6. Darius

Chapter six

Darius

B reakfast and lunch didn’t happen. The thing about running an empire is that, sometimes, it’s a full-time job, and it means sitting through conference call after conference call and getting swamped with emails. I had Hans tell Everleigh that breakfast and lunch could be found in the dining room or the kitchen, her choice, but that, either way, it would be served and ready for her whenever she wanted it. He, of course, gave her my regrets about not being able to join, probably in a way in which only Hans could, and promised her I’d be available for dinner. It’s her first full day at the house, and since it’s like a palace and easy to get lost in—it’s also kind of gothic and not her home on top of it all—I wanted her to feel like she had the freedom to explore, but I also didn’t want her to be overwhelmed. I wanted to ease her into her new life, but work duty called.

“I think that’s the last one.” I scroll through the emails I flagged as ones that couldn’t wait, but all of them have been opened and answered. Documents requiring my signature have been printed and scanned, and multiple crises have been avoided. I also sent an email to my baby bro, who is the face of the company, giving him some advice about work and life in general, but so far, that’s gone unanswered.

“Did Bastard Bradford respond yet?” Hans is peeling an apple in his usual chair. The way he’s doing it, the peel is all coming off in one giant snake.

“Don’t call him that. He’s not a bastard.”

“He is. Even if he shares the same father as all of you. And shared the womb with you for nine months. It’s a good thing you came out first. If you had to rely on him as the firstborn, you’d all be fucked.”

I work out the kinks in my shoulder, rubbing at the muscles like I always do after a long or not-so-long day. “Anyway, no, he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Hmphf.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

“She’s waiting for you in the dining room already.”

I start and nearly fall out of my chair. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Damn.” I swipe my hand over grainy eyes. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” I push myself out of the chair. “I’ll go join her.”

“Should I come with you?”

“Up to you. You don’t have to. You can take the rest of the night off.”

Hans’ brows shoot up, and I know what he’s thinking. “What happens if you have another drowning crisis and this time I’m nowhere to be found?”

“Very funny. I’ll survive. And you’re not going to leave here, so I know where to find you.”

He finishes peeling the apple and lets the apple skin snake fall onto his lap. Instead of eating the apple, he picks up the peel and starts munching on it, feeding it into his mouth a little at a time. I’m not sure what the point in peeling the damn thing was if he was going to eat the peel all along. “I told her she had free access to the grounds today, but I don’t think she went outside. She spent the morning in the library, poking around, and then, this afternoon, she spent most of it in her room. I think she was video-chatting with her family. She didn’t seem to want to have someone accompany her outside, and when I suggested hiring a friend or a companion for her if she was lonely, she gave me a look that said, please curl up and die.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. She did try and drown you last night.”

I wince as a phantom pain shoots through my balls. “She was trying to save me.”

Hans snorts. “As if I couldn’t do my job.”

“How was that magazine, by the way? Good? You’ll have to share it with me sometime.”

He could flip me the bird, but he’s rather secure in his masculinity. Also, he answers me in something that I think is Danish and grins at me. Lord, he can be unsettling sometimes, but I just find it amusing now. “Have a good night off, Hans.”

“I’ll keep my ear peeled for disaster.”

“You do that.”

“Boss?” Hans calls out.

I stop in the doorway. I hate when he calls me that. I slowly pivot around. He flashes me two thumbs up, which also happens to be an apple and some apple peel kind of thumbs up because he’s still holding onto them. “It was great. I’ll lend it to you sometime if you’re interested.”

The guy happens to have an obsession with all things written, and he loves photos, so I guess that extends to magazines. I didn’t peg him as a fashion lover, and he surprised me yet again last night when he whipped that baby out. It was something from Europe, all thick and blocky and huge.

When I got to the dining room, I noticed that the dining room table had been set for two, and Everleigh was seated in the same chair she occupied last night when she drove the hardest bargain. Actually, I think the hardest bargain was her knee in my nads, but we’ll leave that up for debate. She’s sitting there, wearing a black flowy blouse and black leggings. Her hair is down, and it is like finely spun gold. She’s so angelic that my heart nearly buckles in my chest, and my step hitches and falters. Lucky for me, she doesn’t look up until I’ve recovered and hopefully composed myself into less of a creepy staredown kind of guy.

Her smile is slow, but it’s soft and beautiful and real. I’m not used to having a standing dinner date with anyone, but damn it, I could get used to doing this. I could get used to Everleigh’s gorgeous summer blue eyes, her lovely, sweet face with the blush in her cheeks, and her coral lips parting around a small sigh as I sat down. Her scent of honey and apricots was even apparent over dinner unless the chef somehow decided to bring out dessert first.

Nope. When I lift the dome off my plate, it reveals a huge pork chop, a baked potato with all the trimmings, and a stack of asparagus spears. I guess we didn’t finish that off last night. My chef is a good man. He’s around fifty, and he’s originally from France. He had a great career over here until he didn’t. There was a bit of a mishap at the restaurant where he was working that involved an actual swath of beard hairs that he told me weren’t his, even though he has a four-foot-long or so beard. I was looking for someone after I bought the house, and he was looking for work, so when he applied and after tasting a cheesecake he cooked for me as a sample, I hired him on the spot.

So what if I have to pick out the occasional beard hair?

Like every other day.

I can handle that. The guy cooks like a demon. Not that I have ever found any hair so far.

Everleigh was waiting for me, and she lifted the dome on her plate at the same time. “It feels so medieval, doing this. I know it’s to keep the food warm, but it’s kind of weird. And I guess kind of awesome.”

I set the metal dome aside and pick up my knife, but just like last night, my muscles are cramped, and my shoulder is screaming a big hell no. I didn’t do my exercises this morning because I was busy answering email after email, and I’m paying the price now.

I pick at the potato while Everleigh digs into the huge pork chop. It’s a bone-in beast, and it takes up more than half of the huge plate. She cuts it all into small pieces and then wordlessly, without warning, slides her plate across to me. She stabs my pork chop with her fork and lifts it up before dumping the cut-up meat onto my plate with her finger.

My god, I hate that after one day, she can tell when I’m in serious need of assistance because my arm is being an asshole. It’s so fucking embarrassing. I didn’t even have to say anything. I feel a little bit wrecked by it, but before I can start stewing in self-pity and hurt pride because who the hell can’t cut his own meat, Everleigh points down at her lap and makes a whistling sound as she does it.

“How are your male friends today?”

“I’m not sure I have many friends.”

She does that pointing, whistling motion again, and I finally get it. She’s pointing at nuts, which she obviously doesn’t have. She means mine.

“Oh! That.” I can’t look at her, but then I do because she probably feels terrible, and I don’t want her to think I’m lying. “Nothing a bag of frozen peas and a cup of mint tea couldn’t fix.”

“Ooh, that’s quite a combination. Tell me your secret.”

“My secret? Oh. The mint tea was just to settle my stomach down. I was pretty nauseated for a while after. But other than that, they’ve quite recovered.”

“I’m so sorry. I was worried I’d done permanent damage.” She pauses, then starts cutting into the pork chop she traded me for. “Let’s change the subject. I was talking with my mom and sister today, and they had the craziest story. Apparently, they had a real-life cat burglar.”

“What?” I nearly drop my fork in shock. “That’s terrible! Did they call the police? I’ll have someone go there right away. I’ll hire someone to watch the house, and if they need anything…”

Everleigh’s face softens, and I can read the emotion there. She’s touched. Maybe a little confused. She doesn’t realize yet that her problems are my problems because I’m a guy who keeps my promises, and we’re legally married right now and will be for the next half a year. “No, sorry, I meant a real cat burglar. Not a person. A cat. This stray apparently got under the skirting of the house and found a way in through the venting under there or a nook or cranny or something. After…well, a long time ago, we sold the house we grew up in, and we bought this place, but it’s not the best. Alright, so it was cheaper than an apartment, and we could build up the value instead of throwing the money away on a rental, which is why we bought it, but it needs some major help. My mom has the water heater closet door taken down right now because it was leaking. She was fiddling around with it, trying to fix it, and he came up through there. Heather and my mom were sitting on the couch watching a movie, and all of a sudden, this stray cat went tearing through the house. He’s wild as hell and totally unkempt, but they’re going to leave food for him and try and calm him down. They’re both full of grand dreams for this cat now that he’s made himself known by breaking in.”

I can’t hide it. I’m bloody well entertained by this story. Bloody well is a phrase that Hans often uses. He likes to take idioms from different parts of the world and blend them into his everyday speech, along with his choice of using different accents. I swear, I could have hired someone boring, but lucky for me, Hans came along instead.

“That’s quite a thing. Hopefully, he doesn’t start bringing gifts. Gifts like dismembered mice, headless mice, and bodiless mice that are just heads and whatnot.”

“I thought about that too. Mom is extra careful about keeping things clean for Heather right now because her treatments will probably do a number on her immune system, so she was mopping the floor and vacuuming right after, but Heather didn’t seem too concerned about it.”

“That’s good to hear, at least.”

“My mom, after I talked to her last night, quit the one job that was killing her. This is the first time she and Heather have spent an afternoon together in I don’t know how long. And…and that’s all you. Thank you for that.”

I don’t get a lot of gratitude aimed my way very often, compliments of being the one who has to make all the hard decisions and also generally being behind the scenes. Most people don’t know that it’s not Bradford pulling the strings. It’s me. I’m the puppet master for real. Everleigh throws her whole self into it, though, and when she beams at me, my heart does another stutter hiccup in my chest.

“You’re not what I expected, you know.” She saves me from having to respond to praise that I’m totally unequipped to deal with.

I tilt my brows at an angle and stop mid-jab in spearing some asparagus. “How so? Should I be dark and broody? Stalk the corridors at night? Stick to the shadows? Howl at the moon a little when it’s full, which I guess was last night? If it’s the black sheep thing, everyone just started calling me that, and it’s mostly because I live in this place alone, and I’m a recluse. People get weird ideas about you when you don’t leave the house that often. If you’ve heard two-headed, hairy-toed monster rumors, then I apologize.”

She fights to keep her smile down. She pretends to be serious, but her eyes are twinkling away. “Are your toes hairy, Darius?”

“I mean, probably. There has to be a stray hair or two down there somewhere.”

Something dings, and Everleigh shifts, pulling out her phone. She’s frowning as she does it, a knee-jerk reaction, probably because she’s used to getting bad news and having to deal with it on her own, but then she grins. “Oh my god.” She whips the phone around to me. “This is getting out of control. Look at this.” I’m looking at a photo of a large cat post, a set of dishes, a litter box, and a stack of toys. “They went out and got all of this. I told you, it’s already gone too far. Heather always wanted a pet, but we really couldn’t afford one before.”

“So she’s adopting a mangy cat?”

“Looks that way. If he comes back. Because who knows? He might not. But if he really is a stray, and he’s hungry and they’re leaving food out, chances are, he’ll be back. He can come and go as he pleases. Don’t people say you never really own a cat? They own you. Or that they choose you or something.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cat.”

“Did you have any pets growing up?”

“A snake.”

“Ahh. So you’re the unconventional type. I like it. Snakes are super cool.”

“No analogies? That’s very kind.”

“You mean I should insinuate that the type of pet a person owns says something about their personality? Then your brother, I’m sorry to say, would have a mad collection of dicks going. Or asses. Donkeys! Yes, that’s it! He’d own a donkey.”

Lord, this is too entertaining. I shouldn’t laugh. I really shouldn’t laugh because of family solidarity and all that. But of course, I laugh. Funny. This girl, my wife. She’s funny.

“I’m sorry I’ve been calling Hans a goon,” she said.

“To his face?”

“N—no, I don’t think so. Well, not after that first showdown when I woke up tied up on the bed. But I’ve been calling him that in my head. I might have used the term goonzilla a few times in the privacy of my brain. I feel kind of bad now, though, because he kind of did save your life last night after I just about literally drowned you.”

“Goonzilla,” I test it out with a sigh. “Nah, he’s not really a goon. Just a big guy who went looking for adventure because he became bored doing what he was doing.”

“And what was he doing?”

“Science. Physics.”

There’s no gasp of surprise, which is quite admirable because Everleigh’s jaw cracks an inch. “I guess this is where you insert the popular and incredibly token notion of not judging a book by its cover.” She picks up a spear of asparagus and munches on it. “My god, these are incredible. I don’t know how your chef does it, but he or she managed to turn something I don’t like into something I do. They’re magic, I tell you. Straight up wizards in there.”

“I’ll pass on the compliments.”

He might pass on some beard hairs later in return.

We’re both quiet for a few minutes as we eat. The food is too good to waste anything by letting it get cold. Or, rather, colder. We’ve already been talking for a few minutes, but it was piping hot before, so I guess now it’s at that just-right stage. We eat until we’re stuffed. I know I am, and Everleigh pushes back in her chair.

“I’m so full that I could explode,” she mutters. She glances at the plate, which is still half full. “Do they, like, put the leftovers in the fridge for later? Because I feel really bad about wasting.” I know for a fact that none of the leftovers get saved, so I kind of make a choking noise. Everleigh nods. “I figured as much. You need to get a dog. They would eat well.”

“Ha. Me with a dog. That’s funny.”

“Why? You like to walk everywhere. I think a dog would be a perfect match for you.”

Yup, this girl. She just made a joke about something no one else would dare to joke about because it’s damn tragic how it came about. Yet somehow, she’s not making fun of me at all. To my amazement, I find myself laughing softly. No one makes me laugh. Not really. Except for Hans. He’s got being funny down to a science.

“I think this might work out,” I say cautiously as I study my new wife . That’s such a strange word.

She studies me back just as cautiously. We’re both staring at each other, sizing each other up, but not in that pissing contest, enemies kind of way. Rather, it’s more of a surprised at how this might be an okay situation despite it all kind of an appraisal. There are all the elements of surprise and pleasure that make my chest feel funny. It’s not in the same way that my nuts felt funny for the better part of last night, the way my shoulder feels funny when it starts aching and tugging after a long day, or just because it’s being an asshole and giving me a hard time for no particular reason. No, this stitch in my chest feels like a needle and thread punctured both lungs, and it’s sewing them back up to half their capacity because it’s a little bit hard to breathe, but it’s not as unpleasant as all that. It’s actually not bad at all.

“Yeah,” she responds just as carefully. “I think you might be okay. Does this mean I can call you D now, too?”

“Ugh, not a chance.”

“Alright,” she replies and grins, flashing me her teeth. “How about D-Man?”

“No. Hard pass.” Considering all the other names that start with D, D-Man is probably getting off easy. Douchebag, dinky winky, dimple bottom, dorkus Darius, ditto Bradford, dastardly bastard, Dickface… The list is literally endless.

“Hmm.” She rests her chin on her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

I’ve never heard such an ominous declaration in my life.