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Caelan took the leather chair opposite and didn’t say no to a rather ancient Scotch, nor a thick Cuban cigar. Such places still existed, and, what a marvel.
The prince had already smoked half a cigar and was now just watching the world go by outside the plate-glass windows, the busy road below full of people.
Caelan had taken a few puffs on his cigar before the prince turned and looked at him.
“How can you stand it?” he asked.
Caelan took a deep breath. “It doesna matter what she says, does, fucks… what mistakes she makes… at the end of the day, she’ll still be my wife. My life. The same person she’s always been. Just a little more screwed up. But if you truly love something, sometimes, you have to let it go.”
The prince’s jaw ticked and he disagreed, Caelan could tell.
Sure, every inch of his heart was clawing at the inside of his chest cavity, willing him to throw his sack of shit bones into a taxi, storm into their mansion and kill that fucking usurper.
“You think she’ll break him?” asked the prince.
“As sure as I ken ma own name. Because she broke me, your Highness.”
The prince still didn’t seem particularly convinced. The man had a personal stake in all of this. Among the team killed in Ukraine was a friend of the prince, going back to childhood. A close, personal friend. Someone he needed to see avenged.
“And Ogarkov?” The prince’s sharp stare seared.
“He’s ready to squeak. Primed, in fact.”
The prince took a deep breath. “I want you knighted after this, and, fully retired. No question.”
Caelan raised one eyebrow. “I couldna give a shite about a knighthood, sir. Give it to someone who really needs it. Maybe a footballer.”
The prince pursed his lips. “That’s why you’re getting it.”
He stood and left the room, two shadowy bodyguards peeling away from other hidden dark corners to follow in hot pursuit of the man’s quick steps.
Caelan remained behind and took another offer of whisky, plus a few more drags of the sickeningly heavy cigar, which he ordinarily wouldn’t partake of—but needed that night.
Tomorrow would be a big day, but first…
He had something else to take care of.
Chapter Twenty-Five
~ Flora ~
Caelan’s return to the house came two and a half days after he’d left it. He emerged in the hallway stinking of cigars and whisky, his fatigues looking as tired as he did, given that he’d obviously not got out of them in a few days.
“Where’s the cunt?” he asked, and I could tell he was a little drunk.
I had a tea towel over my shoulder, dinner in the oven, and the baby asleep in his cradle in the dining room.
“He’s upstairs pottering around.”
We’d got sick of fucking one another. Well, for five minutes at least.
Caelan beckoned me to follow him into the kitchen and he turned up the fan on the oven hood to its loudest possible setting. We stood beside the oven and he asked, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” There was no doubt in my mind.
“Then follow my lead. Okay?”
I swallowed hard. “I trust you, Callie.”
