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“Yep,” Caden echoes. “All it takes is knocking down one of the trees, and you’re a goner.”
But he’s not trying to stop me. He’s just fucking with me.
“We practically have a fucking tank. That thing is made to travel in this weather. I’ll be fine," I say.
“And if you aren’t?” Francesco demands.
“Well, that’s why there’s an heir and a spare, isn’t it? Nic was just recognized. We’re all good.”
I’m making light of the situation, but in truth, I’m quite fond of my neck, and I haven’t ever had a reason to risk it.
Most people are, really. Which is why, if I send Francesco, or anyone else, out there, and things go bad, they’ll turn back to the main house with an “oh, well. We tried.” and let my poison freeze to death. Such is human nature.
“It’s only five kilometers. The likelihood of an incident is minimal,” I reason. “And what my father doesn’t know won’t kill you.”
There’s a warning there; anyone breathes a word of the incident to dear old Dad and I will strangle them with my bare hands.
I take a mental inventory as I slide in the driver’s seat.
Boots. Skis. Wood in a backpack in case I need to do part of the way on foot. Generator in the boot. Food and water.
We’re good.
Caden knocks against the window as I close the door. I lower it an inch.
“Tell me something. I never quite worked it out.”
I lift an eyebrow, because he never asked a question.
I know what he’s asking, but if he doesn’t have the balls to spell it out, I don’t have to answer.
“Is it just your obsessive character that refuses to let go, or do you actually love the girl? I honestly can’t tell.”
Caden and I grew up together, even more so than my brother and I. He’s actually my age, so we’ve been through everything together.
If he can’t tell, no one can.
“Neither,” I reply. “But she’s mine. She’s not allowed to die until I fucking say so. Besides, you think I’m obsessive? Imagine Nicolai without Bella.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually believe your own bullshit.”
I start to roll out of the hangar, slow, my taillight lighting mere meters ahead.
I’ve been to this manor every year since I was born, I know every inch of the paved alley between the pine trees, but that’s a weakness today. Francesco is right; a trunk could have fallen on the road.
The travel is excruciatingly slow, but without many hiccups, until I reach the gate.
Fuck.
Our secondary generator is powering the main house, but the gate is shot; it just doesn’t want to open, not answering my remote. Or maybe the snow is blocking the signal.
I could try to drive through it; I wasn’t kidding when I called the car a tank. But if I do and I fuck over the car, we’ll have another issue: getting back to the house. I’d rather not risk it on foot, especially with two girls in tow.
I don’t have much choice. Leaving the backpack that would make my plan too problematic, I get out, a headlamp attached to my wool hat, and start to climb the fence. I’ve done it a bunch of times as a kid, but the ice and snow represent several dangers. So do the gilded spikes on top. They’re meant to keep out intruders. At the best of times, they’re uncomfortable, but if I slip, they could be deadly.
I make it over the fence, and start to walk toward the dimly lit house across the road.
They should have fucking moved in with us, instead of buying a stupid little house too far away for a rescue in case of emergency.
