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“That doesn’t make sense either.” Leo shakes his head. I can make out the movement in my p
eriphery as I take another shot and stupidly miss the fucking pocket with my half-arsed effort.
“Make it easy for me, huh?” Teasing, Freddie chalks his cue. Even though his actions are playful, his tone is serious.
“There’s nothing really stopping us from going our own way.”
“So we thought.” I glance his way. Our conversation from the office plays between us.
“Would they really put a bullet in someone’s head because they don’t want this?”
Freddie laughs at Leo’s question. “Why the fuck not? Rules are rules are rules, right?”
“You know better than to ask that when he’s around.” Shaking his head, Casper focuses on the doorway.
A worried frown wrinkles his usually impassive features, and as Fleur draws nearer, he studies her intently.
Looking at her fragile state, I feel like a bastard for the conversation Casper and I had. The guilt is even worse when she smiles up at me, that one small gesture seeming to zap all the energy from her.
Fuck. He’s looking her over like he’s trying to see through every layer of clothing and skin, muscle, and bone.
You’re a cunt. Berating myself, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and give her squeeze. Fleur is impossibly smaller than Arabella. She’s naturally slender and a good few inches shorter. Standing next to me like this, it’s kind of remarkable that she breaks the five-foot mark.
“How’re you feeling?” Leo asks her with a small smile that’s far too soft even for him.
“Like there’s a wet, angry gremlin inside me that’s clawing to get out.”
“Hmm…” Leo laughs at the same time as Casper sighs, “Really?”
“Yeah. Really, big man.” Pulling away from me, she trudges over to where Leo’s sitting. “Where’s Cassie? I thought she’d be here with you guys.”
“She’s on a call with Mum. Party planning and all that.” Standing, he offers her his seat even though there are other chairs next to it. “Last-minute hustle, and I think one of the artists that helped out with the auction had an accident, so they’re trying to figure out how video him in or something like that.”
“She said something about it; my head’s still not on properly. I need to go home.”
“Why?” Casper asks brusquely.
Again, I feel fucking terrible for saying anything to him. He’s looking at her like he might just tie her up and keep her hostage or something.
“In case it’s escaped you, I’m still vomming like Vesuvius on a shit day. I want my space. I want my bed. I need to go home.”
She shrugs after a quiet moment. Turning, she’s about to leave when she pauses, staring at the pool table with wide eyes.
“You can’t just leave,” Casper says matter-of-factly from where he remains seated with a serious look on his face. His jaw is clenched as he leans forward, elbows on knees.
“He’s right,” Freddie tells her. “You’re kind of stuck until we all go.”
“Where did you get those?” Her hand shakes as she rests it on one of the printouts from the journals. “That’s my mum’s handwriting. It’s so perfectly continental.”
Shuffling along the side of the pool table, her fingertips trace over every piece of paper with Grace’s notes.
“The loops are all long and fluid, and even the numbers are all joined together. That was one of her things because my nan always told her off for it when she sent her cards.”
Freddie makes to cover everything up, but I shake my head at him. It’ll be a sure way of telling whether or not she knows anything.
“Where did you find these?”
It’s funny—not one of us is sure how to answer her grief-stricken question. My instinct to comfort her niggles at me until I have to put effort into keeping my hands and limbs to myself.
