27. Talia

On her way into the mansion block, Talia stopped off at the concierge's office to pick up the post for her and Mia. By now, the concierge didn't even bother to contact Mia to approve it. Either because Talia had done it every day for the past fortnight or because he wanted to empty his office of the plethora of congratulatory cards and gifts he'd had to sign for.

For once, Talia had more post than Mia; two large letters compared to Mia's single pink card. Excitement ruptured inside her chest before she could stop it. Was this the letter that would tell her whether she'd been accepted on a doula course?

She checked the clock on her way upstairs; it was around the time Mia tried to get baby Lily down for a nap, so Talia decided to postpone handing the card over. Instead, she raced upstairs, practically bouncing as she walked through her own front door.

Jensen stood just in front of one of the large living room windows, holding his phone to his ear. He glanced back as she entered, the bright daylight silhouetting his broad figure. "Yep," he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a weary sigh. Was that an American accent she could hear on the other end of the call? "Look, can I call you back? I've got another meeting I need to be in."

Talia listened to him ending the call, guilt twinging a path up her spine. All those months ago, she hadn't realised just how much Dad pulling out of their business deal would affect him. And here he was, still mopping up the mess without a word of complaint.

"Rough day?" she asked after he put the phone down.

He shook his head, smiling through it all. "Not anymore. How was lunch with Darcy?"

"Good," Talia smiled. "She mentioned Dad might be popping round in a bit, but this is more important." She brandished the letters in front of him. "I think one of these might be from the doula place. I recognise the address on the back."

Jensen's expression lit up, his stress melting away.

She bit her lip to hide her grin, ripping the envelope open and yanking the paper out. "Dear Miss Llewellyn," she read. "Congratulations! We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepte—"

He didn't wait for the rest.

Talia laughed out a graceless squawk as Jensen hauled her into the air. Letting the letters fall to the floor, she wrapped her arms and legs around his body simultaneously. Excited giggles tumbled from her lips, scattering around the room as he spun her in a circle.

"I knew they'd accept you," he told her, his eyes glittering with fierce pride.

That look softened her from the inside out, and Talia wanted to latch on with both hands and keep it there forever. "Thank you," she whispered, and she meant it. For believing in her. For encouraging her. For protecting her. For still being by her side after Dad had imploded his business plans. For seeing her on that stage and bidding. For giving her Felix.

And for not forgetting her afterwards.

Jensen's lips slid against hers in a soft kiss. "You did the work, baby girl. I'm just honoured to be the man at your side."

The excitement of being accepted onto the doula course had her floating through the rest of the day with ease, but it wasn't until she was tidying up Felix's toys that she remembered the other letter.

On her hands and knees, Talia caught sight of it poking out from beneath the sofa—directly next to one of Felix's missing socks. She snatched them both up, the air in the flat thick with the aromatic blend of spices Jensen was infusing their dinner with.

As he busied himself in the kitchen, she settled on the sofa and slit open the envelope.

It wasn't a bill, like she thought it was.

It was… a collection of newspaper clippings, by the looks of it. What on earth? She shuffled through them, a headline catching her eye. A photo of a smiling older man was situated below it, next to one of a large, burnt-out house cordoned off with police tape.

Sick Killers Tortured Victim

Two men have been found guilty of torturing and murdering Graeme Friedman, 72, before setting his ￡1,500,000 Surrey home alight. Friedman was rescued by firemen, but later died in hospital.

The murderer, Jensen Stone, 26, and his accomplice, Rhys Stone, 20, were captured on CCTV buying ten litres of petrol from a nearby station before carrying out the sustained attack. Graeme Friedman's wife, Denise, 58, called her husband's killers ‘monsters' after a jury found them guilty of his murder yesterday.

Jurors heard how Friedman was terrorised for six hours, being stripped, bound, beaten, and burned over a prolonged period. Friedman was later handcuffed to a radiator before being set alight.

James Simmons, Chief Crown Prosecutor, said: We are thankful that the instigators of this brutal attack have been brought to justice. The evil, senseless actions of these two men have ripped the lives of the Friedman family apart.'

Talia stared at the news article, her ears ringing and her blood going cold. There had to be a mistake. But then she shuffled to the next article—and there his mugshot was. He was younger, but she'd know his face anywhere by now.

The burns. How many times had she seen those burns on his chest? Hundreds.

She'd asked him about them once, back in New York. A world away. What had he said?

"I was in a fight when I was a teenager."

The articles shook in her hand, beginning to float softly to the floor. The headlines blared back at her. EVIL.

A plain white piece of paper stood out behind the rest. It was the only one that hadn't been cut from a newspaper.

I thought you'd like to know what kind of man you're trusting with your child's life.

There was no name attached, but Talia found she didn't care. She glanced up, her good mood extinguishing—swiftly replaced by fear. Jensen remained oblivious, searing the chicken in the pan.

She swallowed, clenching the final piece of paper in her grip. The smell. That spicy scent that had roused her stomach to life only minutes ago. Now she felt sick.

Her gaze found Felix's bedroom door, and she was glad he was safely behind it.

Stripped, bound, beaten, and burned.

The hands that touched her had done that. The hands that had touched her son had done that.

"You having cramps again?" Jensen's voice made her jump. "You're as white as a ghost."

If ever she felt like a deer frozen in the headlights, it was then. Talia didn't know what to say. This was a man who loved Felix more than his own life—how could he be the same man who had committed such horrors?

She always wondered how she'd react in a stressful situation.

Flight. Fight. Fawn. Freeze.

Apparently her body had chosen the latter. She wouldn't run, couldn't run, not with Felix in the next room. Her heartbeat was an audible throb in her ears, even as she congealed with indecision.

But then Jensen stopped in his tracks, glaring at the newspaper clippings scattered on the ground. "Where did you get those?"

"They were in the post," she breathed.

Fury pulsed in his jaw, his nostrils flaring. "I can explain."

If he could explain it away, they wouldn't have convicted him of murder.

Instead, she gave a frantic nod, doing her best to hide her fear.

"Don't look at me like that," he murmured, his brows drawing together sympathetically. He reached out to touch her, but she reared back. "Talia…"

"Is it true?" That was the only thing that mattered. Please say it's not. Please say it's some horrible misunderstanding. You were wrongly convicted. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just tell me we can go back to being who we were before I opened this envelope.

After a moment, he bowed his head. "It's true."

Somewhere deep inside, Talia thought she heard her heart shatter.

"But I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, that he deserved it."

"How can a man deserve to be burnt alive?"

"He…" Jensen cut himself off, swearing under his breath. He knelt before her, the newspaper clippings crinkling beneath him. "Do you trust me?"

If he'd have asked ten minutes ago, she'd have answered without question. Now, the silence that fell over them was so thick it was almost tangible. Because she didn't just have herself to think about; she had Felix. It was her responsibility to keep Felix safe.

And how could she do that if she lived with a man with a track history of torture and murder?

Exhaling, Jensen let his head hang in a defeated slump. The sight stirred her pity, but then it snapped up again. "Euan knows," he said abruptly, his eyes full of hope. "Your father knows everything, Talia. And he still worked with me. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Thatcaught her off guard. Dad knew about this? The same man who refused to leave his shopping trolley anywhere other than neatly in line inside one of the designated trolley corrals? That man was suddenly okay with torture and murder?

The flat's buzzer went off like a foghorn, making her jump a mile in the air. Dad, Talia pleaded silently, quickly sidestepping Jensen and diving for the button. Please let it be Dad. "Hello?"

"Hey cyw, just me."

"Come up," she said swiftly, slamming the button down so quickly her finger almost snapped.

Behind her, Jensen hadn't moved. He knelt on the floor still, a saddened cast over him as he shifted from the newspaper clippings to her,

Saddened, but not regretful.

Talia threw the front door open before her father finished knocking, one hand still upraised, midway through rapping his knuckles on the wood. The other clutched a large gift box covered in robot wrapping paper. She beckoned him in.

Perhaps he sensed something was off with her, because before he'd finished stepping through the doorway he fixed Jensen with an accusatory glare. "I came round to drop off something for Reggie's birthday next week, but…" Dad set the gift down, edging closer to her. "What's he done, cyw?"

"Graeme Friedman." Jensen spoke before she had a chance, standing to his full height.

Talia didn't know what kind of reaction she'd been expecting from her father, but it wasn't a long, steady exhale, nor the same type of sorrowful glance Jensen had directed at her earlier.

"Ah," was all Dad said.

And somehow the room shifted. A second ago Dad had been on her side, but now the two of them were looking down at her with identical expressions on their faces.

As though she was the outsider.

"Aren't either of you going to say anything?" Her gaze whipped across the room, and the longer it went on the more she felt like she was losing her mind. Was it really so unthinkable that she was ever-so-slightly disturbed by the fact her child's father was a murderer?

Jensen took a slow, measured step towards her, as though he was fearful any sudden movement would have her taking flight. "It's not as black-and-white as it seems, Talia."

She pointed at the newspaper clippings. "Is any part of that untrue?"

"No," he admitted. "But there are things left unsaid."

"Then say them."

Jensen's throat bobbed in a thick swallow. "I promised I wouldn't."

Promised who?

Dad's hand landed on her shoulder, his brow furrowed. "Nattie, sweetheart, I understand why you're concerned, but there's more to the story than the murder. As much as I don't like the two of you being together, I truly believe Jensen poses you no harm. I trust him—with you and with Felix."

Relief settled her shoulders, easing the muscles that had been locked up tight. Talia trusted her father's judgement, even if they were sidestepping the issue. "Then… why didn't you tell me, Jensen? Isn't this something I deserved to know?"

"I didn't tell you because…" Jensen gave her a helpless look, sinking his hands into his hair. "Because I can't tell you everything without hurting the people I love."

Her eyes fluttered. "But I thought you loved me too."

Dad turned away to clear his throat, but Jensen came closer, his hand coming out to cup her cheek. "You know I do."

Talia wanted to lean into it desperately, to blindly trust her father's word that Jensen wasn't a danger.

But right now she felt like a child, coddled by the adults in the room. Like she was… beneath them.

"Then stop making decisions for me," she whispered. "Both of you. You're treating me like I can't be trusted to know what happened, like I don't have a functioning brain. Neither of you thought at any point over the last few months that I should know that you killed and tortured a man, Jensen. You were sent to prison for murder, for fuck's sake."

Dad's head whipped round, his eyes wide with shock. Was this the first time he'd heard her swear? Probably.

"Stop treating me like a child." Talia's voice was bitter. "Until the two of you stop keeping secrets from me, I don't want you here. You either tell me the whole story or you leave."

Dad was the first to go, a stab of pain reverberating through her chest. "I'll speak to you soon, Nattie. I promise. Love you, cyw."

She watched him go, her sadness growing with his every step. She'd expected at least one of them to treat her like an adult, to let her in on what happened.

When Dad was gone, Jensen stepped towards her. "Talia…"

Tell me. Please tell me the full story. Treat me like an adult, like an equal, like the mother of your child.

Instead, he shook his head. "If I was free to tell you everything, I would. But I can't. I'm sorry."

"Then go home, Jensen."

He gave her a dejected smile before disappearing through the door. "You are my home."