Chapter Twenty-Six

The man was going to completely destroy me, and there was nothing I could do but watch him from a front-row seat.

I knew it the moment he put his hands on my stomach.

Baby Whitehall fluttered when it happened. It felt like butterflies stretching their wings for the very first time inside my belly.

The baby knew her dad had touched her for the first time and was reacting to him.

Everything happened so fast after that.

The kisses.

The love bites.

The skin-on-skin.

The secrets.

It felt like falling off a cliff.

Falling, falling, falling.

And still, not trying to grab onto anything to stop what was happening.

The deep end didn’t feel so deep when you never wanted to get out of it.

This was why falling in love was a dangerous game.

It gave you the worst thing a girl like me could have.

Hope.

The next evening, I skipped coming home early after I finished the paperwork at Madame Mayhem. I was in a weird mood. On edge.

I didn’t want to come back home just to find out Devon was still out with Miss Fancy Pants.

The alternative of Devon being home and sitting me down for a grown-up talk was equally as terrifying.

What could I say to him? Yesterday had changed nothing.

I was still me and he was still him. We still had holes in our hearts.

His family would never accept me and would go through bankruptcy if he didn’t marry Louisa.

And me? I was still the same girl who closed her eyes to dream and instead saw Mr. Locken.

Instead of going home, I met with Aisling, Sailor, and Persephone at the latter’s mansion for an evening of fried clam plates and beers.

Sticking to soda was hard but necessary. Pregnancy brought with it disgust of numerous things—coffee, red meat, and most types of fish. But I still longed for a glass of wine every now and again.

“Well? What kind of symptoms are you having during your pregnancy?” Sailor knocked down her drink like an Irish … well … sailor. “When I was pregnant with Rooney, my hoo-ha turned purple. It was horrible.” She paused. “I mean, especially for Hunter. I wasn’t in a position to look at it. Literally.”

Persy put a hand to her mouth. “Thank you, TMI queen.”

Sailor shrugged, swiping a french fry in a bowl of ketchup.

“Just kidding. He kind of liked it. It made him feel like he was having alien sex.”

“I used to wet my pants. Constantly,” Aisling volunteered casually, popping a fried clam into her mouth. I spat my soda, peppering it all over my friends. Well, this was casual.

“Ambrose put a lot of pressure on my bladder. At first, it only happened when I coughed or sneezed. By the third trimester, all I had to do was bend over to put my socks on, and whoops, I peed my pants. I think I was the only pregnant woman on planet Earth who still used sanitary pads every day. Whenever I bought some at the local Walmart, the cashier looked at me weird, like, ‘you know you don’t need them, right?’ and I wanted to scream at her that I was a doctor.”

“What about you?” I turned to my perfect sister, who had two perfect pregnancies and delivered babies that were beautiful and good sleepers from day one. Persy, God bless, was incapable of imperfections.

She scrunched her nose, blushing.

“What?” Sailor demanded, grinning, a french fry hanging like a cigarette from the corner of her mouth. “Tell us, asshole!”

“Well.” Persy tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. “It wasn’t a symptom per se …”

All of us were now leaning toward her at the dining table, eyes wide, dying to know.

“It was just that, during both pregnancies, I was really, really horny.”

“You mean you needed vitamin D every day?” Sailor arched an eyebrow.

Persy laughed. “Yeah. I wanted it … a little rough. And Cillian, well, he was torn between giving me what I wanted and making sure we didn’t do anything stupid.”

We all nodded, considering this.

“Now your turn,” Persy giggled, throwing a french fry at me.

It felt a lot like when we were teenagers. The ease that came with being together. I knew we would always have each other. It gave me great comfort now that my feelings were all pretzeled up about Devon.

“I think my main symptom is insanity,” I admitted. Munching on my corn on the cob, I knew I was going to regret later on, when I had to floss for two hours straight. “Because I think I’m … kind of starting to like Devon? I mean, for real?”

Utensils clattered. Persy dropped a piece of fried clam on the floor, making no move to pick it up, still staring at me. Sailor and Aisling looked at each other like they were contemplating whether to check my temperature or not.

Persy was the first to clear her throat, proceeding with caution. “Elaborate, please.”

I told them everything. About the will, the inheritance, and the issues that came with it. About Devon’s mother, and sister, and bankruptcy. I told them about his late nights with Louisa and about how I pushed him into her arms.

How I played my cards in the worst possible way.

I told them everything other than the secrets Devon and I had shared. The holes in our hearts part.

After I was done, the entire table fell silent.

Sailor seemed to recover before everyone else. She leaned back in her chair, green eyes wide, and blew out air. “Damn.”

I buried my face in my hands. No good advice was ever prefaced by the word “damn.”

Persy’s staff began moving our plates away, making themselves invisible. For the millionth time, I wondered how my sister, who’d come from such humble beginnings, could get used to this kind of wealth.

“Any more helpful feedback?” I raised my eyebrows.

“It’s just that you’ve never really shown interest in anyone like that before is all.” Sailor looked at Aisling and Persy for help, saw that they were still processing, then added hastily, “I may or may not have told him to not even try, and just marry Louisa to spare himself the heartache. I’m sorry, Belle. When you mentioned it the other day, it seemed like you were totally fine with them tying the knot.”

I wanted to throw up, but smiled faintly.

I needed to get up and leave. Maybe call Devon on my way home. He’d come, even if he was with Louisa. That was the kind of man he was.

Aisling rubbed her temple, her thick, dark eyebrows drawn together. “This is wrong. This is all wrong. You know you have to fight for him, right?”

Easy for her to say. For all her sweetness, Aisling was vicious when it came to love. She fought tooth and nail to win her husband after pining for him for years.

“And ruin his family’s life?” I let my head fall to the table.

“His sister and mother are not your problem,” Sailor said flatly.

“Plus, he’ll be ruining his own life and Louisa’s if he marries her while he is in love with you,” Persy finally chimed in.

We were interrupted by the staff again. This time, they brought dessert and tea. Custard, lemon merengue, and fat pieces of nougat.

We waited until they were gone before we spoke again.

“Are you crazy?” I whisper-shouted, sticking my spoon deep into the custard. “He’s not in love with me.”

“This is amazing,” Aisling murmured around her own spoon, pointing at the custard. “And in my humble opinion, as the person with the highest IQ in the room, he is in love with you.”

“Super humble.” Sailor popped a piece of nougat into her mouth. “But I actually agree. You have to give him the chance to prove himself, Belle. If he knew how you felt, he wouldn’t even pay Louisa any attention.”

“I don’t know what kind of relationship they have.” I helped myself to a lemon merengue.

Okay. Maybe I did have a pregnancy symptom in the form of wanting to eat anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor.

“Time to ask,” Sailor said.

“The thing about men is…” Persy sipped her tea, a faraway expression painted on her face, “…sometimes they require a little push to realize that what they need and what they want is in front of them and can be found in the same woman.”

“Amen to that.” Aisling lifted her teacup in the air, making a toast.

“I’m not like you guys.” I shook my head. “I don’t have the ability to make someone else happy. As soon as I become vulnerable to them, it’s game over. I do something horrible and try to push them away. So I can’t promise him all the things you’ve given to your husbands. The family, the children, the … you know … unconditional love and shit.”

I could tell from the looks on my friends’ and sister’s faces that I did not manage to make my point across with tact or finesse.

“Is that all we’re good for? Making our so-called men happy?” Sailor asked with a humorless smile on her face. “I’m only a former Olympic archer and the owner of one of the biggest food blogs in the country. What do I know about running a business or having a life outside of marriage?”

She was, indeed, all those things. But she had also married into a wealthy family and had come from one, so she had nothing to prove to anyone.

“And I’m just a doctor.” Aisling took another sip of her tea. “Definitely not as earth-shatteringly important or influential as you.”

Persephone, who didn’t have a day job, was the only silent one, so I made a point of turning toward her to say, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” She sat back, looking perfectly composed and unaffected. “Oh, I may not work nine to five anymore, but I throw fundraiser events that raise millions of dollars for kids with needs, women’s shelters, and animals who’ve been abused. I feel incredibly fulfilled and don’t need anyone’s permission to call myself a feminist.”

Okay, maybe they all had a point.

“A woman is a woman.” Persy put a hand on my shoulder, and I wondered since when had the roles reversed? She’d become the wise and worldly one, and I the one in dire need of advice.

“A woman is a wonder. We are programmed to do and be everything we want to be. Don’t sell yourself short. Whatever Devon saw in you is still somewhere inside. Look for it hard enough, and you’ll find it,” Persy added.

Could I really salvage what I had with Devon?

The Whitehalls wanted me out of the picture. And Louisa was going to be a royal pain, pardon the pun.

But other than them, what else stood between me and Devon?

Nothing. Or rather no one—other than one person.

Myself.

I left Persephone’s house, driving on autopilot back to Devon’s apartment, which was in the same Back Bay neighborhood.

Drumming my fingers over my leg and thinking about my conversation with the girls, I took a right on Beacon Street, onto Commonwealth Avenue, then continued up to Arlington Street.

When I stopped at a red traffic light, a motorcycle cut through the line of traffic out of nowhere. The rider put himself between me and a Buick in front of me, blocking my line of vision. His face was hidden by a black helmet, and he wore a black leather jacket.

I let out a scream, my right leg hovering over the accelerator, wanting to run the human shit stain over before he pointed a gun at me.

But the guy took something out of the front pocket of his jeans—a note—and slammed it over my windshield.

The text was printed in Times New Roman.

LEAVE BOSTON BEFORE I KILL YOU.

THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

That was it.

I was going to fucking murder somebody.

I threw my car into park in the middle of traffic, grabbed the gun from my purse, and pushed my door open.

Helmet Guy shook his head, roared his engine, and drove off before my hand touched the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Tearing the piece of paper from my windshield and pocketing it, I promised myself, whoever it was—I was going to make them suffer.

When I got back home, Devon was there.

He looked like he’d been there for a while, freshly showered and wearing designer sweatpants and a white V-neck.

I didn’t immediately tell him about what happened.

He seemed happy and eager to spend time with me.

Besides, I was going to handle it. The police were out of the question—they were useless, and after the reluctant response I’d gotten from them when I filed a complaint, I wasn’t planning to go there again. But I was going to visit Sam Brennan tomorrow at his apartment and tell him he was going to offer me his services, whether he wanted to or not, or I would tell on him to his wife.

Even the shaky experience I went through this evening wasn’t enough to throw me off balance. Usually, an encounter like that meant I had a couple of weeks at least of radio silence from whoever wanted to scare me.

“Hello to my favorite person in the entire world,” Devon greeted me warmly. I melted into a puddle of hormones and leaned into him before he crouched down to kiss my belly through my hot-pink blouse.

“Oh. You meant her,” I murmured.

He stood up to his full, impressive height, giving me a wink. “And hello to the woman who carries her.”

“So we are now in agreement that it’s a girl.” I kicked off my heels. Pregnancy was great, but that didn’t mean I was going to start becoming best buddies with Lululemon and—God help us all—Crocs.

“I’m normally in agreement with you,” he said easily.

I made my way to the kitchen, filled myself a tall glass of tap water, and drank it in big gulps, shoving the biker to a corner of my mind, determined not to let the encounter ruin the evening for me.

“I’m glad you’re not with your girlfriend tonight,” I commented.

Oops. Never mind. I ruined the evening all by myself.

Why couldn’t I just say “I’m glad you’re not with Louisa” like a normal human being? Poor Devon. Even if we were going to end up together, he was going to grow to hate me.

“I think I’m looking at her.”

Hmm … what?

He sauntered toward me, undeterred. My heart kicked up again, now for an entirely different reason. To be someone’s girlfriend—Devon’s girlfriend—was a reality I’d never considered for myself.

I had to admit, I didn’t hate the sound of it.

He took the glass from my hand and put it behind me on the marble counter before gathering my hands in his. A zap went through me. It felt so good, so right, I wanted to crawl out of my own body and run away somewhere where I’d be safe from him.

“Tell me yesterday was a mistake,” he ordered, not asked. “Tell me a million times it shouldn’t have happened, and I still wouldn’t believe you.”

I swallowed hard, staring at the floor. Being vulnerable killed me, but I had to do it. “It wasn’t.”

“Was that so hard?” he enquired softly.

“Yes,” I admitted flatly.

He laughed. A low, sexy rumble that came from his chest.

“A weird animal anecdote to soothe your mind?” he suggested, still holding my hands in his.

“Please.”

“Platypuses look like they have hot water bottles glued to their faces. You know, the ones our grandmothers like to shove under the blankets in the winter to keep warm?”

I cackled, unable to stop myself. Quaking shoulders and all.

“Speaking of unfortunate faces, the saiga antelope looks like it has a half-mast uncircumcised penis attached to its face.”

“Now, what do you have against uncircumcised penises, Miss Penrose? I happen to be the proud owner of one.” He jerked me into his hard body, and I giggled some more.

“Nothing, Mr. Whitehall. Nothing at all.”

His lips met mine, and the space between us was reduced to nothing.

I clung onto him. His mouth smelled of spearmint and ice. Mine tasted of lemon merengue, and custard, and french fries.

He stripped me fast, and I did the same, and for the first time in years, he was completely naked in front of me, in the kitchen.

“I dreamed about seeing you like this again for a long time.” Another admission fell from my lips.

“There wasn’t one moment from the first time I saw you when I didn’t want to see you naked, Sweven.”

I took a step back, appreciating his physique.

“You’re beautiful,” I told him.

“You’re crushing my heart,” he answered.

And then we were on the floor, making love.

When we finished, spent and satisfied, he dragged me to the couch, where he nestled me between his arms. I was draped across his body like a blanket.

I liked it.

“Want to watch something?” he murmured into my hair, turning on the TV.

“Like what?”

“What do you like to watch?”

“Money being handed to me or my bartenders, to be honest.”

“Take your foot off the gas, love. You’ve made it in life.”

“Hmm.” I gave it some genuine thought. “Usually, at home, when I have a minute, I watch the trashiest thing my TV has to offer. Like, Too Hot To Handle, The Circle, Toddlers and Tiaras. If there’s even the slightest chance I could be educated or provoked to form an opinion about something, I bail. What about you?”

I felt his chest shake with laughter over my back.

He was warm everywhere. Delicious.

“I mainly watch BBC News, the Sport channel. Sometimes Top Gear.”

“You’re so British.”

“Yes, madame.”

“Why are you here if you still love and miss home so much?”

I turned my head to look at him. His eyes crinkled as he looked down at me, playing with locks of my hair.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and my heart sank. “Now that my father is no longer alive, I suppose I could go back, if it wasn’t for the fact I now have a child to raise in America.”

“So you were going to move back?”

“No.” But I knew that no, I’d said it a hundred times when I actually meant yes.

“Dev…”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else. Now let’s watch something that might cause you to think a little. How does that sound?”

“Horrible,” I admitted.

He laughed some more. “Good. Show me I’m worth it. Suffer a little with me.”

We settled for something in between BBC News and my shows.

A panel game show called Have I Got News For You.

Presumably it was supposed to be funny. The crowd—and Devon—definitely laughed.

But to me it was just a reminder that he didn’t really belong here with me. That I would be doing him a huge favor if I set him free and let him live his life with Louisa.

Plus, I couldn’t stress that enough—there was no way I was not messing this shit up.

“I’m still being followed.”

My admission came out of nowhere.

Devon’s chest hardened beneath me. I could feel his pulse quickening between our bodies.

I closed my eyes and continued. “A motorcycle cut me off in traffic today and slammed a note on my windshield. It said I should leave Boston. It was my last warning. The weird thing is…” I took a breath, “…I get two different sets of threats. One claims they want to kill me and the other tells me to run away. It’s almost like there are two forces who want me gone, but not for the same reason. People that have nothing to do with each other.”

“Two?” he repeated, his voice cold and contemplative.

“Two.”

“Fuck.”

It was a knowing fuck. Or at least it sounded like it. But how could that be? How could he have any idea who was after me?

Devon stood up, shoving his legs into his briefs with violent force. “We’re calling the police right now.”

A bitter laugh clogged my throat. I wanted to tell him I’d been there, done that, and nothing came of it.

But the tone he took with me—so haughty, so patronizing—reminded me why men, like children, should be seen and not heard.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” I jumped to my feet, pacing to the kitchen.

Baby Whitehall kicked up a storm inside me, letting me know that she was just as scared and angry as I was.

Devon chuckled sardonically. “I can and I fucking am. You’re going to file a complaint at the police station, I’ll come there with you, and also, you’re officially on maternity leave from Madame Mayhem.”

His words did not bode well with my no-controlling-men rule.

I let out a shrill laugh, diverting back to old habits, old lines, old, old, old dialogue of a woman who just couldn’t let go of the past. “Oh, Devon. You are so cute when you think you have power over me.”

“This is not about me and my power. It’s about your safety. You’re going to the police.” The look in his eyes broke me to pieces. I could swear he was about to cry. Cry from frustration because he couldn’t get through to me.

Now’s a good time to just stop.

Take a deep breath.

Tell him you already went to the police, that it hadn’t worked.

Maybe you can find a solution together.

But then I thought about Mr. Locken, promising me he was going to get me a scholarship to UCLA. Telling me how much he cared.

And Dad. I thought about him too.

Somehow that reminder hurt most of all.

“Am I?” I plucked a cereal box from the counter and poured half of its contents into a bowl. “Guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

He turned around and stalked toward his home office. Soon after, I heard the door slam shut.

“I can’t deal with her anymore!” he roared from behind it.

The cereal box slipped from between my fingers, its contents pouring on the floor.

I plastered my forehead to the cool counter and closed my eyes.

Almost.

You almost managed to prevail.

But you didn’t.