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“Where else would we be?” I set her on her feet but keep a hand on her shoulder to steady her for a moment. “I told you when we stopped for fuel in Paris that we’d be home by the time you woke up again.”
“I thought we were going to the castle.” There’s already a frown on her face and her expression is growing stormier by the second. “I like it better there.”
“I know you do, sweetheart.” I’m determined to keep smiling and make the best of this situation. It would be nice if Ella would step in and help me, but that doesn’t seem very likely. “But I’ve had the butler and the chef come down from Drumman Castle, so that’ll be nice, right? You can still have all your favorite meals while we’re here.”
The look on her face makes it clear she isn’t impressed. I can’t blame her for being upset. She’s been through all the same crazy shit as the rest of us, but without the benefit of having an adult’s ability to cope.
She’s going to need me and Ella to stay close by now more than ever, and I’m hopeful that bringing some of the staff from the castle will help give her the sense of stability and continuity that I know she craves.
“Fine,” Isla sighs, sounding way too old and weary for a young girl. The only silver lining is that she is still a kid and still can pivot from one topic to the next without thinking too much about it. “What is Ella doing?” She starts to chase after her nanny, who has wandered off into the living room. “Ella? Where did you go? Do you want to play a game? Hide and seek?”
I can’t hear Ella’s answer, but the tone of her voice tells me everything I need to know. She’s putting on a brave face and trying to sound upbeat for my daughter, but she’s still just as unhappy as she was before we left Italy.
They’re both unhappy.
Fuck, we’re all unhappy.
Ella and I will have to talk soon. A real, honest talk so we can put all this shit behind us. Later, maybe, when we can be alone and have some privacy.
And until then?
I guess we’ll all be unhappy for a little while longer.
CHAPTERFOUR
KEIRAN
I don’t know what time it is, but I can feel the morning sun streaming in through my bedroom window even though I’m still half-asleep.
Cracking an eye open to check the clock on my bedside table doesn’t help. It’s half past seven and I should already be out of bed, but I’m seriously considering sleeping in for another hour.
Maybe two.
Hell, maybe I’ll stay in bed all damn day.
As if that’s really an option. I toss my bedsheets aside, forcing myself to sit upright and stretch. I’ve never been able to sit still for very long, and the prospect of actually sleeping the day away in my bedroom might be an appealing theory but would no doubt drive me crazy within the first half-hour.
So yes, I’ll get out of bed. I’ll put on some clothes. I’ll even try—again, for what feels like the hundredth time—to make peace with Ella so we don’t have a repeat of yesterday’s simmering tension.
Before any of that can happen, though, I need some coffee.
I step out of my bedroom a couple minutes later, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and barely stifling a yawn as I head for the kitchen. The penthouse is quiet—too quiet for my liking. With Isla, Ella, and assorted staff coming and going, I’m used to the sound of doors opening and closing, footsteps passing by, phones chirping and TV shows blaring from every room.
There aren’t any of those distractions right now, though, and it’s honestly a little unsettling.
I look over toward the balcony and frown. The view of the Clyde Arc and the Glasgow skyline was supposed to be a selling point, but all I can focus on is the gray sky.
Gloomy and fucking dreary, just like my mood.
A flash of movement from the corner of the balcony catches my eye and my mind immediately starts racing, wondering if Natasha somehow got extradited and released from jail already.
And what?She scaled my building and is out on the balcony waiting to break in?
Yes, it’s irrational. Yes, my lawyers have assured me she won’t see the outside of a prison cell for a long, long time.
No, I don’t give a single shit about those reassurances right now.
Even if it isn’t Natasha out there, it’s still someone. And that side of the balcony wraps all the way around past Isla’s bedroom window.
