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Chapter Twelve
Pick up the phone,Rathe Wellesley. For your own bloody sake, pick up the damn phone.Warren glared at his iPhone’s screen as his son’s phone continued to ring, willing the fates to help him and make his son realize this was the most important call in his life that he was ignoring.
His gaze momentarily strayed to the road, his frown worsening when he saw the gridlock ahead. “Find an alternative route,” he told his driver. “I don’t care what you do, just make sure we get to the hotel as soon as possible.”
“Yes, milord.”
Warren turned to his wife, who was busy trying to contact Mary. “Any luck so far?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid, Warren. What if we don’t get to talk to them in time?”
“Shh. Worrying will not get us anywhere.” He pulled her close, pressing a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to make things right.”
Releasing her, he asked tersely, “But are you certain it’s better that I’m the one who speaks with Rathe? You know how the two of us are—-”
“If we switch roles, do you think you’ll have a better chance talking to Mary?”
He grimaced. “Probably worse.”
“Then we have no choice.”
****
Warren:Son, please answer the phone. I need to talk to you.
Over a dozen similar messages followed, making Rathe frown in concern. Clicking on his father’s name on speed dial, his call went through immediately, and his concern deepened when he heard his father’s anxious voice from the other end.
“Thank God you answered,” Warren exclaimed.
The words had Rathe pausing in the middle of shrugging into his evening jacket. “What’s wrong? Is it Mother?”
“No. She’s safe.”
He hesitated. “Then...it’s you?”
“No. We are both all right.” Warren took a deep breath. “I hope I’m mistaken about this, but...are you planning to have a fake engagement?”
Rathe stilled. “How did you know? Did Wilson tell you?”
The questions were enough to make Warren swore. “Don’t do it.”
