Modern Fairy Tale

by Proby, Kristen

  “I’m sorry, too,” Sebastian bit out and pivoted to face his friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t blow up the bastard myself.” Then he walked out of his office, down the hall, and made his way outside, into the dreary English afternoon.

  * * *

  Two weeks later

  Daisy: Did you get the cupcakes I sent?

  Jules: I did. Thank you.

  Daisy: You’re welcome. You know … if you need a shoulder to cry on, I have one available. Or just lean on, since men don’t cry. But if you do, that’s okay. I won’t tell.

  Jules: I’ll sort it all out on my own, but thank you.

  Daisy: You’re welcome. So … how’s the weather?

  Jules: Dreary, like my soul.

  Daisy sent Jules an image of two people hugging. Ever since his father had passed away in his sleep, Jules had been noticeably quieter, not that she expected him to be chatty over e-mails and texts, but he was subdued, and there was nothing she could do about it, other than send him cupcakes and be there for him, in whatever way he needed her.

  He sent her back a heart, and her heart danced in her chest, making it feel lighter than it had in days. Last week, after making no progress at all with the insurance company for the most recent and most expensive bill she’d ever been required to pay, she finally put her house up for sale. Her realtor had already secured a showing for this afternoon. Too bad the woman couldn’t have waited for a Monday, so Daisy could at least have the distraction of work.

  Jules: What are you up to today?

  Daisy glanced around Holland Springs Meadows before sitting down on a bench under a leafy green tree. Flags were placed on the graves of the fallen, including her dad’s, in honor of their service.

  Daisy: Visiting my parents.

  Jules: Does it ever get easier?

  Tears blurred her vision, and the screen of her phone became unreadable.

  Daisy: Not as fast as I’d like, but with friends like you, Haven, and Bella, it doesn’t get any harder.

  Jules: Is there hope for me?

  Daisy: Always.

  * * *

  One month later

  Jules: I miss him, and I hate it. It’s like he’s all around me, and I can’t purge him fast enough.

  Daisy: Take deep breaths. You don’t have to do it all at once.

  Jules: So it’s okay for me to feel this way?

  Daisy: As long as you’re feeling something, I think so.

  Jules: What if I told you I was glad he was dead?

  Daisy: Then I’d listen.

  Jules: And?

  Daisy: And what?

  Jules: Obviously, that makes me a monster.

  Daisy: No, it makes you human.

  Jules: Thank you.

  Daisy: What about your mom? Where does she fit in all this?

  Jules: She practically danced on his grave. We don’t speak much.

  Daisy: Maybe when all of this is over and everyone’s feelings have had a chance to settle, you’ll be able to speak to her a lot more.

  Jules: Doubtful. Tell me something about your day. Something to make me smile and forget.

  Daisy: This morning I put salt instead of sugar in my blueberry pie. It was disgusting. One of my customers ate an entire slice before telling me. She didn’t want to hurt my feelings. So I made her two whole pies, the right way, and sent them home with her.

  Jules: God, I wish I could hold you right now … please disregard if I’ve overstepped my bounds.

  Daisy: I’ll book a flight and you can hold me by tonight.

  Jules: Save your money. I’m not fit for company, and the place I’m stuck in doesn’t help.

  Daisy: Then go somewhere that has good memories for you.

  Jules: I don’t have a place like that.

  Daisy: Then make one. I’ll mail your cupcakes there.

  * * *

  Three months later

  Jules: Finally sold the house I’d shared with my father, and bought a new one in a village called Cheam. The house is all brick, with ivy growing up the front. There’s a heart-shaped door knocker on the front door. The kitchen made me think of you—shiny appliances and lots of counter space. The garden in the back is nice. There’s a place where you can dine al fresco. I think you would love it.

  Daisy: Send me pictures and I can pretend I’m there with you, cooking for us in your kitchen and eating outside while the birds sing and the breeze blows.

  Jules: Do you think other people text like this?

  Daisy: Who cares what other people do?

  Jules: I care about what you think.

  Daisy: Me too.

  Jules: Do you have a Bucket List?

  Daisy: I do. First thing on it: Go to England

  Jules: I’m flattered.

  Daisy: Um … I wrote it three years before I met you. Sorry. What’s your first one?

  Jules: Ouch! A place to call home, with the woman who loves me waiting inside.

  Daisy: That’s a very nice first.

  Jules: Wishful thinking is always very nice.

  * * *

  Five months later

  Daisy: Someone bought my house, for more than I hoped to get.

  Jules: This makes you happy, yes? You can pay off that one last pesky insurance bill.

  Daisy: I’ve never lived anywhere else. I feel like I’ve sold a piece of my heart.

  Jules: Maybe the new owner will rent it out to you.

  Daisy: I don’t want to rent it. Sending a check every month would remind me of what I’ve lost.

  Jules: So what now?

  Daisy: I found an apartment. It’s in town.

  Jules: You can make happy memories there.

  Daisy: Come stay with me, and you can be a part of them. Promise I won’t bite, and I’m not insane.

  Jules: I’d love to, but I’m still not fit for company. In fact, I won’t be around for a month or two, if not longer.

  Daisy: What are you up to, Jules? I’m worried for you.

  Jules: Very bad things. Don’t worry. It’s hard to kill a monster.

  Daisy: You’re not a monster. Stop beating yourself up.

  Jules: I think it’s best if we don’t talk for a while.

  Daisy: Although that’s not what I want, I’ll respect your wishes. Please find someone to talk to. I think you’re having a harder time with your dad’s death than you think.

  Jules: Goodbye, Daisy.

  Sebastian strolled down a dark street in West End, without his bodyguards in tow. Not the smartest idea he’d ever had.

  Lately, however, whatever had seemed smart was immediately discarded in favor of really bad ideas. Or in this case, really bad parts of the city. On a foggy (what else?) night.

  Honestly, he didn’t care. He’d been living life like his twin used to live: carelessly and selfishly. His affairs were public, his partying endless, and his behavior extremely rude.

  So much so, that his closest friends had stopped going out with him. Hell, all but Liam had stopped answering his calls. Even Kate avoided him, and she’d known him for as long as Liam had. Though he was sure their very public breakup had something to do with it.

  Not that he cared anymore. He didn’t care about anyone or anything. Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

  Try as he might, he could not put one woman out of his mind. Daisy filled his waking hours, sober or not. She filled his dreams. Her name was constantly on his lips—no matter whose lips were on him.

  This, of course, made him the worst sort of ass. It made him a user. It made him his father.

  Pausing in front of a darkened shop, he exhaled and wondered for the first time if what he was doing made any sense. How was this getting back at Vladimir, if he was becoming exactly like him? Or at the very least, a pale imitation of the man.

  There were some things Vladimir had done that Sebastian would never lower himself to do. Some things he would never use his power, position, or strength to do to another human being.

  All at once, he heard a smack, and
then a woman screamed. His first instinct was to call 999 for help, and stay firmly put in order help the police. His second instinct was to take matters into his own hands.

  Another scream and he took off, running as fast as he could. He just could make out the blurred shapes of two people, one noticeably bigger than the other. The fog cleared, and Sebastian was practically on top of them.

  The woman shoved at the man. “Get off.”

  “Change your mind yet?” The man raised his arm, one hand a beefy fist ready to strike.

  Without thinking, Sebastian stepped forward, grabbed the man’s wrist, and spun him around. He jerked the man’s arm up and pressed it against his back. “Better keep your hands to yourself.”

  “This doesn’t concern you.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Ah, but it does. It concerns every man when a woman’s being abused.”

  “She hit me first,” the man whined. “And she owes me money.”

  Cold fury rose inside of Sebastian. Vladimir used to make the same excuse whenever he would lay a hand on Sebastian and Christian’s mother. She made me do it. She hit me first. Always, his father blamed the victim. They had it coming.

  “That’s a lie,” the woman spat. She turned pleading eyes on Sebastian. “He sold me to one of his mates. I can’t go through that again, but I’ve a little one at home, and she needs to eat.”

  “You were willing enough, until this guy showed up,” the man said.

  Sebastian tightened his grip and turned the man’s hand at a rather painful angle—something Sebastian knew from firsthand experience. The man let out a scream when the wrist bone on the right cracked. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay away from her. Just let me go.”

  “You’re lying,” Sebastian said coldly, and then turned to the woman standing beside him. Her face was battered and bruised, her clothes torn on her skinny body, and her hair stringy, but she didn’t have the look of a junkie, not that it mattered to him. He would help her and her child (if she really had one), regardless.

  The man struggled against him, landing a blow to the side of Sebastian’s head. His ear rung and his vision blurred, but he’d suffered worse. Far worse. These were like love taps compared to what his father and his father’s former bodyguards had done to him.

  Sebastian smiled. “Hit me again.” Or else wasn’t said or unsaid. The statement was there.

  “What?”

  “Hit me again,” he repeated.

  The man’s eyes widened. “You’re insane. Who the hell smiles after getting punched in the head?”

  “I do.” Sebastian turned his attention to the woman, still standing there. Trembling in fear and cold. “What’s your name, love?” he asked softly. He didn’t want to scare her.

  “Molly B—”

  “Don’t need a surname.” Sebastian smiled gently. “Now, would you’d be so kind as to grab my mobile from my left coat pocket, go to my contacts, and call Ivan?”

  Molly hesitated. “You’d trust me to not run off with it?”

  No, he didn’t. “Let me help you, Molly. Call Ivan, and he’ll come ’round with a car. We’ll go pick up your little one and take you both to a very safe place where no one can hurt you.”

  Molly stretched out her hand. It shook. “How do I know you won’t hurt me more than Frank has?”

  “You don’t.” He looked at Frank, who stared back at him like he was the very Devil. “Whatever you decide, I’ll take care of this one. Won’t I, big boy?” Then he applied more pressure and finished breaking the rest of Frank’s wrist bones.

  Two days later, Sebastian stood outside the back entrance of the safe house, with the director. She was a no-nonsense woman who he had complete confidence in and used the money he sent every month wisely. The former mansion could house up to thirty women and children. It wasn’t the only one he supported. There were twenty more like it throughout Scotland, Ireland, and England.

  Helping these women and their children wasn’t something he bragged about, and not because he was a humble man either. He wasn’t. It was shameful that these houses had to exist in the first place, but they were needed. And so, he had provided them.

  “Molly’s fitting in very nicely here, Mr. Romanov. Her little one’s already playing with the others.”

  “Excellent.” He turned to leave.

  “She asked for your name,” the director said.

  He wasn’t surprised. Molly had asked him on the limo ride over, right before she put her hand on his crotch and offered to pay him back. He’d let her down gently, moving her hand away. She’d collapsed against him, crying, and he’d let her, offering his handkerchief when she was done.

  “What did you tell her?” he asked, already knowing the answer. She’d say nothing at all, of course.

  “That names weren’t important around here, only deeds.”

  “We’ve need of a director for a new house in Glasgow. Know anyone?” he asked.

  The director didn’t blink. A breeze blew a lock of platinum hair over the scarred side of her face. Her ex-husband had taken a razor to her, and since owning a gun hadn’t been an option, the restraining order had become just as shredded as her face when he’d broken into her flat.

  A nosy neighbor had saved her, and brought her to Childers, where his father had been a patient at the time. Sebastian had heard the story, and had paid for her to be moved to a nicer place, with private medical care.

  She’d healed, written him a thank you note, and he’d responded by offering her a job, but not before doing a thorough background check on her.

  “I might have someone in mind. Unfortunately,” she said.

  He watched as the director went inside, using a code that even he didn’t know, and locked the door behind her.

  Suddenly, he realized that he was tired. That he was lonely, and he wanted his old life back. It was time for him to quit feeling sorry for himself and move forward.

  * * *

  Two days later

  Jules: I’m back.

  Daisy: Better?

  Jules: Getting there.

  Daisy: I missed you. Did you meet someone?

  Jules: Would it have mattered if I had?

  Daisy: Yes, and it only took a week of not talking to you every day to realize it.

  Sebastian’s fingers froze over the keyboard. It was time to end the charade. He was in too deep and was dragging her after him. But the place he was in right now, the place he’d most likely forever be, was no place for her. He had to end things. Make up an excuse, tell her that he had, in fact, met someone, or lie, like he’d been doing all along.

  Only he couldn’t, because he loved Daisy.

  But he wasn’t all sorted out, yet.

  Jules: Give me time, darling, and I’ll be all yours.

  Daisy: My time belongs to you.

  Oh yeah, he was done for, and completely confident he could find a way to reveal the truth to her and make their virtual relationship a reality.

  Chapter Six

  One month later

  Sebastian sat at his desk, going over the fine print of the Xeron-Chang Contract, when Liam walked in his office.

  “You’re fired,” Liam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Happy now?”

  Actually, Sebastian thought he’d be elated at the outcome, but he felt as though someone had punched him in the gut and the groin. Simultaneously.

  Fact: He had planned for this, by making shady deals with even shadier characters on projects guaranteed to lose money.

  Fact: He’d wanted this to happen. The total embarrassment of his father had been his ultimate goal.

  Fact: His father had been killed, most likely murdered, so that goal was no longer attainable.

  Result: Well, Liam had given it to him.

  None of that signified, however. He could repair the damage, and convince the right people to see thing his way once more. “I can’t be fired,” Sebastian said, glancing at the paper in his hand.

  “Sebastian.”

 
He forced himself to look at the man standing to his right. “Yes?”

  Liam stared at him, worry and concern shining in his dark eyes. “You’ve been voted out. Five ayes, one no, and an abstain.”

  The voice of his dead father slithered inside his head. You are nothing without me. You are nothing without Romanov Industries. I made you.

  Steeling himself, he cleared his throat. “I assume you were the abstain?”

  “Actually, I voted aye.” Liam’s dark brows drew together. “You really can’t expect me to let you continue down this path of self-destruction. You can’t punish everyone else for your father’s crimes.”

  So Liam knew. “Shall I collect my things and be off?”

  Liam held up a hand. “I made a motion that you be allowed stay on, and the board agreed.” He canted his head to one side. “In a completely limited role, of course, as a consultant and point man for the—”

  “How magnanimous,” he couldn’t help but saying.

  “It’s very magnanimous, you pompous ass,” Liam snapped. “I put my reputation on the line for you.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, his best friend began to pace the room. “They think you’re a loose cannon, like your father, in regards to your personal life, and this little, ‘Oh I’m back and will be so very good, sir,’ act is just that to them—an act. No one trusts you.”

  Not even you, Liam? he wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to know the answer. “What do you propose?”

  “You could actually start properly dating a woman, perhaps let it lead to an engagement, sort out things with your brother—”

  “You want me to lie?”

  Liam stopped in front of Sebastian’s desk, placing his hands on the top and leaning forward. “Don’t pretend to have grown a conscience in the past two minutes.”

  Sebastian shot to his feet, getting right in his best mate’s face. “I am not Vladimir Romanov, and you, of all people, should know that,” he growled. He slammed his fist against the desk, but the only reaction he got out of Liam was a mocking smile.

  Sebastian’s phone buzzed, but he didn’t answer it.

  Liam’s gaze went right to where Sebastian’s phone sat on his desk, and that mocking smile turned into a smirk. “Oh, what a tangled web we—”