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I hurry over to Ingrid.
“Alexander will lose his mind when he sees this,” I tell her. But the look in her eyes tells me she already knows. As sad as I was to part ways with him earlier, I’m happy he isn’t here to see this. This is unbelievably cruel. “We can’t stay in this room.”
Ingrid gives me a sad smile. “Is that a formal request, missus?”
I quirk an eyebrow but give her a nod. “Yes, it is. We can’t sleep in this room.” I turn to give it one last look. We can’t doanythingin here for that matter. Can you imagine the horror of trying to have sex in a room you know belongs to your fiancé’s deceased mother?
Wesley steps up then—I had forgotten he was here—peering into the room. “Yes, it looks like a case of the mites, don’t you think, Mum?”
Ingrid bobs her head. “I’ll have housekeeping arrange another room right away.”
She leaves to get that sorted, and that’s when I turn to Wesley, looking at him more intently. The resemblance is right there, of course. They’ve got the same mop of hair. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. As if reading my mind, he says, “Yes, she’s my mum.”
“I just noticed the resemblance,” I say, off-handedly. It’s a bit awkward now that Ingrid’s lightheartedness isn’t here to fill in the gaps of conversation. “Why did she ask if it was a formal request?”
Wesley slumps against the doorframe. “Because she can’t do anything without one,” he says simply. “Even if it’s bogus, she’s bound by your wishes, not her own.”
I hum a response, but his words spark a thought.
“She’s bound by my wishes?” I repeat. Wesley nods. “Are you bound by them, too?”
Wesley raises an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But it depends on the wish. I’m not going to help you do anything that Alexander would dislike.”
I twist my hands behind my back, lacing my fingers together to hide my anxiety. It’s now or never. This is an opportunity if I’ve ever seen one. The chances that Alexander will ever let me out of his sights again are slim, and I need to get this over with sooner than later.
I just hope he hasn’t said anything to Wesley.
“I’m a little under the weather,” I say, infusing my voice with all the fragility I can muster. “Do you think you could take me to the family doctor?” He’s still staring at me, thinking. “I’m not sure how long Alexander will be.”
Wesley is silent for a few heartbeats.
“The doctor isn’t too far from here,” he says, more to himself than me. “I’ll just let Alexander know where you are,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Come on, then.”
I release the breath I was holding, thankful for this small victory.
Now, I’ll be able to find out what’s happening without Alexander in the room, so I can process my feelings about it—and hopefully figure out the best way to tell him.
EIGHT
ALEXANDER
The minuteI approach my father’s study, I know something is off.
Aside from the Empire soldiers posted outside his door—Ben is one of them, of course—there’s another guy I don’t recognize. His suit is the colour of a stormy night’s sky, and he’s making way too much eye contact with me for him to belong to my father’s detail.
“Mr. Duke is expecting you,” Ben says, stepping away from the door.
I grit my teeth, holding back the fury the meresoundof my father’s name kindles inside me. My father makes a point of ensuring the soldiers call me Alexander—a subtle way of signalling I’m not on the same level as him. There’s only one Mr. Duke whenever he’s around.
My patience for all of this has disappeared.
I’m sick and tired of my father’s games. That’s what has me straightening my shoulders even as Ben relieves me of my weapon before I’m allowed to enter the study. It’s a standing rule among us—weapons aren’t allowed into his study.
Every deal my father has ever brokered for the Empire takes place in his study.
Growing up, it was a revolving door of powerful men—shady politicians, wily businessmen and other leaders of criminal organisations. Weapons only complicate conversations where there’s already so much on the line, where emotions are already running high.
It doesn’t mean I’m happy about handing mine over.
