Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

  That same dream has come back to me.

  I do not share the contents of the nightmare with Will. You are the first to whom I’ve said these words. Will knows there are nightmares and who stars in them. He knows each one is horrifying, and he is the only person who can help me through the aftermath of these night terrors.

  But there is no way that I will paint this picture for him. It would crush him, send him deeper into his own darkness.

  He understands my suffering, my needs, my desires. He gets that I push him even when I know better because I need for us to feel more. Will knows that we need to go to the place where our souls are free to feel pain and love and fire and acceptance. He knows it’s how we survive.

  But if he were to imagine the gruesome visions driven into my head during the nightmares, the beast dwelling within his depths would command him to protect me from these terrors, and in turn, he would unintentionally take away the soulful connection that makes us one, through which we are free.

  I tell you all of this, Isobel, because I find myself considering whether the nightmares are conjured images that are not real—or if they are a warning of something to come. Now that I’ve met Devon Parker and he has described his death wish for me, I wonder if it’s actually his face that I see in those cruel dreams.

  24

  The whimper that came from the back of Elle’s throat was imperceptible to most, but not to me. She squeezed my hand. We stood in the middle of a private dinner party among event staff and the highest bidders from the foundation’s charitable art auction, powerless to react without drawing unwanted attention.

  “I’m not crazy, Will. I did see something,” she whispered.

  “I believe you, baby. I will always believe you.” Of course she’d seen something. Elle had an extraordinary sense about this type of thing. Maybe it was the result of my own questionable behavior from a time not so long ago when I watched her from the shadows and followed her about town like some fucking stalker.

  Perhaps that’s what I had been. Her stalker.

  “We need to be discreet in the way we address this here and now, but I promise you, Elle, we will address it.”

  Thomas was watching. He knew something was wrong with my wife. I met his gaze and angled my head in a slight gesture to bring him over to me.

  “Contact the commissioner, and make certain Devon Parker is still behind bars. Now.”

  “Christ. Yes, right away.” Thomas touched his earpiece and told Andrew Evans to make the call and then meet him in the alcove that housed the steel doors to the kitchen and a service exit from the dining room to the auditorium. He looked at Elle. “What happened?”

  She stumbled through her words. “His face . . . I don’t know. I thought . . . I swear it was his face. Before Andrew closed the door.”

  My brother redirected his attention to me. “Evans and I are able to identify Parker. We’ll search the property, and I’ll run by the security office to push the video feed out to my own server. We can meet later at Kensington to review the footage. You keep Taylor close, and do not leave this room without me.”

  I nodded. “Go.”

  Taylor stood with his back to a wall that divided the dining room from the alcove, no more than thirty-five feet from our table. He was instinctively in tune with Elle’s distress. His posture signaled he was on high-alert status without a word from anyone.

  Thomas moved across the room and waved Taylor into the alcove with Evans to provide both men with direction, then he and Evans disappeared into the building.

  It pained me to stand down while my brother handled the situation, and it had nothing to do with trust, because I’d come to trust him like no other. Suppressing the impulse to pursue once you’ve been a hunter was challenging. And not being the one to physically clear the field for Elle’s protection was even more difficult. It had always been my purpose, the reason for my existence.

  Memories of my father flooded through me, the goddamned things stinging my heart like salt rubbed into an open wound. I blinked to get rid of them, but one remained.

  I had been seventeen at the time.

  Get up, soldier, my father had said, getting to his feet and watching me get to mine. He had been hovering over me on his knees, his large hands pinning my shoulders to the mat on the training-room floor. The force of his kick to the center of my chest had put me on my back.

  Tell me again who you are, he had ordered, pointing to his eye.

  I had pulled myself up to stand before him with my back straight and had locked my eyes into his. I am a Hastings warrior, sir, and I’m the best there’s ever been. I had infused my voice with more power that time to please him. By then, my ego had begun taking on a life of its own. The inclusion of my sanctimonious declaration about being the best had been a risk but one that had paid in the end.

  I will wear the shield and keep the girl safe from her enemies, I had added.

  You will keep the girl safe from our enemies when I tell you the time has arrived.

  Our enemies . . . when the time comes, sir.

  My father’s stern expression had become an unexpected grin, and he had winked at me. Quite right. In the years to come, no one will beat you. But always remember, son, being the best fighter isn’t enough. Your skill must come from here—he had pounded on his chest, then pointed to his head—and here as well.

  I had loved my father on that day.

  Now that Elle and I were married, and now that I loved her the way that I did, my place was at her side. Leaving her to pursue and fight only created more vulnerabilities. I was no longer my family’s field soldier. At some point after we returned from Connecticut, my brother had taken the position from me, and I had let him.

  “Will, should we go home?”

  Anger stirred inside of me. I had no idea what the fuck was happening or who she had seen, but one thing was clear. No one was going to take this night away from her.

  I pulled out her chair. “We’ll stay. This will not ruin our evening.”

  She released her breath and summoned a cordial smile. “Of course, you’re right. These people donated huge amounts of money to be here. They deserve a wonderful dinner party.”

  “It’s you who deserves this dinner party.”

  As Elle took her seat, she looked up at me from beneath her long, dark lashes and nodded. The smile on her face changed then, transforming into one that was warmer, more genuine. She released another weighted exhale. Self-assured green eyes beat into mine.

  I dragged my chair closer to hers and sat. She leaned into me and said, “Take what’s ours, Will.”

  Christ.

  Her determination was merciless when it surfaced. It devastated everything in its path.

  The first time she’d told me to take what was ours had astonished me, and this was no different. The narcissism in me was rather complacent again, and she was manipulating it to get me back on track. It was the worst piece of me, but we both understood it was something we needed in order to survive the hateful shit that pursued us. The good news was, she was as talented at taming that part of me as she was at manipulating it.

  She’s a beautiful little force of nature.

  I kissed her lips. “There are no words.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Margaret crouched behind our chairs and tapped my shoulder. “Mr. Hastings, now you’ll thank your supporters one more time. Plates will be served, and the evening will finish with casual conversation. You should leave before the guests.”

  “Gladly. I think we’ve had quite enough. Do you need me to say something in particular?”

  “You’re an authoritative speaker, and you would do well to not listen to me this once.” Margaret winked at me, then drew Elle’s hand into hers. “It’s been a pleasure, Ellie. You are a dear. I will contact you in the coming week to tie up loose ends. The account manager at Sotheby’s will also reach out with confirmed numbers.”

  While we watched our event planner vanish beyond the alc
ove to take her leave, my mobile buzzed with Thomas’s text message:

  Private exit path secured. Ben inspecting car. Wait for me.

  * * *

  Elle and I made our way through the narrow corridors of the nonpublic access areas that Thomas had cleared. I was at her right side, and she held my left hand. Thomas was positioned on her left, Taylor was in front, and Evans walked close behind us.

  The other four men from my security team were positioned strategically along the secure passageway created for our private exit to the car. Elle said good night to each man as we passed, using their first names, and I nodded and thanked them.

  “The commissioner confirmed that Devon Parker is still locked up at Scotland Yard,” my brother said.

  “Do you trust that he put his own eyes on Parker?”

  Thomas handed me his mobile. It displayed a photo of Parker in his jail cell, sent from the commissioner’s personal phone number.

  Elle abruptly turned her head away. Her nails pushed into the flesh of my palm.

  I focused on Parker’s face, learning every feature, every contour, every line. It was the face of a dead man, the face of my last hunt. My brother would argue for the kill, but this one was mine. One final ghost to join the others who haunted me.

  Christ, he looked quite like his brother, Simon.

  Simon Parker had killed what was left of Elle’s family. He had killed . . . my sister. The vile motherfucker put a bullet through her heart. And he would have done the same to Elle if we hadn’t found her that night when we did, before he could make his final move. Josh Mendes took that execution from me.

  No one will take this one.

  I handed the phone back to Thomas. “We need an update on his imprisonment status and the weapons trafficking charges. We don’t even know if he’s going to be convicted. I will hear it from Commissioner Brown myself.” I pulled out my own mobile from my jacket pocket and sent a quick text message to my assistant. “Sean will get him to my office first thing. Be there, Thomas.”

  I lowered my chin and caught the question in my wife’s eyes. She wanted to be there. I nodded to let her know that I was giving that to her. There was no reason for me to force her back into the dark. We had no more secrets. We were telling no more lies.

  Elle rested the side of her face against my shoulder when we stopped at the end of the corridor, where the steel exit door before us announced our impending freedom. It seemed as if we’d been inside the hall for weeks rather than hours. I kissed the top of her head.

  “Wait here for a minute, sir. I realize the car has been cleared, but still—my cargo, my inspection.” Taylor maintained an assertive position when it came to Elle’s safety.

  Who could argue with that?

  “Take care of it. We’ll wait.” I pulled his cargo into my arms and buried my nose in her hair. I drew in the familiar scent, but this time an additional floral note hit back. “New shampoo, Elle?”

  “Sea salt and orchid oil,” she mumbled into my jacket.

  I strengthened my embrace and inhaled the scent again. My cock came to attention straightaway. “It’s lovely . . . and my new favorite.”

  She nodded. “My feet are tired of these gorgeous Louboutins. I can’t wait to get out of this gown.”

  “Come on now, baby . . . no teasing.”

  I pressed my erection into her stomach. Her head popped up from my chest. I winked.

  “Remember what I said earlier?”

  A little gasp rushed out of her mouth. She remembered.

  In a flash, my lips were on hers, and my tongue was fucking her mouth. It was one of those transient moments within a captive span of time that she’d taught me to seize.

  We were newlyweds for Christ’s sake, yet so much of our time was spent either surrounded by other people or apart from each other. I was sick to fucking death of it, and right then, I didn’t care who was standing there to see me kiss my wife. I needed to kiss her.

  We needed Paris.

  Taylor returned a few minutes later. “Change of plans,” he said.

  25

  Thomas shook his head, not in disagreement, but in anger and disbelief. Several staff members from the on-site security department for the Royal Albert Hall had nosed round our car. The three men claimed that management directed them to assist with securing our safe departure.

  “I told you arseholes to stay away from this area,” Thomas shouted. “I don’t give a goddamned fuck what your boss said at your meeting. . . . We made it clear that you were to defer 100 percent to this team tonight. None of you is qualified to participate in this protection detail.” He grabbed one outspoken man by the collar. “Take your mates and get the fuck away from here while you can still walk away.”

  The security staffers recoiled from my brother’s severe reprimand and hurried to leave us.

  “Ben was confronting the loud one when I stepped out,” Joe Taylor said to Elle and me. “But the other two . . . who the hell knows what they were doing. One was on his mobile. It’s possible he dispatched information to paparazzi or someone else, and the city is humming with activity tonight. I prefer the countess not ride home in the Bentley, sir. One of the other cars has passed inspection, and we’re ready when you are.”

  He made a sharp whistling sound, and the rest of the Six fell into position, harboring us within the refuge of their small paramilitary brigade.

  I nodded. “That’s good work, Taylor. My wife’s tired. . . . Let’s get her home.”

  Elle was resting her face against my chest again. She straightened, dropped her arms from my waist, and slipped her hand into mine. “Any delays, Joe?”

  “There’s quite a lot of traffic this evening, ma’am, but we’ll have you home in fifteen minutes.”

  Beautiful green eyes narrowed on the word ma’am, and he smiled warmly. Taylor generally called her Ellie as she preferred, but never in public settings.

  When we stepped outside into the night, brisk air hit our faces, relief surged through my lungs, and the tautness afflicting the muscles in my shoulders diminished.

  “Look at the stars, Will. Can you feel their light touching your skin?” Elle shivered from the cold, closed her eyes, and lifted her chin higher towards the clear evening sky. Her breath decelerated, and little clouds of condensation escaped from between her parted lips.

  Embracing the way she regarded all the temporal joys in life was easy because it was a beautiful thing to see. She openly celebrated the little things that most people took for granted, like warm rays of sunlight, whispered messages from the sea, the moodiness of the moon, and the stars. But her bright spirit was the only light that mattered to me, and nothing otherwise in the universe could affect my desire to live or to feel—not in the way that she did.

  I smiled and watched her, choosing not to answer her question. I didn’t want to tell her that I couldn’t feel the stars, that her own brilliance hid their light from me. She would frown.

  “You’re changing,” Ben said after Elle was inside the car.

  I shrugged. “I don’t want to be like him anymore.”

  “You’ve never been like your father. It’s time you understood that, my brother.”

  Ease that hadn’t existed between us for a couple of months settled in the air. Ben was my closest friend, and he had been since we were twelve-year-olds brought together by our fathers’ shared ambition to train their sons. He was like a brother, really. Even so, we’d drifted apart.

  A few days after the wedding, Ben and I argued about him leaving the estate. Elle stepped in and convinced him to reconsider his position. He swore to her his thoughts of moving out had nothing to do with his uncertain relationship with Jess, and he vowed to stay as long as he was a single father.

  Elle was, after all, one of the women helping to raise his daughter. Whenever we were home, it was quite easy to see how Chelsea loved Elle and competed for her attention.

  Eastridge was Ben’s home and had been for many years, but in the end, if it was
what he wanted, I would let him move on with his life.

  “Time will tell.” I clutched his shoulder for a second before ducking into the back of the car. “Glad you’re here, my brother.”

  “Where else would I be,” he said with a sly grin.

  As we drove away from the event hall, I pulled my wife’s long legs over my lap and wrapped her in my jacket and my arms. Elle made quick work of sliding out of her stiletto heels before I could get to her feet. She released my bow tie and lay her head on my shoulder.

  I dropped my head backwards against the seat of the Range Rover and closed my eyes. “I’m going to run through the video footage tonight, but you should go to bed, baby.”

  I had to see. I couldn’t go to bed without knowing what she saw.

  “I can do it with you.”

  “Yeah, of course, I know. Thomas and I need to go through and tag the appropriate time frame, but that may take a while to sort out. You and I will review it together in the morning before we meet the commissioner.”

  “I don’t want to sleep without you.” Her whispered tone triggered the protective impulse waiting at the bottom of my gut. She was scared.

  “You’re having nightmares that you haven’t told me about.”

  “I’ve not been lying,” she snapped. “It’s just that I don’t want to worry you . . . because there’s nothing to be done about it. My head is my head, and even you can’t make that better.”

  I jerked upright and caught her chin with my forefinger so I could see her eyes. Christ, she’d never snapped at me like that. “What is it I’m missing here? And since when do we not soothe each other’s mind?”