Chapter Nineteen

That day, work had been glossed over.

Coming back home and burying myself in Emmabelle seemed more important than helping my clients get out of whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into.

I knew what we had was temporary. Women like Sweven hardly made for domestic goddesses. But like all mere mortals, I was fond of playing with deities, even though I knew all about how these stories end.

Also, I really needed to ensure she was safe until my baby was out of her body.

Also,Mum was getting on my last nerve, begging me to come to England and meet Louisa for a cuppa, which meant I needed to head back to Britain soon and explain to my family that I wasn’t going to marry someone just because my dead sperm-donor strong-armed me.

I took the stairs up to my loft two at a time.

I keyed in the code, flung the door open, and sing-songed, “Honey, I’m home!”

And stopped dead in my tracks.

Belle was sitting at my breakfast nook, still wearing the same ridiculous oversized shirt she sported before I’d gone to work.

She wasn’t alone.

“Hello, Devvie.” Sweven’s smile was saccharine, but her eyes darted poisonous daggers at me. “Busted.”

Across from her sat Louisa, sipping green tea.

Shite.

Louisa stood up, dangling her hips seductively while she made her way over to me. She placed a lingering kiss on my cheek, her whole body angled toward mine.

“Darling, you’ve been missed. Your mother gave me your address. She is awfully distraught. She asked that I come speak to you personally.”

Brazen move. Even—dare I say—deranged? But there were several million dollars on the line in properties and heirlooms, and Mum had no liquid assets and no other income sources.

As for Louisa, I was the one who got away. The prized match.

“You could’ve called.” I smiled enchantingly, bowing my head to kiss her knuckles easily.

“I could say the same,” Louisa remarked smartly, not looking half-bothered by my icy welcome. She was sharp, but not—I noticed—hostile, like Belle was. “When’s a good time to talk?”

“Now,” Belle interrupted from her place at the breakfast nook, reaching into a cereal box and withdrawing one Froot Loop, popping it into her mouth. “Now’s a bomb-ass time to tell me what the shit is going on. Spare no detail, boos.”

“She does have a way with words.” Louisa swung her gaze to me, arching an eyebrow.

“You should see me with my fists,” Belle said sunnily.

I choked on my saliva.

Louisa blinked slowly, calm and collected. “Don’t let my exterior fool you. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

If I had to put my bet on either of these women, I’d say Louisa better run, because Emmabelle Penrose could probably turn her into dust.

Still, Lou had definitely grown up, and I couldn’t help but appreciate this newly improved version of her.

Sensing a looming catfight, I sauntered toward Belle, sitting next to her. I took her hand, kissing the back of it gently. She withdrew immediately, like I’d bit her.

It was time to face the music, even if it was a terrible, sugary pop song that made my ears bleed. I turned to Belle.

“As you know, my father passed away not long ago. When I went back for the reading of the will, I discovered that he left everything to me, but on the condition that I marry Louisa. I rejected the idea immediately. My apologies for keeping you in the dark. The only reason I did so was because your shite plate seemed full enough. It was—is,” I corrected, “as far as I’m concerned, subject closed.”

“How much did he leave you?” Belle asked, businesslike.

“Thirty million pounds in estates and heirlooms,” Lou intervened from beside us. “Although Whitehall Court Castle is priceless. And by priceless, I mean, the next in line to inherit the castle is England. It’ll get turned into a museum. It is prominent in British history.”

“That’s a crap ton of dough.” Belle popped another lone Froot Loop between her luscious lips, nodding thoughtfully. No trace of emotion on her face or posture, I noticed.

Louisa turned to me. “Now I am absolutely not saying she’s a gold-digger …” She sang in a perfect, American accent, quoting the Kanye West song.

“But I ain’t messin’ with no broke.” Belle laughed. “Damn straight.”

“This discussion is futile.” I rubbed at my forehead.

Internally, however, I was beginning to question my own statement. What stopped me from marrying Louisa? She was gorgeous, well-bred, well-read, and well-mannered. She was smart and still fond of me. I would get richer, sort all my family’s problems, and have a marriage on my terms. Most of all I’d be able to marry, something I prevented myself from doing thus far.

“It shouldn’t be.” Louisa played with the teabag poking from her green tea. “There’s much to discuss, and time is running out.”

“I don’t understand. We’ve already agreed we’re not exclusive.” Belle scrunched her nose. “What’s stopping you from marrying this obnoxious, pompous, stylish woman?” She pointed at Louisa like she was a statue. “No offense.”

“From you, none taken,” Louisa huffed.

“Everybody wins,” Belle added.

Not everyone, I thought. Not me.

Belle flashed me a smile I’d never seen on her face before. It looked wounded. Almost ugly. She stood up, surveying Louisa head to toe with a look that would make most humans die from the frostbite.

“I think you two have a lot to sort out, and honestly, if I wanted to see a bunch of Brits squirming around the subject of sex and relationships, I’d watch Sex Education. At least I’d get a few laughs out of it.”

With that, she grabbed the cereal box from the nook and made her way to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Louisa turned to me. “Darling, that woman is not fully cultured. How could you possibly find her attractive? How old is she? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? She’s hardly even a woman.”

“She is the most maddening, infuriating, annoying woman I’ve ever come across, but a woman nonetheless,” I replied. Taking out my tin of rollies, then thinking better of it, I set it down on the nook.

Now that Sweven lived here, I couldn’t smoke indoors. I had her and the baby to think about.

Louisa stood up and waltzed over to me, lacing her arms around my shoulders.

It felt good to be embraced by a woman who wasn’t constantly on the brink of busting my balls for breathing in her vicinity.

“Lou,” I said softly, moving my hand across her back. “I appreciate the last-ditch effort, but it isn’t going to work.”

“Why?” she asked, her dark, deep eyes dancing in their sockets. “You’ve always been such a cunning, smart man. Practical and pragmatic. Why not marry into a world of wealth and titles? Even your little girlfriend thinks it’s a bad idea to pass this chance up.”

I grabbed her arms and lowered them gently. “I wish I could give you what you want.”

“Why can’t you?” Her voice cracked.

“Edwin,” I answered simply. I was never going to let him win.

“He’s not going to know.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And he cannot hurt you anymore. Look, I know you don’t want to play into his hands. But he is not here to see this. He died knowing you defied him.”

I smiled sadly. “You know me too well.”

Even after all these years, it was true. Louisa knew what made me tick. What my walls were built of.

She looked down, drawing a deep breath. “Cecilia is on suicide watch.”

“No. That’s not true.” I reared my head back.

Lou nodded.

“Can you blame her? Her life is practically over. She doesn’t want to stay with Drew, but you took away her options when you said you wouldn’t marry me. Ursula and her were going to convince you to sell the Battersea complex building and live off the money after Edwin blew through their savings and investment portfolio.”

The news hit exactly where it was supposed to. Right in my heart.

“Your mother is in a deep depression. There’s no one to pay the hefty bills. I know you cannot take care of them, Devon. You’re doing very well for yourself, but you have your own life to sustain. Tying the knot could make all of this go away. I’m willing to overlook your little mistake with this … Belle girl.” She shuddered when she said her name. “Make an honest woman out of me. It’ll make everyone happy. Including, by the way, your stripper. I just spent a few hours with her. She doesn’t care for you at all, Devvie. The entire time, she couldn’t stop telling me how much she was looking forward to getting out of here. To start dating again.”

Sweven missed dating, did she?

My senses became oversaturated with fresh white anger.

The only reason why she was here, in my apartment, was because she had a literal death threat hanging over her head and sexual needs she wanted me to take care of.

She was a selfish, uncaring woman, and she would be the first one to admit it.

I was categorically idiotic, refusing to even entertain the idea of marrying Louisa simply because it would have delighted my father, who by now was nothing more than a bag of bones in a suit.

“I’ll give it some thought.” I rubbed at my jaw.

Louisa took a step back. I scanned her body. She was, indeed, a delightful creature. Not as wildly exotic and exciting as Belle, but satisfying nonetheless.

It was good to remember that Louisa would never put herself in a position of getting death threats, would never opt out of contacting the police, nor would she carry a gun or eat Froot Loops for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Can I stay here in the meantime? I gave myself a tour and noticed you have a couple of guestrooms,” Lou murmured.

The idea of sharing a roof with both Emmabelle and Louisa was about as appealing as castration by a blind man. This could easily end in a double murder. Frankly, I didn’t want the mother of my child to give birth in prison.

“Get a hotel.” I took a step forward, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “I’ll pay.”

“No, thank you. I have my own money.” She smiled politely, but I could tell by her face that she was wounded. “Dinner tomorrow? Show me Boston?”

“Sure,” I groaned. “Just let me check my calendar.”

She immediately melted into my body, smiling up to me, her eyes shining with the same intensity they had when we were kids.

Louisa.

She’d never cheat.

Never show a hint of disloyalty.

Would be so easily trained.

“I’ll stay local.” She caught my wrist between her fingers, pushing her cheek into my palm like a spoiled kitten.

“I’ll stay in touch.”

“God, Devvie, I’m so glad we had this conversation. Your mother will be delighted.”

Apparently, Belle would be too.

I escorted Louisa to the door, kissed her cheek goodbye, and closed it after her.

Maybe it was time to let one door close and another one open.

She was gone.

But not before he rubbed his thumb across her cheek.

Not before he looked down at her with the same aloof amusement he looked at me.

I spied on them through the crack of the slightly ajar door of the guestroom.

I had spent the entire day telling Louisa how much I didn’t care for Devon, how I was eager to get back to my normal life. All in order to save face.

But none of it was true.

Admit it. You have feelings for the father of your child, and you’re in over your head.

I clutched my belly, flinging myself on a bed that smelled like him.

Betrayal was betrayal. And this felt reminiscent of my past. That same helpless feeling of putting your heart in the hands of a man and watching as he crushed it into shards of nothing.

I curled into myself over the linen of the queen-sized bed and seethed.

I needed to get out of here. To move back to my apartment.

Thank fuck I hadn’t stopped paying rent.

I wanted to give it a few weeks, just to see if Devon and I would get along. Turned out we did.

Only one thing was standing in our way—his fiancée.

Or maybe she wasn’t his fiancée right now, but she was right in what she told me this afternoon, when he wasn’t here.

“Devon always does the right thing, and the right thing is to marry me. Bow down, Emmabelle. It’s game over for you. He doesn’t have a choice.”

A soft knock on the door sounded behind my back. I made no move or sound.

“May I?” Devon asked gruffly from the other end.

He didn’t sound apologetic at all. More like he was looking for a fight. Well, this was his lucky day.

“It is your apartment.”

He’d told her I was a stripper. Otherwise she wouldn’t have said it. He probably bragged about my being a burlesque club owner. Many men found my occupation sordid and attractive. Not a marry-her-one-day attractive. More like, look-at-the-freak-show-I’m-fucking attractive.

I felt the edge of the mattress dipping behind me. His impressive frame filled the bed, and there was nothing I could do about it.

“I would like to stress to you, again, that Louisa and I are not currently together nor are we engaged. I never would have bedded you had I been with someone else.”

I snorted out a laugh, refusing to face him. “Please. You admitted to me yourself that you were fucking around after I conceived.”

“Fucking around is not the same as having a partner.”

“Well, go tell all your other hookups that you finally found a keeper.”

“I don’t have any other hookups,” he said irritably, like I was the one who was being unreasonable. Was I? “The day your tires got slashed was the day I stopped taking other women’s calls. What do you take me for?”

“Oh, you really don’t want me to answer that question.”

Silence descended over the room. I could hear the birds chirping and cars honking outside. Middle of the day, ordinary noises sounded so depressing when your entire world was crumbling.

“Go marry her, Devon.”

After all, it was going to be the perfect proof that he was like all the other men in my life. Disloyal and unreliable.

“Do you want me to?” He reframed it as a question. A tricky one at that.

Did he want my blessing? To feel good about himself?

The man was going to destroy me. But I’d learned long ago that destruction had its flip side.

It set the ground for rebuilding.

“Yes,” I heard myself say. “Nothing would make me happier than seeing your ass married to someone else. Maybe that way you’ll finally stop chasing after me. It’s getting a little desperate, you know. A man of your age.”

“You’re not as young as you think you are,” he said pitifully.

“You’re considering it,” I said accusingly.

Fuck, I didn’t know what I was thinking. What I was saying.

Why was I pushing him like that?

“Yes,” he said quietly.

I broke into a thousand pieces inside.

This is what you get by opening up, even an inch.

“Well …” I smiled, hoping he couldn’t see the tears that began streaming down my face, “…don’t let me stand in your way.”

I felt the edge of the bed rise as he stood up and walked to the door.

“Roger that, Sweven.”

For the next two weeks, I was irritated and combative.

I put my anger into everything I did. I banged on the keyboard in my office while working the spreadsheets. Yelled at Ross for the dumbest reasons when he dared talk to me about anything that wasn’t work.

When my mother came over for a visit from the suburbs bearing little yellow baby clothes, I roared at her that shopping for the baby before she was born was bad luck.

And I was pretty sure I jogged everywhere instead of walked, just because of the adrenaline running through my veins.

I hadn’t seen Louisa since that day, but I could only guess Devon was seeing her.

He stopped coming home every day at six o’clock sharp as he used to.

In fact, I hardly ever saw him at all. When we did cross paths, usually early in the morning, when I woke up on the hunt for a snack and he came back from his fencing matches, he nodded at me curtly but didn’t stick around for the daily verbal abuse I treated him to.

More than anything, I felt a sharp, awful loss. I mourned all the times I treated him terribly, knowing I brought it on myself. From day one, I’d been impossible. And now, when I wanted to be possible for him, it was too late.

I was sure Louisa was still in Boston, loitering with the sole purpose of making him hers.

He was out of the apartment all hours of the day and night, probably getting to know her, reconnecting, and planning their new life together.

One morning, in the kitchen, I couldn’t take it anymore.

When he made himself a protein shake and I poured myself a tall glass of matcha juice, I turned to him and asked, “How’s Louisa doing, anyway?”

“Quite well,” he said stonily.

This was the part where I would normally insert a barb, an insult of sorts, but I was so exhausted, so depressed, so angry at myself, I asked, “Are you guys …?”

He curved one eyebrow up, waiting for the rest.

Long gone were the days when he made things easier for me.

“Are you together?” I spat the rest of the question out.

“Uncertain. Ask again in a couple weeks.”

I wanted to throw up, and I didn’t even have morning sickness anymore.

“Devon, I’m sorry.”

Sorry for the way I had treated him.

Sorry for not going to the police even though I knew it was the smart thing to do.

Sorry I was so screwed up I couldn’t keep a good thing when it was handed to me.

“Why, darling, we did both agree fucking the same person for a period exceeding five months is outrageously boring.” He reached over to caress my face with his sardonic smirk. “Time’s up.”

The night that changed our new status quo happened on an unassuming Friday.

I was just getting ready to leave Madame Mayhem and go back to Devon’s apartment.

Prior to Louisa’s arrival in Boston, I’d tried to cut down on hours at the club. This time I stayed late, knowing that in all probability Devon wasn’t going to be home.

I had been good with hanging out with Si as much as I could and making sure Persy, Ash, and Sailor were always with me when I went out in town, so I let my guard down a little.

It was almost eleven at night when I locked the back office. I strolled through the alleyway toward my car, clutching my bag to my chest, my gun inside it.

Though it wasn’t loaded for obvious reasons, it still made me feel significantly safer.

My car’s lights flashed when I unlocked it with the key fob.

I took a few more steps, stopping between the industrial trash cans, hating that I told Simon to leave early today.

I felt a terrible weight launch itself at me from behind.

I stumbled forward, fumbling for the gun in my bag, but the person who tackled me was faster.

They grabbed me by the arm and slammed my back against my car in the darkness. I gasped for air.

“Let go!” I growled, coming face to face with a man wearing a black balaclava.

It couldn’t be Frank because he was taller and leaner than my former employee.

But it could be the man from the Common. The one I hadn’t heard from in months.

“I don’t think so, honey. We’re going to have a long productive talk about how you need to leave this city.”

Leave the city? What happened to killing me? Had I been demoted to banishment only?

He reached out with his gloved hands, trying to pin me to a nearby wall. I took the chance to kick him in the balls. My knee crashed right between them.

He folded in two. I kicked him in the chest, and he fell to the ground. Leaning down, I pulled the balaclava from his head.

It was the man from the Common.

What the fuck?

“Did Frank send you?” I pushed my stiletto heel against his throat, threatening to crush it if he made a wrong move.

“Who the fuck is Frank?” He looked at me absurdly.

The plot thickened. How many people did I piss off this year? This was getting ridiculous.

“Who are you?”

“You need to leave Boston.”

“Tell me who sent you.” I pressed my heel harder to his neck.

“Your water broke,” he said.

What?How did he even know I was pregnant? I wasn’t showing.

I looked down. He took advantage of it. He twisted around, rolling on the ground, jumping to his feet with ease.

I ran for shelter, opening my passenger door, shutting it behind me and locking all four doors automatically, panting hysterically.

His hands slapped my window with force as he tried to get to me again.

“Bitch!”

“Who are you?” I turned the ignition on with shaking fingers. “What do you want?”

“Leave Boston!” He kicked at my car. “Start driving and don’t look back!”

I floored the accelerator, knocking over one of the trash cans while rounding my way to Main Street. I drove past Madame Mayhem’s entrance, Chinatown, and the hustle and bustle of downtown Boston toward Back Bay, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

I thought about calling Pers, or Sailor, or Aisling but ultimately didn’t want the questions and probing. The only person I really wanted to speak to was Devon, but I forfeited all of that the night I told him to marry Louisa. Maybe if he were home, we could talk.

I could tell him what happened, and we could have a conversation.

Or maybe you could do the right thing and take matters into your own hands.

That was how I found myself stopping in front of a police station. I knew this was what Devon would want. And I finally acknowledged that I had to learn to take care of myself before I gave birth.

I heaved in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, trying to regulate my breaths and give my body a chance to stop sweating buckets. This elevated heart rate couldn’t be healthy for Baby Whitehall.

“It’s okay, we’re okay.” I patted my stomach, hoping she believed me.

Sliding out of the car, I walked into the police station and stood in front of the desk clerk who, I swear to God, wad doodling on the book in front of him, yawning and giving me a view of the gum inside his mouth.

“I’d like to file a complaint.”

Or was it a report? I’d never done this before. I only knew police stations from movies and TV shows.

“What’s it about?” He popped his gum in my face. Nice. Professional.

“Stalkers.”

“Plural?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately.”

“Take a seat. Someone’ll be with you in a second.”

But someone wasn’t. In fact, I waited thirty minutes before a policewoman came to file my complaint. She seemed extremely uninterested in my story, about the man at the club, and the Common, and Frank, and what happened tonight.

“Call me if you have any new information.” She passed me her card, also yawning before bidding me farewell.

Okay then. Color me underwhelmed.

“That’s it?” I asked, blinking.

She shrugged. “Did you expect fireworks and bodyguards?”

I expected your ass to be competent. But saying that would only land me in trouble with the law, and already, Devon thought I was incapable of making myself an omelet without burning down his “flat.”

The entire journey back, I had to talk myself into not going back to the station and giving the officer a piece of my mind.

I parked in the underground lot of Devon’s building. He had two parking spots and used none of them. He opted to park outside, in the open air, even when it was freezing cold.

Taking the elevator up, I got out on his floor and stepped into the hallway of his loft, when I heard the sound of utensils clinking coming from behind the door. I checked my watch. It was nearly one AM. Homeboy sure didn’t adhere to the no food after six rule.

My heart immediately somersaulted, this time with hope.

This is good. He’s home.

This time yesterday, he was out. Probably at Badlands or with Louisa—or both.

I punched in the code to the door and pushed it open, butterflies swarming inside my chest.

This time, I was going to take an honest stab at not being a raging asshole. Whatever happened between Devon and Louisa, he was still the father of my child, and we still needed to get along.

I found Devon sitting at the dining table across from Louisa, grinning at her while she pressed a cool glass of wine to her cheek as she laughed like a vixen.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

For the first few seconds, I stood frozen to my spot at the door, watching them.

The pain in my chest was excruciating. They looked close. Intimate. Like a couple. They made sense together. No matter how I spun it, Devon and I looked like an unlikely couple. The Prince and the Prostitute.

“Oh, look, it’s your little friend,” Louisa exclaimed with fake sympathy, like she’d learned to like me in a span of two weeks.

Devon didn’t even turn his head to look at me.

His eyes remained focused on his food.

“Night, Emmabelle.”

Emmabelle. Not Sweven.

“Thanks, Dev. I can look out the fucking window.”

“Delightful,” Louisa muttered. “How’re you feeling, Emmabelle? You should come home earlier. Give the baby some rest.”

“I hadn’t realized you were a doctor,” I said cordially.

“Oh, I’m not,” Louisa smiled.

I smiled right back, in a way that said, so why don’t you shut up?

“Just trying to be helpful!” She leaned her shoulder against Devon’s. I noticed that he didn’t push her away or even look mildly uncomfortable.

God, this was awful. I was going to die of jealousy, wasn’t I? The first person in the world to be deceased from the feeling.

“We have some asparagus and steak left. I made you a plate. It’s in the fridge,” Louisa noted.

Wow. Her Understanding Trophy Wife game was strong. Not only had she cooked for him, she also somehow managed to make me the side piece in a few easy steps.

“Fantastic. Well, don’t mind me on your way to negotiating the whitest marriage in the history of the world, complete with likely-inbred kids and definite infidelities down the road,” I chirped, making my way to my guestroom. “Enjoy the rest of your night!”

When I flung myself on the bed, I took out the card the officer gave me and blinked at it in fury.

The police weren’t going to help me.

My story didn’t even make any sense.

I tore the card to pieces.

I’d be my own protector.