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“He’s a friend of James’s,” I’d explained simply. And he hadn’t pressed. I expect he wasn’t prepared to face the consequences. Smart man. And so, yes, it’s been okay. I can cope with it. My father, on the other hand, blows my mind at every turn. I don’t even know what he’s rambling on about now, his lips moving, his arms swinging around animatedly between forkfuls of his pasta.
“What do you think?” he asks, taking a mouthful of his wine, waiting for me to answer.
“Great,” I murmur, lost, my compassionate side unwilling to let me rain on his proud parade by telling him I’ve not been listening. Just nod. Smile. Agree every now and then, and this will all be over very soon.
“Excellent.” He smiles, holding up his glass for the waiter to fill. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
I nod, clueless, and glance at my phone. Still no service. I look to Fury. He shakes his head. I’m getting progressively more restless, my thoughts increasingly difficult to keep in check. There’s been no mention of James from my father, the man he thinks abuses me. He’s not asked after Lawrence. Not that I can share much, of course. And the need to bring up my mother is becoming overwhelming. Here’s my father, laughing, jolly, boasting about his high-flying life, and where is the woman he abandoned? The woman who was by his side when he was nothing. The woman he discarded when he became something.
Dead. Murdered.
He’s so fucking blissfully unaware, it’s crushing. But it’s not his fault. I have to keep telling myself that, or I’ll melt with a rage that’s being channeled on the wrong person.
“I’m just going to use the restroom,” I say, getting up, prompting my father to rise too. “Excuse me.” I dab my lips with my napkin and walk away from the table, Fury on my heels. My eyes are on my screen, searching for just one bar that’ll give me some coverage so I can check in on Lawrence and also call James, because I know he’ll be fretting. Nothing. “Damn it,” I breathe, pushing my way into the restrooms. I wander around the small space, arm in the air, willing my cell to pick up a connection. Nothing. I pull the door open. “I need to go upstairs for a second,” I say to Fury, skirting past his enormous body. I won’t settle until I speak to Lawrence and James.
I reach the stairs, take the handle, but my foot stops just shy of the first step when I see someone coming down them. My heart begins to beat double time, my head quickly swimming, as I back up into Fury’s chest. “What the hell?” I whisper, quickly and instinctively moving behind the nearest thing that’ll hide me. Fury. He looks over his shoulder to me, his big, bearded face frowning.
“Who’s that?” he asks, hand on his hip.
I look past him, just as Ollie reaches the bottom of the staircase, his expression alarmed by the beast before him. “My ex-fiancé,” I breathe.
“Should I kill him?”
“What?”
“Should I—”
“No, you shouldn’t kill him. Why would you ask that?”
“Because I’m pretty sure that’s what James would tell me to do.”
I close my eyes, my meltdown very real. Not only because Fury is right. “Fucking hell.” All is suddenly very clear. This is a trap. A ploy. A joint effort to reel me back into Ollie’s affections. “We need to leave.”
“Stay there,” Fury orders, one arm moving out to hold me behind him, the other remaining under his suit jacket where his gun is holstered.
“You don’t need your gun, Fury.”
“You might know him, but I don’t.”
“He’s an FBI Agent.”
“And James is a mass murderer so I’ll take my chances, thanks. Ready?”
Oh God.
“Beau?” Dad’s voice comes at me from the side, and I cautiously peek at him.
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you do this?”
“Do what?”
He astounds me at every turn. Is he that thick-skinned? I move out from behind Fury and face the situation. My ex.
Ollie raises a hand in hello, but his eyes are set firmly on my muscle-bound guard. I can only imagine the conversations between my father and Ollie. It’s worrying. Ollie was there when Dexter held me at gunpoint. He heard what was said, and in a moment of panic, I try my hardest to remember exactly what that was. And if Ollie was even conscious when it was said. I can’t be sure. I can’t recall. It was a frantic situation, most of it a blur, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in The Brit’s mansion. But what I can be sure of are the damaging statements that Ollie flung around when I broke my wrist. Dad definitely heard that. So now what? They’ve formed an alliance?
“Why did you bring Ollie here?”
Dad recoils, moving closer, his neck craning to see the bottom of the stairs. “Ollie?” He smiles immediately. “What a nice surprise.”
