used my uniform to catch a woman's attention. Of course, I'd had certain other advantages in that area.
We made our way over London, flying low enough to take in Big Ben and Parliament. It was my turn to grin boyishly as we flew over the London Eye. The romantic in me decided to come out to play when I spotted the place where I had proposed to Clara.
"So," I asked through my mic, "how long have you been seeing Georgia?"
"Every day. We work together," Brex retorted.
"That's not what I meant, brother."
With the heart of London behind us, we headed toward the countryside. I needed to get away and be somewhere where I wasn't surrounded by the constant pressures of my title.
"We're not seeing each other," Brex said after a moment. "You know her pretty well. What's her story?"
I didn't know where to begin with that one. My history with Georgia wasn't up for discussion, but I didn't want to leave Brex out in the cold. There were things he needed to know about her if he wanted to pursue her. Like so many other men, he might have fallen for her attitude and looks without glimpsing what lay beneath. I had to tread carefully. The intimate details of what had happened between Georgia and I in my younger years wasn't something I liked to share, and Georgia prided herself on being discreet. She wouldn't appreciate Brexton finding out that way, either. I did, however, have an out.
"I've known her a long time," I admitted as the wind picked up around us. It was rainy in the countryside today, and it blew in misty sheets against the glass. "I didn't catch up with her until recently, though. She worked for Hammond."
"I know that," Brex said.
Of course he would've been privy to her files, but how deeply had he read up on her?
"What do you know about her, Brex?" I asked him. There was no need to be coy if he already had insight in Georgia's past.
"I know she turned on Hammond. But there's something about her. I didn't want to invade her privacy."
It was a strangely touching gesture for a man who spent most of his time invading knickers. "She owned a club," I told him, "one of Hammond's holdings. It was a BDSM club." Surely he could fill in the blanks from that.
"You mean like whips and shit?" Brexton asked.
I couldn't decide if it was curiosity or apprehension in his voice.
"And shit," I confirmed. "Really rough shit."
"Damn." Brexton let out a low whistle. "So you think she likes that kind of stuff?"
"Yes, I do," I told him. That was as firm as I would be on the matter. He didn't need any more confirmation from me about what Georgia Kinkade was into.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"What is it?" I asked him.
"So do you think if I said I was into that stuff she'd go out on a date with me?"
If I wasn’t in the middle flying an aircraft that weighed several tons, I would've found something to smash my head against.
"I don't think you really date in that scenario." How much more information could I give him without indoctrinating him to the entire world of bondage?
"I don't know."
"Google it."
"I'll take it under advisement."
Despite the wind I could hear the sarcasm in his voice. "There's a good spot."
We put down in a field. It was empty save for a few sheep, but when we got out, rolling green hills smelled of manure.
"Ah, the countryside," I said in a flat voice.
"You were the one who wanted to go for a ride." Brex took off his helmet and tossed it into his seat, and I followed suit.
In case he hadn't realized, I was pretty serious about this whole confidentiality thing. When Brex had informed me he had finally tracked down his special assignment, I decided then and there that I would go to whatever lengths necessary to ensure there would be no leaks.
"So you found him," I said, pulling off my gloves.
"I found his mother," Brex informed me. "From the looks of it, that'll have to do."
"He lives with his mum?" I tried hard not to be judgmental, but what kind of a guy was this?
"He seems to be some kind of nomad. He has a couple apartments here or there."
"He has more than one?" This was a surprise, and more than a little disconcerting. I had my suspicions regarding this secret brother of mine. Finding out that he kept houses in more than one place did nothing to allay them.
"He's into some sort of racing," Brex explained. "His mom lives in Silverstone."
"I wonder how he got into racing," I said sarcastically. The little village sat right outside Silverstone Circuit, one of the world's premier race tracks. "Is he any good?"
"I told you he has a couple apartments." Brex grinned. "He can't be that bad."
"Is there any indication that..." I trailed away. Brex didn't share my suspicions regarding my father's secret family, but I think he understood why I had them.
"None, as far as I can tell. They're good, upstanding citizens. The mother's a war widow, and other than his penchant for dangerous driving he hasn't gotten into any trouble."
"But he's gotten into trouble for driving?" I asked.
"He's had a few tickets. And some crashes," Brex added on as an afterthought.
Given his occupation, this wasn't a surprise. I breathed deeply, enjoying the remnants of rain in the air.
"How can you do that, man?" Brex asked, pinching his nose with his fingers. "It smells like shit out here."
"In the city
we have smog," I reminded him. Besides, the two of us had smelled much worse things in the time we'd known each other. "So who are they?"
"Her name is Rachel Stone, and we can find nothing on her. And I do mean nothing."
"Nothing?" I repeated. That was impossible. "Did you tell them why we were looking into her?"
"I kept that to myself." Brex shot me an incredulous look, like I'd wounded his pride. "But yeah, no intelligence. No background. It's almost like she never existed."
"My father," I said, and Brex didn't question me. An ordinary woman didn't just not exist. She had been covered up, but evidently not well enough.
"He's a little easier to get information on, considering his high-profile occupation."
So he really was a racer. I'd have to look into him further.
"Her name is Rachel Stone," Brex told me. "She's 48 years old, and that's all we know about her. We found a few pictures, but there's no employment history, nothing. She draws a small pension from the armed forces in the name of her husband."
"And a monthly salary from my father," I added with annoyance. Dad had gone to a lot of trouble to make certain no one found her. Why? What had she had on him to guarantee his silence and cooperation?
"I want to meet her," I said after a while.
"That is not a good idea," Brex advised.
I tilted my head back to the helicopter. "And that was?"
"Am I going to talk you out of this?" Brex asked.
"You can try, but it's a waste of breath."
"Can I at least escort you?"
"Send me her files."
"And then we'll talk about this further, right?" Brex prompted.
"And her address," I added. "Tomorrow I'm going to Silverstone."
16
The village of Silverstone had none of the flash of the nearby racing track for which it was known. I couldn't help but chuckle as I passed a sign that read please drive safely. It was a well-meant warning that no doubt fell on deaf ears. The area was known for the racing track, and I suspected they had their fair share of local teens angling to become part of the action. The tiny town consisted mostly of 19th-century brick and stone houses. Every few meters sat a tiny pub where the locals went for an evening draught.