Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “Binniboy? Wait up!” I call and run after him.

  The cemetery looks even gloomier in the dark. It is full of very ancient tombs, some covered in ivy or moss.

  Knowing the number of people hired as help here, I would imagine that there is someone who takes care of it full time, but it doesn’t look very well tended. William’s estate is so big I can’t even pretend to understand it, and though it wouldn’t seems superfluous to me to have a cemetery keeper, I will probably not deal with it. Let his parents make the calls. They’re more entitled to decisions like this than I am—a bride of a few hours.

  I can’t see the blue light anymore. I look around and try to distinguish a human form between the shapes of the tombstones in the moonlight, but to no avail. Now that I don’t see him anymore, I’m feeling more certain this boy was not my childhood friend, despite the resemblance. That would be impossible, anyway. Maybe, a distant relative? A rare occurrence of a look-alike?

  I walk past the old graves, still worried for the child, when I realize that I’m in front of William’s. They’ve finished burying the coffin, which now lies under a long, low block of marble.

  I run my hand above the carvings, feeling the smoothness of the tomb. This was all so sad—the loss of such a young life. A lot of possibilities cut short by this sudden, violent death. I had no idea how our marriage would have worked, but I was confident in my parents’ choice. Maybe it could have been wonderful with William.

  I’d never know, now, would I?

  I have no idea where to look for that boy now…I just hope he went back home safely. I’d ask the maids tomorrow whose child it was.

  Someone lights a cigarette under the shadow of a tree a few steps away from me and I jump up, gasping from surprise. I strain my eyes to see who is there.

  “Good evening, madam,” a masculine voice says.

  “Who is there?” I ask, feeling angry at having been frightened.

  “I’m the cemetery keeper, madam.”

  “Well, come out where I can see you,” I demand.

  He takes two steps out of the shadows. The man is not wearing a shirt. He is tall and has lean, long muscles like a martial artist. His hair is long and shaggy, falling in his eyes. He has a rake in his hands.

  “Did you see a young boy passing by?” I say, averting my eyes from his half-nakedness.

  “No, madam. I didn’t see anyone except for you.”

  He looks me up from head to toe, checking me out, and walks toward me slowly.

  “What are you doing here at this hour?” I ask with a bite in my voice.

  “Tending for a cemetery is not always a day job, Madam,” he says, calm. “I’m responsible for keeping the place here clean, and there is always more to do after a burial than the rest of the year. I just want to do the best job that I can.”

  I don’t know what else to say. It looks like I’ve been snappish for no good reason. I feel a little guilty.

  He takes another step and stands right next to me. I can smell the sweat on him, and I can see even in the dark that his chest muscles are glistening in the moonlight. The closeness is too much—I have never been this close to a half-naked man in my life. I try to look away again but one of his fingers hooks me under the chin and makes me look into his eyes. They’re very dark and intense—just like William’s had been.

  “And what are you doing here at this hour?” he says, malice in his voice.

  I huff and I puff, pissed again. My chin shots up in defiance. Who the hell does that guy think he is? I turn around and march back to the mansion.

  Halfway there, I finally think of a cutting response, but it’s too late now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELECTRIC BLUE BUTTERFLIES

  Two days have passed, and I’m only now beginning to understand the routine of the household.

  There is no simple, small breakfast in this house; every meal is a big deal. All the family is at the dining table this morning, having a lavish meal of eggs, bacon and fruits, while the maids make sure everyone is served tea and coffee in abundance.

  This is not really a happy moment. We’re all dressed in black, and no one is making conversation. I wish I could say what I have on my mind, but now is not the time.

  “Constance,” says William’s father. I jump a bit in my seat to hear my name. “I would like to go over the affairs of William’s estate with you. There are things you are going to need to know.”

  I have no idea how I am going to run all of this—I don’t even want to. It is so soon after William’s death; I don’t know how they expect me to take care of everything. I suppose Mr. Wayworth wants to prepare me for any eventuality that may arise. I had hoped someone else would take lead. I nod silently.

  “I will prepare a few things, and we will meet later in William’s office.”

  “Thank you Mr. Wayworth,” I say, trying to sound grateful.

  “Call me Devon, please. We’re family now.”

  He leaves the table, and his wife follows him silently. They’re both staying here in the mansion, though they have their own place, a big property that has been built just for them, a home as beautiful and big as it is here. In a way, I’m glad they’re all still here—mostly my parents. I don’t know what I’m going to do the day I’m left here to live by myself, alone in that big house amongst all the servants I don’t know from Eve.

  My father gets up too. “I have to check up at the office. I’m sorry, Constance.”

  “It’s all right, Dad.”

  “Elisabeth will spend the day with you, if you want her to.”

  I look at my mother, and she has a very sweet smile on her face.

  “I would love that, thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom.”

  “We received some more flowers this morning. Let’s bring some to William’s grave,” she says. I agree, and we leave the dining room to walk to the cemetery.

  We each grab a condolences bouquet and head out. As the pebbles crunch under our shoes in the driveway in front of the mansion, I ponder what I am going to say, and how I am going to say it.

  “Mom, do you remember…Binniboy?” I ask.

  She stays silent for a few seconds, then says, “Of course I do. You were inseparable when you were younger. You used to run around together all day. I’m surprised you remember him at all—you were quite young then.”

  “Yeah, I hadn’t thought about him in a long time,” I say. “I thought about him last night, though.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know why,” I lie for no reason.

  “Do you remember anything else?” she asks, still looking ahead.

  “Not much. I remember now how we were always together, but I don’t remember why he stopped coming home to see me.” And how I was crushed to have lost my childhood friend. But somehow I had forgotten all about it, as children often do, and gone on with my life.

  We finish the walk to William’s grave silently. A breeze is flowing through the trees and the sun is high in the sky. This is going to be a beautiful summer day—the weather doesn’t mourn for anyone.

  We put the flowers in one of the vases lying around the cemetery. They don’t really match together—purple carnations and orange peonies—but the final result is beautiful anyway.

  “It’s stupid, really…” I say, out of the blue, deciding to come clean. “There was a boy running around last night, and he looked just like Binniboy. That’s why I thought about him after all this time.”

  “Oh…” says Mom, looking sad and…embarrassed? She shoos away a bug crawling on the tombstone. “Constance, honey, I need to tell you something. I haven’t told you before, because I really didn’t think you remembered, and it didn’t matter, really. I know why you’ve been thinking of Binniboy.”

  “Really?” I say, astonished.

  “You always pronounced it Binniboy, but what we called him was actually Billy Boy. Short for William.”

  I cannot say another word as I am processing what Mom is telling me. Wi
lliam? Like my husband? William…was my childhood sweetheart? Was that possible?

  “When you were five, you had an accident and fell from a ladder. Billy Boy was the one who found you on the ground and called for help. After that, you became sick and were very weak for a few weeks.”

  I remember being very sick when I was younger, now that Mom tells me about it, but I don’t remember the specifics.

  “You weren’t allowed visits at the hospital, and Billy Boy—William—moved to this mansion here, that his parents bought that year. A month went by, you got better, but William never came back to visit us. You asked about him a few times, you were crushed that he was gone, but then you started school and thankfully your thoughts went to something else. You were very young—I didn’t think you had any recollection of those days.”

  “It’s true, I didn’t…Until last night.” But now the memories were becoming clearer still.

  We sit in the grass, under the shade of the tree near my husband’s last resting place.

  “I think that’s why you thought about Billy Boy. Subconsciously, your mind has probably made the connection between your husband and the boy you used to play with when you were a young girl.”

  Yeah, well, I couldn’t say I was half sure I’d seen him, now, could I? I would sound crazy. Anyway, it was probably one of the maids’ children. When I see him again, I’ll be able to pinpoint differences that were not obvious in the lack of light last night.

  “When William and his parents came to us to arrange your marriage a few months ago, I was glad that the inclination he had for you when you were younger was still there. His family has a lot of influence and is wealthy. Plus I knew he cared about you.”

  I had never challenged the idea that my parents would decide who my husband was going to be. I knew it was family tradition. Also, I have never fallen in love; I’ve never even had a crush in all my years of school and college. Boys had always seemed…not enough. Too superficial, too preoccupied with sports and looks. Not being able to choose my own husband had not bothered me too much.

  “As you know, it’s usual in our family to choose a husband for the daughters. My parents gave me to your father, and our family traded up the social chain. I felt good about that decision back then. Your father has always been very good looking,” she says, blushing a little, a smile crinkling her eyes.

  William certainly had been too. It was probably not decent to fantasize about my dead husband, but I remember his face, his features perfectly, and I know I would have enjoyed being held tight in his arms.

  “Even though a girl has to have faith that her parents know what is good for her, an arranged marriage is still an old way of doing things, and there are never any guarantees,” Mom says. “But so far, it has always worked for our family. I don’t remember my mother nor my grandmother complaining about the arrangement, and I can say that I felt I was very lucky in being promised to your father.”

  “Well, I know it’s not a very feminist thing to admit,” I say, “but of all the men you could have chosen for me, now that I know who William was … well, I’m confident you made the right choice.”

  I lie down on the grass, looking at the bright blue sky between the branches, one hand near my eyes to avoid being blinded by the sun.

  “I wish … I wish I could have known who I was going to marry. That I had known before he was dead.”

  My childhood sweetheart. So many fond memories were rushing back to me now, full of sweetness.

  My mom puts her hand on my arm, comforting, but I don’t look at her and stare instead at some birds flying and singing around us, carefree.

  “I wish he wasn’t dead.” One single tear escapes from my eye and cascades down to the ground. “I would have loved to know who he grew up to be.”

  My mom lies down near me, not saying another word. She knows I need to grieve in silence the unexpected death of the husband I didn’t know I wanted so much.

  I kick my shoes off, and I run my bare foot on the side of William’s tomb. It’s smooth and cold to the touch despite the warmth of the summer day.

  I try to remember our days of fun when we were small balls of energy running around the park while our parents had some tea on the patio of my previous home. Binniboy always held my hand and took me on adventures.

  He had taken me to see the Magical Butterfly Tree, as I had named it, where thousands of electric blue butterflies had waited for our arrival before spreading their wings and flying up to the sky. No matter how many times I had gone back to that tree by myself over the following months, I had never found any butterflies waiting for me.

  He would take me to an old barn, and we would spend our day flying from the top of a ladder into a stack of hay. Our ascension was scary, but I never felt so alive than when I jumped away from the security of the ladder into the air. For a moment, I was the butterfly—spreading my wings.

  We always had so much fun. I never wanted to us part, and when it was time for him to go I used to run away and hide into the house, knowing that he wouldn’t go if he didn’t get to say goodbye.

  How I had forgotten all this, I had no idea. When I think about it now, I can say those were some of the most beautiful days of my life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GRIEF

  After lunch, I follow Devon into William’s office. I have not yet taken the time to explore the whole mansion— it didn’t seem right, not with everybody’s grief still so fresh and raw—so I am curious to see this part of the mansion.

  Sadly, it is more boring than I hoped: thousands of old, dusty books, a mahogany desk twice the size of a normal one, and a few old leather armchairs in a dark shade of green.

  Devon points to the armchair on the other side of the desk, and I sit.

  “We didn’t expect you to need to think about all this so soon,” he says, “but, alas, you do, so I will try to explain how things work around here. That way, you will be able to make business decisions when we are gone.”

  Gone…That’s a scary thought. How am I going to handle everything, when I’m already worried about being here by myself? It’s way too soon for me to be alone here, I was supposed to be taken care of … Not be the one to take care of everything else. Devon sits down as well, and looks at his hands, trying to gather his thoughts.

  “There are a lot of difficult things to understand,” he says. “Things I was hoping you’d grow into, instead of … well … having to take it all by yourself at once. I don’t know how we—“

  “Devon, can I be honest with you?” I interrupt.

  “Of course, dear.”

  “I am very grateful William left all of his possessions to me. Really, I am. I am honored that I’m considered part of your family, when your loss is so fresh. But I’m afraid I can’t take on the family business.”

  Devon looks at me silently, waiting for me to finish.

  “I have no qualifications whatsoever to run a business—or even a house. I’m not saying I don’t want to learn—I will, if I have to. But I’d be a poor choice for making important decisions, and I think we both know that.

  “I also feel guilty taking all this from your family, when I was married to your son for just a few hours.”

  Devon walks around the desk and places a fatherly hand on my shoulder.

  “You’re wise. But you’re part of our family, and we don’t resent you for owning William’s estate—that’s what he would have wanted, and we’ll take care of you like a daughter, I promise you that. About the business and the house…all of this is your decision,” he says. “I’m here to assist you and make the transition easy for you, but there are a lot of options if you don’t want to be involved, or not involved entirely in the business.”

  “I’d love to discuss those possibilities with you,” I say, grateful to him. “I think I don’t grasp how big and important this business is, and I think the right choice would be for you to go on taking care of it—if it’s all right with you, of course. You are my first choice. If
you are willing to do so, of course—I know you are a busy man.”

  “Really?” says Devon, his eyes a little wet, surprise showing on his face. “Constance…It would mean the world to me to be able to care for my late son’s estate—well, it’s your estate, now.”

  “Of course,” I say, taking his hand in mine. “Why choose anyone else? You’re family. I hear from my father that you were by your son’s side during all those years, that you trained him, and you stepped down for him—not to retire, but to allow him to grow into a great businessman. I don’t have to read any bank statement to see you’ve done a wonderful job; I just need to look at this mansion and at the great man I believe my husband had become. Please, would you consider managing all of this for me?”

  “I would love to. Thank you, Constance.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I built this empire with my son, for him and you. This is all that I have left from him. You won’t regret it.”

  “I don’t feel right taking this away from you. You should have gotten everything back. I—”

  “No, Constance. Those were William’s last wishes. It was important to him—you were important. We could never take the estate away from you. But I will be there to help you, as long as you want me to.”

  I feel better now that I know I won’t have to be responsible for so much money at once. Not that I don’t want to learn—but I’m not sure I could do a good job, not even knowing what the business is about (which I don’t). I would have enough to deal with at first with the mansion.

  We part after he presses my hand fondly, and I decide to see how my mother-in-law is doing. In the hall, I meet my parents. They are both dressed up and ready to go out.

  “Business dinner tonight?” I ask.

  “You know how it is,” says my father. “There’s never a dull moment at the office.”

  “We’ll be back late, don’t wait up for us,” adds my mother.

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ve sent for your things, but I don’t know when they’ll arrive,” she adds.