Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

  My lovely, merciful wife believed my brother thought he was doing the right thing, that he was providing the best protection for Lissie by taking her from a drug-addicted birth mother and placing her with another Hastings—Isobel, who had just then miscarried her own child.

  Elle had explained that, according to the commissioner, Ethan’s decision to keep Lissie from me was said to have been motivated by my obsession with Elle. Allegedly, Ethan had insisted that I would never accept Lissie because she was connected to George Parker—the man who had attempted to kill Elle when she was eighteen. George had failed, of course, because my father had intercepted the Order’s plan and killed him.

  Ethan had paid Simon Parker to take the baby from his sister and had made regular payments to Simon for years. It wasn’t until Ethan discontinued those payments that Simon had joined the Order to seek vengeance for the break in their financial arrangement.

  Devon had suggested to the commissioner that I’d destroyed his sister with my rejection.

  “Rebecca Hill” never informed me that she was pregnant.

  Blood is blood, no matter the circumstances, and I would never reject my own.

  Ethan should have known that. Elle insisted that I forgive him. I made her no promises on that front, but I would make the effort to move towards forgiveness for her sake and for Lissie’s.

  One question lingered. Simon and Devon had never expressed a desire to avenge their father’s death. Perhaps it was because my father had lost his own life on a mission just four months after he had killed George. In the end, it had been money that had driven Simon, and Simon’s death that had motivated Devon.

  I was now on my way to take from the authorities the one man alive who could confirm it all, and after he gave me that corroboration, I would take the motherfucker’s life as well.

  * * *

  Martin was waiting inside the old warehouse when Ben and I arrived on foot. We’d left the car several blocks away. I removed my sweatshirt hood and pounded on the metal door with the side of my fist four times before Martin opened it and gestured with his head for us to step inside.

  He and another intelligence agent from his team were set up near the back wall under a single light bulb that hung above a stack of old wooden crates. The two men leaned over a large map that was spread out across the width of the improvised table.

  “As you know, custody of Devon Parker was assigned to two officers of a private extradition company contracted by the Ministry of Justice,” Martin said. “We’ve surveilled these men, and they would be no match for you and Ben should they offer resistance.”

  There would be no resistance because both men were on my payroll for the night. Martin was either unaware or wanted the rest of us to believe that he was. It was expected behavior for the sake of protecting the agent he’d brought into the fold with him.

  “Parker will be alone in the back of the van, is that still correct?” I asked.

  “Yes. He has been isolated due to the serious nature of his conviction and mental evaluation, and his transfer is scheduled for 2:00 a.m. to minimize any potential risk to civilians and peripheral employees.” Martin frowned. “The commissioner tells me the man has quite a vile mind. Observe caution when you take him from the vehicle and otherwise.”

  I leaned over the map to examine the extradition company’s planned route from London to the receiving facility in Northern England. “You might find some comfort when you recall my experience and who it was that trained me, Director.”

  “Quite.”

  Martin was well aware of my history.

  “What about police escorts? Cars, sirens, anything that might draw attention to the transport van?”

  “You should be clear of those obstacles. Generally speaking, a transfer like this one involves two cars or more, but not in this case. The minister of state himself ordered these terms, as recommended by the commissioner.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that Commissioner Brown had a hand in this too. He and his sister, Caroline, cared about Elle. Nor was it lost on me that the minister, who was responsible for oversight of prison operations, sentencing, and public protections, was a known supporter of the prime minister and therefore of the Crown’s back door into state business. It all meant one thing—the Crown still had my back.

  “Send your cleanup team for the body one hour before dawn,” I said.

  Martin extended his hand. “It will be taken care of. . . . Good luck.”

  * * *

  The feel of flesh against my fists consumed me. The grinding and snapping of splintering bone. Pooling blood. I was rage and it was me. Madness. There was nothing else.

  Devon Parker had spoken my wife’s name, and with that one word, all that I was collapsed beneath the weight of the darkness that lived inside of me. My mind broke, and the cage door flew open, freeing the feral beast—the part of me that existed only to protect her.

  I had warned him, told him not to say her name.

  During our “conversation,” Parker claimed that he had targeted Elle to avenge his brother, Simon. He admitted he’d sent someone to the gala to scare her.

  I walked round his body. He hung from a rafter by his wrists. Another sharp blow to his kidney.

  A tortured howl, laboring breath, sweat.

  Parker showed no sorrow for the loss of Sarah’s life or remorse for having conspired with his brother to sell her child to Ethan.

  “She was your fucking sister,” I said, striking his face again.

  “Our sister was Simon’s weakness, not mine.” Blood ran from his nose and the corners of his mouth. “I never cared for that bitch. She left us more than once. Fucking whore left us!”

  His anger and his physical pain continued to rise, and in turn, he corroborated everything Elle had said.

  He went on about how much he’d loved his father. George Parker had made his sons promise not to join the group of assassins he had served. He’d wanted them to care for their mother and sister instead. Never happened. Sarah was dead and their mother abandoned.

  “You didn’t even do that, you goddamned worthless fuck. But here’s something you can take to your grave tonight. Your mother is in my care now.” Parker flinched, and I flaunted a menacing grin. “I moved her out of that shithole you left her to die in and gave her money.”

  That’s when he said Elle’s name.

  I cut the rope, and he dropped to the decaying cement floor.

  Parker blathered unintelligibly, slurring, crying out for mercy as I pounded into his flesh and bone and spilled his blood, but his words had no effect on me.

  Because I was rage, and there was nothing else.

  I beat him to death with my bare fists.

  Still on my knees, crouched over the lifeless body, I straightened my back and lifted my face to the sliver of moonlight peering through the damaged roof.

  I had never heard the whispers, never felt the stars or the moon reach out to me. Elle’s murmurs, her breath, and her radiance were the only peace that I’d known. Without her touch, the only release from my grim hell was stillness. I closed my eyes to wait for the silence.

  Emptiness swept through my mind, then Elle’s piercing green eyes were there. Thoughts of how I loved her and how she loved me filled my cold heart. It warmed my body and gentled the ghosts of my sins. The silence came as rage crept back into its prison at the bottom of the darkest part of my soul.

  I opened my eyes and stood. My mind was clear, though a tormenting symphony of anger, guilt, shame, and sorrow still played in my heart. I pulled Elle’s soft blue scarf from my pocket and held it against my face so I could inhale her scent. I wrapped it round my broken, bloodstained hand.

  Getting back to her in Paris was all that mattered now.

  Elle would make the pain in my soul stop.

  My angel filled me with her light and her unconditional love. She fixed my broken pieces, showed me how to hold onto the beautiful moments we created, how to forgive, how to be a better man.


  Elle made me see that I was more than a soldier of fortune, that I was no longer my father’s trained killer.

  She made me want to be a good father to my three children.

  She made . . . me.

  Epilogue

  Ellie, Three Weeks Later

  Will’s car ascended to the top of the ridge, the soundless roar of the engine comforting me. The stone chimneys of the elegant family fortress I’d been longing to see came into view, and it was like reliving a beautiful dream. We were home. Along the side of the estate’s private access road, vibrant blue flowers spilled out from between the trees, overwhelming areas meant for grass, as if there was no more earth left to carpet within the woodland.

  Bluebells.

  Hundreds of little flowers with their upturned tips hung from curved stalks that seemed to nod in our direction, bowing to their master to welcome him as he passed by them.

  I couldn’t wait to step out of the car and take in the sweet scent of the wildflowers, to inhale the brisk air blowing in from the northeast that would be fortified with the salt of the North Sea.

  Paris had been an amazing experience and a wonderful, life-changing period of time for Will and me. We’d even contemplated for a New York minute what it would be like to stay there, where no one cared about my bloodline or even worried about the survival of the British monarchy. But it wasn’t home, and in fact, it was too far from the coastline for me to endure it indefinitely.

  I released a deep breath, and Will caressed the back of my fingers with his thumb.

  “Feels quite good to be home. This is where we belong, Elle. We’ll raise our children here at Eastridge. Not in the city, not in France, but here, where my brothers and I grew up.” He lifted my hand and kissed it.

  “You know there is nothing that would make me happier.”

  He smiled, his gaze coming to mine. “And I want nothing more than that.”

  I watched his blue eyes leave mine and follow the road in front of us. Pretending to search for my little doe as we passed through the north garden, I leaned forward in my seat. But truth be told, I’d adjusted my position to watch Will’s irises rouse with white emotion as Eastridge appeared before us.

  He loved the place.

  And God, I loved him.

  He was conquering his fear of fatherhood to give me what he’d promised and to give his children the unconditional love that he had never experienced with his own father.

  Will was frightened. I could feel it in his soul and see it in his eyes. A battle raged inside of him. His loving, tender soul warred with the darkness imparted by his upbringing. But he would never be like his father, because unlike Richard Hastings, Will found something he loved more than himself. Richard hadn’t counted on that, and it changed the long game. If only Richard could see how his son had changed the game.

  Will loved me with desperate abandon.

  He had once pleaded for me to hold on to us. Say the word, Elle, he had demanded. Us. It was one small word, two letters, but it meant everything to him. I’d repeated it back, and he had commanded me to lock down on it, to never let it go. We had learned that our lives were bound by our connection, an obsessive love that had nothing to do with our fathers. Holding that close and keeping it safe was the only way he and I could survive. We both understood that. So we both protected it.

  The babies were a tangible extension of what we fiercely defended. Their little bodies were conceived from our bond, and when our babies arrived, we would be able to touch and see and hold in our arms the profound connection that tied us together now and always.

  Will would love our children because they were us.

  He would love all of his children.

  I couldn’t wait to see him interact with Lissie again. They shared an undeniable connection that had been there from the beginning. She was his princess, and he was her superhero.

  The memory of the first time he saw her face came back to me, when she had nailed him hard with her stare. I had wondered then what she’d found in his eyes and what he’d discovered in hers. Now we all know what that was.

  “Looks like everyone’s home,” he said, eyeballing the other cars in the enormous garage as we pulled inside. “I should have dropped you in front of the house, baby. I can pull back round to—”

  “No, don’t. I’m looking forward to stretching my legs and the fresh air. I’m so glad Thomas could make it home from New York in time. Lissie’s birthday is a big deal for our family this year.”

  He stepped out and rushed to open my door. “How do you think she’ll handle the news? About the twins, I mean. We haven’t talked about that point.”

  “Who else knows, Will? Besides your brother, who else knows we’re pregnant?” I slipped my hand into his, and we headed for the house. The morning sun warmed my cheeks.

  “No one else knows. We’ll tell the rest of the family together. We must do it today, Elle. You’ve changed in the weeks since we were last home, and it won’t go unnoticed. We’ll tell Mother first. She’ll be prepared then, to help explain the logistics to Lissie.” He grinned.

  I returned the grin and quickly thanked God for my husband and my mother-in-law. “This belly bump came sooner than I expected. Lissie loves Chelsea and caring for the puppies, so I think maybe she’ll be excited about the babies. It’s time we tell her about her you and Sarah as well.”

  It was time for Lissie and everyone to know the truth, time to sift through the wreckage as a family and reveal the strong little seedling that would sprout from beneath it all. Lissie was a beautifully spirited little girl who was a joyful breath of fresh air for us all.

  “Agreed. If we tell her everything right away, Elle, she’ll have an opportunity to ask questions and process it all. I want her to have time with it before her birthday party.”

  “Let’s do it as soon as she gets home from school.”

  He hesitated.

  “You are going to make her happy, Will.”

  He stopped and pulled me into his arms, and our lips met. We were fixed that way. Our breaths were combined as one, our eyes open—our souls giving and taking the strength between us.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Will and I walked along the shoreline of the English Channel, the northeast wind pushing into our faces, my long hair whipping about us. We settled on the sand in our favorite location beneath Eastridge, where the weather-carved sandstone cliffs provided shelter from the cold wind. I absorbed the energy of the sea and reveled in the sense of harmony it provided. God, it had been so long.

  Mary had been thrilled with our news of the pregnancy. After she and my husband were satisfied with the emptiness of my brunch plate, Will had insisted that I have a nap while he spoke to her alone about his first child. I had understood his desire to comfort his mother privately. Learning what Ethan had done with Lissie would hurt Mary.

  “This is so perfect,” I said, lowering myself onto the quilt between his thighs.

  I pressed my back against his chest, and he wrapped me up inside his warm arms. One hand dropped down into my jacket and covered my stomach as if he were protecting our babies. He kissed the top of my head.

  “What’s inside the bag, Elle?”

  “Photos. Beautiful photos of your daughter’s first seven years. Shall we have a look?”

  Will didn’t say a word. His grip on my stomach tightened.

  I spun onto my knees to face him and found unshed tears in his eyes.

  “You were there with her, baby. The whole time.”

  “I’ll share that with you, Will. I’ll show you photos and videos and tell you everything about her.”

  He nodded, then pulled me to his lips. Our kiss was warm and sweet, as were the words he whispered against my cheek. “I’m deeply grateful for you, Elle. You are everything. You’re my flesh and blood savior.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks, and his throat tensed as he swallowed his own.

  We were different. We had both grown so much. Yet we were exactly
the same.

  I could feel my home in Will, the place where I had always belonged, and I could feel his broken pieces coming back together again.

  I could feel our love for Lissie and for the children growing inside of me.

  “I can’t wait to feel the babies move for the first time,” I whispered against his warm skin.

  His blue gaze became a powerful storm of mixed emotions. I gave him a moment to process what was affecting his heart.

  My husband pressed his forehead to mine and he smirked.

  God, he was so handsome.

  I returned the favor with my secret smile.

  “No words, baby.”

  “No words, Will.”

  Our love was a mutual obsession beyond words. . . .

  It was light and dark, joy and pain.

  And our beautiful story was one that would never end.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  Discovering this story as it began in Lies That Bind Us was an amazing ride, and I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to ride along with me.

  In Her Lovely Lies, my goal was to deconstruct Will’s past without losing his enigmatic appeal. I found myself deep in his painful, often self-deprecating thoughts, and it ripped my heart out as I wrote it. I hope the same emotion translates onto the pages for you.

  Will and Ellie return soon with appearances in Thomas’s book, Lies That We Keep.

  I’d be so grateful if you would kindly post a quick review to help others discover my books!

  xo,

  K.L. Clare