Chapter 33 - Victoria

Victoria

A sking for help wasn’t something I did often.

Let me rephrase that.

I never asked for help. I preferred to hold my own in stressful situations and meet the challenges head on.

Reaching out to Bennet added more strength to my arsenal. He’s like a brother to Xavier and would do anything for his friend.

Our phone call two days ago was short and to the point. I laid out what I needed, and Bennet confirmed he could get it. Now all I had to do was wait.

Ugh.

“Do we have enough food to watch the rest of this?” Killian walked through my living room carrying a tray covered in cheese, fruit, and nuts.

“I think you meant do you have enough food,” Max chimed in.

The boys insisted on coming to my place to watch Xavier’s game. Neither one of them has any interest in sports. I suspected they just wanted to keep me company.

The second half was well underway, with England and the Netherlands sitting at a scoreless tie.

“This is a good thing?” Killian lifted an eyebrow. “No points? How can they do whatever it is they have to do if nobody scores?”

I grabbed a slice of cheese off the tray. “Both teams can score as much as they want. England either has to win it or stay level with the Netherlands to qualify.”

Killian snort-laughed. “Look at you using all the terminology.”

“How much do these guys run? I’m exhausted just watching them,” Max exclaimed, popping a grape into his mouth.

The two of them went off on a tangent about which athletes are the most athletic. They’d just entered the age old debate of golfers versus archers when a knock sounded at my door. My stomach swooped, not from nerves but from the unrealistic possibility it could be Xavier. A ridiculous thought seeing as he’s currently on my television competing in a soccer game.

I opened the door.

“Victoria.”

A completely different swoosh flooded my body.

“Bennet.” I blinked at him, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced over my shoulder. “Hoping to catch the final few minutes of this qualifier, if that’s alright with you.”

I gestured for him to come in. His smile was unforced and warm. It reminded me of the night I met him in London. I peeked into the hallway to see if Hannah was also here but it was empty.

“Tori.” Killian’s loud voice made my ears ring. “Why didn’t you tell me your hot, British friends were coming over?”

Bennet laughed as he sauntered through the room. Clad in jeans and a powder blue long-sleeved Henley, he looked like any other guy in his thirties hanging out with friends on the weekend. We shared a knowing glance when he sat on the couch next to Max.

Heat rushed to my face. He couldn’t have done everything I’d requested this fast. Then again, I shouldn’t underestimate the ultra-wealthy who have the world at their fingertips.

“It’s called a surprise, Mr. Monroe.” Amusement colored Bennet’s tone. “I like keeping people on the edge.”

Killian choked on a walnut. Max buried his face in his hands.

The announcer exclaimed something about a foul in the penalty box, drawing all our attention to the TV.

“Jesus Christ,” Bennet muttered. “They bloody fouled Erik Vande Velde.”

“Who’s that?” I asked, sitting next to Killian.

“Only the best striker on the Netherlands side.”

We watched the replay. I’m not sure who all the players were for England. I only knew Cade and Xavier. It appeared some guy stuck his foot out to stop the ball and tripped the Dutch player.

“VAR review confirms it,” one of the announcers exclaimed. “Penalty for the Netherlands. Reckless decision by Zach Donovan to make that kind of move in the box. Oh boy, this couldn’t have come at a worse time for England. Under two minutes left to play. If the Dutch score here, England have to win their next match to qualify.”

“I literally don’t know what he’s talking about,” Killian said. “But Xavier looks pissed.”

Several emotions paralyzed me when Xavier popped up on the screen. He did look annoyed. But he also looked determined.

And fucking hot .

Blazing eyes, set jaw, larger-than-life stance.

It’s been a minute since I’ve seen him in the heat of competition.

“This is a great duel for sure.” Excitement dripped from the announcer’s voice. “The best against the best. Xavier Maddox hasn’t been tested much in goal tonight. Will the Royal City keeper be England’s hero? Or will Vande Velde tame The Three Lions?”

Not one of us moved. All eyes remained glued to the TV. The Dutch player strolled to the penalty marker. When the camera switched to Xavier, I sucked in a breath. I’ve never seen him so focused. He stood on his line, rolled his shoulders, and waited.

Do all soccer players ooze such overt sexuality just doing their job? Seeing Xavier in his natural element hit all my hot buttons, and then some.

I swallowed, stealing a glance at Bennet. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a grin.

Nothing gets past this guy , I thought, turning my attention back to the game.

Both players stood motionless, staring the other down. The crowd noise hushed from a roar to scattered murmuring. My hands clasped so tight the knuckles turned white.

If I was this stressed out, I could only imagine how Xavier felt. Then again, ice water runs through his veins when he’s competing.

The referee blew his whistle.

The Dutch striker trotted toward the ball, stopped short, then ran forward and kicked.

A resounding smack preceded pandemonium on the field. Xavier moved fast enough to block the kick, and slapped the ball away. He’d saved the penalty shot.

His actions resulted in a corner kick but that didn’t seem to matter to England’s players. When the final whistle blew, they piled on Xavier, celebrating a scoreless tie like they’d won a major tournament.

“That really didn’t need to be so intense,” Killian grumbled.

“Welcome to football,” Bennet replied, glancing at his phone. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few calls to make.”

The boys and I watched some of the post-game interviews. I recognized the brunette asking Xavier questions. Her professionalism was evident, but so were the demure glances and obvious attempts at charming England’s hero.

Hiding my jealously from Killian was impossible.

“Ex-girlfriend?” he asked.

“Not quite.”

He looked from me to the TV and back. “Xavier looks bored. You have nothing to worry about.”

I laughed, giving my best friend a playful shove.

Max and Killian hung around for another hour while Bennet spent his time by the windows taking call after call. I declined the boys’ dinner invitation, saying I had a few last minute details to iron out before tomorrow’s game.

Nerves cascaded through my stomach. I could tell Killian knew I was hiding something and was bursting at the seams to ask why Bennet showed up unannounced. I didn’t want to tell him or Max about my plan until all the pieces were in place. Besides, I hadn’t told them what happened in London yet.

After the boys left, I turned to Bennet. “A heads up would have been helpful.”

“And ruin the surprise?” he grinned.

“You sound like Xavier.” I folded my arms. “I would have assumed you’d be at the game. Did you just arrive in New York?”

“I’ve been here since yesterday.”

Interesting .

“Are you staying with Hannah?”

Apparently that question went over like a lead balloon. Bennet’s expression iced slightly. “I leave tonight but wanted to see you first.”

“Did you get what I need?”

“Mostly.” He pulled a USB drive from his pocket. “Still working on a couple things but grab your laptop.”

My heart skittered like a nervous bunny when I retrieved my computer. Either this information will put the Jordan situation to rest for good, or it’ll open an entirely new, even more unpleasant situation.

“There’s one item of notable interest,” Bennet said, plugging in the USB. “I suggest starting with the McKennie family file.”

Shooting him a skeptical look, I pulled up the finances folder. Their family history served no purpose at this time. I wanted financial records to prove once and for all that Jordan lied to me.

At first blush, the summary revealed nothing spectacular, aside from a couple of political scandals that had been covered up. Tempting, but not the knock-out punch I needed.

I opened a folder labeled investments and searched the files for mentions of my dad or his company.

“Jesus,” I muttered, noticing their net worth of one billion pounds. Then I saw their titles. “He’s a Duke?”

“The title is hereditary, much like mine.” The corner of Bennet’s mouth curved. “One might say we’re a select elite within the elite.”

Before I got swept up in the minutiae of British aristocracy, I refocused on searching the financial documents. Several revealed Jordan’s interest in purchasing my family’s cottage. My jaw clenched. He’d certainly done his research on Briarcliff Cottage, including its estimated worth.

Why he wanted it remained a mystery.

Shaking off the unpleasantness, I continued my search.

One record of interest popped up from thirty years ago. Samuel McKennie did invest with my dad’s firm but the amount was less than one hundred thousand. Not exactly investing heavily for one of the wealthiest families in the United Kingdom.

I started another search, just in case I missed something. No additional records showed any financial connections.

Relieved, I clicked on the family file.

Again, nothing out of the ordinary, just a rundown of their lineage, including how long they’ve held a seat in Parliament’s House of Lords. There was also information about the boating accident. Jordan’s mom and dad were killed off the coast of Cyprus almost twelve years ago.

I scrolled through some photos of the couple. They appeared happy. Then again, pictures have the ability to convey a false narrative. I knew nothing about these people other than their son was a despicable human.

After pouring through as many files as possible, I couldn’t find anything else of significance.

Just as I was about to close out of it, I noticed an addendum to the folder labeled children marked confidential.

I glanced up at Bennet. His small nod of encouragement sparked my curiosity.

I opened the file.

My jaw dropped.

No fucking way .