Page 25 of Unwritten Rules

“Where to, sir?”

“Valentine’s.”

Phillippe makes impeccable time, though constantly watching me from the rear-view mirror when he doesn’t think I’m looking.

Within forty-five minutes, we’re pulling up alongside the main doors at Valentine’s.

As Phillippe rounds the car to open my door, in my impatience, I meet him just as he gets to it. “Sir, if I may make a…suggestion.”

I nod curtly, making to side-step around him, intent on fucking every female within a fifty-metre radius. Focused solely upon fucking all thoughts of finding my father balls-deep in my fiancée clear out of my mind when he speaks once more.

“Follow me, sir.”

He turns, walking around the side of the old ivy-covered mansion and disappearing around the corner.

The sole fact that Phillippe has never spoken to me in such an abrupt manner piques my interest, and I follow behind him, frowning even deeper.

I lengthen my already significant strides to catch up as he ducks to the side, disappearing amongst the thick ivy. I pull myself up short, looking around for where he may have gone, but coming up with nothing until his head pokes out from between the vines.

“This way, sir.”

Am I Alice in fucking Wonderland all of a sudden because this is starting to feel just a little whimsical?

Despite my reticence, I part the vines with both hands to discover an open door leading along a long corridor. As I enter, I can see steps leading below and Phillippe’s slender back as he descends.

When I reach the bottom step, I glance around, taking a moment to observe the area. Several corridors lead off from this central opening, very dark space with one singular door and a separate staircase to my right, leading to the main house, I’m assuming – though, in all my years here, I can’t for the life of me decipher where the entry point to this place could be.

“Sir.”

Phillippe’s voice pulls my gaze to his, and I nod immediately upon seeing the unspoken question in his eyes.

“I hope you will forgive me for speaking out of turn, sir—”

“Get to the point, Phillippe.” My words come out sharper than intended, echoing through the darkness.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I believe you may find a healthier…release behind this door than the one offered above stairs.”

Turning the handle, he pushes the door open with a flourish and the furore beyond hits my ears with enough pitch to make me flinch.

It must be soundproofed. But why?

My question is quickly answered when I march past Phillippe and straight into the London gentlemen’s version of Fight Club.

* * *

“Nathaniel?”

Mila’s soft voice and softer hand on my knee viscerally pulls me back to the present, my dour train of thought dissipating like a morning fog in the face of the dawning sun when my eyes find her concerned orbs, more gold than green in their intensity.

I’m entirely unable to stop the words from escaping from my mouth. “It’s easier to face my demons with an angel at my side.”

And rather than take them back, like I know I should, I allow them to hang between us as, like a thief, I steal this moment to experience the way we could be – what we would be – if there weren’t so many obstacles in our path.

Raising my hand, I softly brush the back of my knuckles across her olive cheek. Her eyes drift closed when she turns her head slightly, nuzzling her cheek against my hand as I palm the soft contour of her jaw, and though my mind tells me to stop sending her mixed signals, I ignore it entirely.

Altogether content to allow this insanity to flow through my veins. Underneath my skin, where this woman has so clearly burrowed into.

Time stands still for long minutes that are wholly too short until we’re jolted back to awareness when several large thuds are on the window.