Chapter Thirty-Eight

Iwoke up in a hospital bed.

Everything hurt.

Everything, other than my shoulder, which I couldn’t feel at all. I snuck a peek down at it, frowning, and saw that it was bandaged and in a sling.

My eyes wandered around the room, which seemed to be never-ending, wall-to-wall light oak cabinets and medical equipment.

Cillian stood in front of a window overlooking the parking lot, talking quietly on the phone. Hunter sat on a recliner beside him, typing on his laptop, and I could hear Sam’s voice carrying in from the hallway.

My mates were here.

My family, naturally, was not.

But what really worried me was Sweven.

“Emmabelle.”

That was the first word that left my mouth.

Cillian swiveled, his signature cold gaze rolling over me like an icicle.

“She’s fine,” he assured me. “Persephone finally managed to pry her away from your side to get some checkups done. The doctors are keeping her for observation.”

“I need to see her.”

“She’s three rooms down.” Hunter looked up from his laptop, closing it.

I stared at him point-blank and said again, “I need to see her.”

“Okay, okay. A crazy bitch with some unsolved daddy issues coming right up,” Hunter murmured, placing his laptop on the light oak wooden table and scurrying out of the room.

I closed my eyes, dropping my head back to the pillow. “Is this all my bloody American health insurance bought me? This place is one fruit bowl away from being someone’s 90’s-style kitchen.”

“Be thankful the wood you’re surrounded by isn’t a coffin,” Cillian clipped.

The door opened, and Sam walked in. I’d never been overtly happy to see the guy, but now I was downright disappointed. I was expecting Belle.

He closed the door after him, holding his phone. “I’m sure you’d like to know my service is no longer needed. Simon’s out too. Frank’s dead—thanks to the deranged woman you’re in love with—and the man your mother hired, Rick Lawhon, is taken care of.”

I knew taken care of was code for pining for the fjords. Brennan was an extremely prolific killer. If we ever hit an overpopulation issue in the States, I had no doubt he’d be the bloke to fix it.

“I need to see her.” I decided to simply parrot myself until Belle was put in front of me, alive, well, and happily pregnant. Still, I couldn’t ask either of them if the baby was okay. The question seemed too intimate, and I didn’t trust myself not to bawl, no matter the answer.

“Persephone is pushing her wheelchair down the hallway now,” Sam said.

Wheelchair?

“Coming through. Please make room,” Persy chirped just then. Cillian hurried to open the door for her, and she walked in, pushing Sweven inside.

Emmabelle looked tired in a pale blue hospital gown. Her hands were folded in front of her. I couldn’t see her stomach from that angle.

Persephone parked her at the edge of my hospital bed.

I swallowed hard, everything inside me burning.

“Everybody get out. I need to speak to Belle.”

They all did.

Belle stared at me for a moment, blinking slowly, as if I was a complete stranger.

Bloody hell, I hoped she hadn’t lost her memory. I had just committed a heroic act, possibly the only heroic act I’d ever committed—past, present, and future—and I needed her to know about it so we could stop fucking around.

“The baby …” I started then stopped. A part of me was frightened to know. I did see blood before I passed out at her parents’.

She leaned forward, resting her cold, clammy hand against my warm one on the bed. “She’s fine.”

I nodded gravely, my jaw tense so I wouldn’t weep in relief, like a little girl.

“Good. And you? How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I’m also fine.”

“Lovely.”

Silence. I tried to twitch my fingers to put my hand on top of hers. But my entire arm and shoulder felt immobile.

“Am I paralyzed?” I asked conversationally.

“No.” She smiled, her eyes shining. “But you’re under the influence of painkillers, dude.”

“Marvelous.” I smiled tiredly.

We both laughed.

“You got into an air duct for me,” Belle choked on the words. “And you’re claustrophobic.”

Finally, I was recognized for my greatness.

“You were in danger.” I half-shrugged with my healthy shoulder. “It was a no-brainer.”

This made her break down in tears. She buried her head in the linen next to my legs, her whole body quivering with sobs.

“I’m so sorry, Devon. I screwed everything up, didn’t I?”

“Oh, shush, darling. Of course not.” I made an effort to move my hand—and this time succeeded—stroking her hair.

For the record she absolutely did cock up, but I was being a gentleman about it.

“Also, what are you referring to exactly, when you say you screwed everything up?” I cleared my throat.

She looked up, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve, sniffling. “I took a check from Louisa …” She hiccupped.

“I know.” I continued to stroke her cheek. “She told me.”

“And then I left you without even explaining myself.”

“Yes. Yes. I was there for the entire show, remember?” I grinned.

She stopped. Tilted her head. Frowned.

“Devon, why aren’t you mad at me?” she demanded. “It is not okay for you to accept this kind of behavior. What are you, a doormat?”

“A doormat, no,” I said, amused, “but I am in love with a woman who suffered severe trauma when she was a wee girl. Love has failed you many times. You were never shy about it. I was the one who pushed you out of your comfort zone.”

“My comfort zone sucked.” She elevated an eyebrow, looking more and more like herself. I tried hard not to laugh, tilting my head against the pillow as I studied her.

“I know, Sweven.”

“I thought you’d never call me that anymore.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears.

“Why?” Now I did laugh.

“Because I told you to marry someone else.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you…” I laced my fingers in hers “…but not every single thing you are going to tell me to do will be followed through dutifully.”

There was contemplative silence, in which both of us realized we were lucky to be here, in this room, alive.

“I burned the check,” she sniffed, finally.

“I know.” I had no doubt in my mind she’d spurn taking money from Louisa, even if she had been tempted for a moment or two. Which was why I kept fighting for her, even when things were looking dreadful. “Why are you in a wheelchair?”

“Hospital policy.”

“Why didn’t you use the gun?” I asked out of nowhere.

She flinched. It took us both back to that scene, when Frank attacked her.

“I was too afraid I’d accidentally kill you. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“That is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“And also…” she drew a breath, closing her eyes “…my hands are far from clean in this department.” She opened her eyes again, and she looked different this time. Complex, powerful, dangerous. A Valkyrie. I swore she stood six inches taller than me in that moment. “I know the consequences and complexities of taking a life. I didn’t want to do it unless I absolutely had to.” She hoisted herself up on the bed, nestling next to me. Her hard, round stomach pressed against my side. My cock immediately stood up in appreciation. She laced her arms over me, careful not to touch my shoulder, and pressed her mouth to my ear.

“Devon Whitehall, you’re the most gorgeous, funny, smart, witty, bougie man on planet Earth, and I’m madly in love with you. Have been from the moment our paths crossed. And it pains me to say that I don’t think any man could ever measure up to you, which is why I might as well stop fighting this.”

“Bloody right.” I turned to kiss her lips softly. “Sweven.”

“No,” she said.

I pulled away from her, frowning. “You don’t know what I was about to ask.”

“Yes, I do, and the answer is no. I want to ask you that. But I want to do it properly. On one knee.” Belle pursed her lips.

“There are far more interesting things you can do on your knees for me, sweetheart. Permit me this indulgence.”

“No can do, hottie.” She leaned in to kiss my nose then gave it a mocking bite. “I love you, though.”

“Love you too.”

“Devon …” she hesitated. Oh no, I thought. I couldn’t take more.

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Frank is not the only person I’ve killed in my life. I just want to come clean, before we take the next step.”

Shite. Well, if there was a body we needed to get rid of, I suppose that was just the way it was going to be. Personally, I wasn’t a fan of people being killed, for any reason, but for Belle … well, I mean, what could a man do?

“I’ll take care of it,” I clipped.

She looked at me funnily then began to laugh. What was so funny? But then she said, “No, no. It’s not recent. It happened a long time ago. It was the person who abused me.”

“Your dad?” I asked confused.

Now she looked disordered. “My dad? He didn’t abuse me.”

“I thought you two had a weird relationship.”

“Yeah. I held a grudge because he cheated on my mom.”

“Oh,” I said for lack of a better answer. “So, tell me about the other person.”

And she did.

She told me about Mr. Locken, about her youth, about the attack, about the miscarriage, and about her revenge. At the end of it all, I gathered her into my arms and kissed her with such ferocity I thought we would both burn alive.

“Do you still love me, then?” she asked uncertainly.

“Love is a very weak word for what I feel for you, Sweven.”

“Thanks for making me lose my appetite. You should start your own diet method.” Sailor strode into the room followed by Persephone and Aisling, their husbands not too far behind. Suddenly, the room was full of people who’d been there for me, and just then I realized that I did have a family. We just weren’t blood related.

“You two getting married?” Sam leaned against the foot of the bed, draping an arm over Aisling’s shoulder.

“Not yet, I need to propose to him first.” Belle propped her head against my shoulder, and it hurt like all the bitches on planet Earth, but obviously, I did not say a thing.

“Would you look at that. Not even married, and she already wears the pants in this relationship.” Hunter jerked a thumb in her direction, laughing.

“Knowing Devon, he’ll find a way to get her out of them.” Cillian smiled—and for a second there looked almost human.

Everybody laughed.

This was the essence of family.

Two weeks later, I landed in England.

This time with Belle.

She was in her second trimester, the perfect time for travel—according to Doctor Bjorn, anyway.

“I don’t know what’s worse, my constipation or my heartburn,” the love of my life waxed poetic as she slid into the Range Rover waiting for us at Heathrow. This time, I opted to drive myself around London. I preferred conducting my business without running the risk of being spotted by the tabloids.

“I’ll have Joanne book an appointment with Doctor Bjorn as soon as we get back home.” I kissed the side of her head, starting the car.

“Thanks.”

“Are you experiencing any cravings yet? Anything you’d like?” I swerved the Range Rover into a mile-long queue to get out of the airport limits.

“Do true crime podcasts and coal count as cravings?”

“Sweven.”

“Chillax,” she yawned, gathering her ice-blond locks into a high bun. “No weird cravings. Other than sex.”

I was delighted to oblige in that department.

Belle had moved back to my flat as soon as we got discharged from the hospital, and this time there were no games between us. No crazy stalkers either, a lovely development. Unfortunately, the woman still didn’t make things easy for me. Two weeks had passed since I’d almost proposed to her at the hospital, and she still hadn’t popped the question. I was trying to respect her feminist values, and was also perhaps a tad nervous she’d rip my bollocks off if I asked again.

“Oh! Could you please ask Joanne to ask Doctor Bjorn if it’s normal for me to have ankles the size of water bottles?”

I could tell Belle was in the mood to list all the ways Baby Whitehall had turned her body into her own Motel 6, when London caught her eye. She sucked in a breath, her pupils dilating, swallowing those azure irises. “Holy shit, Dev. This place looks like a Harry Potter set.”

I looked around to see piles upon piles of stingy, never-ending council flats.

“I’ll ask Joanne to book you an appointment with the optometrist while she’s at it.”

“Shuddup. It’s purty.”

“I’ll show you purty once we leave my solicitor’s office in Knightsbridge.”

“Actually…” she turned to look at me, grinning, “…I’m going solo for a shopping spree. Gotta hit them stores fast and hard to get all my shopping done.”

“I’ll only take a couple hours.” I frowned.

Though Frank and Rick were out of the picture, I was still worried Emmabelle was targeted. Louisa was somewhere out there in the wild, bitter about her unaccomplished mission.

“As much as I’d love to listen to two old farts dividing millions of pounds between charities…” she batted her lashes theatrically as if this was a dream come true, “…I think I’m good.”

I was going to meet Harry Tindall to sign over my inheritance to the charities of my choice. If the Whitehall wealth was going down the drain, I wanted to flush it to organizations that mattered to me.

“There’s no one to watch over you,” I argued.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Hi. Nice to meet you. Belle. Been living with myself for thirty years. Still alive.”

“Just barely,” I scoffed.

“I’m going shopping,” she cemented.

“I’m not going to crawl into any more air ducts for you,” I warned but knew I was about to concede.

“What? Not even dumbwaiters?” Then, before I could answer, she patted her belly. “Don’t worry, Baby Whitehall. Once this old man is out of our way, we’ll be binging on fossil fuel and murder mysteries.”

I let her go.

This time knowing she was going to come back.

The meeting with Harry Tindall stretched over three and a half hours.

I periodically checked my phone to ensure Belle was fine. And by ‘periodically,’ I mean, of course, every fifteen seconds.

It was mostly productive in a sense that I ensured the Whitehall wealth had been donated to the British Red Cross, BHF, and MacMillan Cancer Support. Were it up to Edwin Whitehall, the money would have gone straight to hunting organizations, animal testing labs, and various terror groups. The man had had less of a heart than a jellyfish, and I had no doubt of his ability to worsen the human condition, even from beyond the grave.

“This has tax relief written all over it,” Tindall purred, balancing the three-ton stack of documents on his desk into one neat pile. “I hope your CPA in the States knows how to make the most out of it.”

I stood up. “I’m not doing this for the money.”

“I know,” he said apologetically, “which is refreshing.”

I headed for the door, eager to return to Emmabelle.

“Devon, wait.”

Tindall stood up and wobbled to the door, grimacing, like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

I stopped at the threshold, throwing him a look. I knew he was probably less than impressed with how I chose to handle the will, and frankly, I could not give a quarter of a shite regarding the matter.

He twisted his handlebar moustache between his fingers, a villainous gesture that made me stifle a laugh.

“I just wanted you to know that, all in all, you turned out fantastically well, considering your … upbringing. Or lack of, really. Edwin was a dear friend, but he was also a difficult man.”

“Understatement of the millennium.” I patted his shoulder. “Nonetheless, I appreciate it.”

“No, really.” He gripped the door, stepping in front of me, blocking my way out. “For what it’s worth, I’m pleased you didn’t succumb to pressure. The Butcharts are … an eccentric bunch. I wouldn’t tie my fate in theirs.”

“One would think you’d have wanted Louisa and me to have the wedding of a decade.” As a friend of my late father, I meant.

“One would be wrong,” Tindall said, bowing his head modestly. “You’re a marquess now, Devon. You don’t need anyone to assert your title.”

“Actually,” I said, “I don’t need the title either.”

I smiled, taking one step out his door, already feeling my lungs expanding with fresh air and something else.

Something I’d never felt before.

Freedom.

Though I lamented that I would rather conduct a lengthy and passionate affair with a food processor, Emmabelle insisted we go visit my mother at Whitehall Court Castle before we left the United Kingdom.

“The last person she wants to see is me,” I groaned as I drove to Kent on autopilot. I threw her a look. She was buried in green and gold Harrods shopping bags. “Actually, the last person she wants to see is you,” I let out a chuckle. “You’re a reminder of all the things that went wrong with her plan. If you expect a hug and a spontaneous baby shower, you’re in for disappointment.”

“Your mom can shove it.” Sweven rolled her eyes, checking her scarlet lipstick in the passenger mirror. “I want to see where you grew up.”

“Even if I hate the place?”

“Especially because you do.”

We arrived just before darkness creeped in. The green rolling hills of Kent came into view. I spotted the castle from a distance. It looked darker than I remembered, folding into itself like a shrinking violet.

Like it knew how I’d turned my back on the Whitehall name—and it was not going to forgive me.

“Damn, bro. You make the Fitzpatricks look like the assholes down the street who could afford non-domestic vacations and an in-ground pool,” Belle laughed. “This is rich-rich. Like, Mommy-can-I-have-a-diamond-tiara for breakfast rich.”

“Should I have flaunted my wealth?” I side-eyed her, cocking an eyebrow.

“Are you kidding me?” She threw her arms over my neck, kissing my cheek. Harrods bags collapsed between us, the symbol of love. “I was scared shitless of averagely rich Devon. You know how intimidated I’d have been if I knew you were employing ass-wipers and people whose entire job is to blow cold air on your tea?”

At this point, I lost the thread of the conversation. What was she on about?

I pulled the Range Rover by the front gate, killed the engine, and got out. Sweven rounded the front of the car and joined me.

It was still technically my estate. A few weeks ago, I’d planned to sign it over to my mother. Now, she’d lost that privilege too. Call me petty, but I did not appreciate how she’d sent someone to chase my girlfriend away. So the current deal was that Mum, Cecilia, and Drew were to get the fuck out of there by the end of the month. Where to, I had no idea nor desire to know.

I reached for Belle’s hand when I noticed the trucks. There were three of them parked in a neat row in front of the entrance, trunks open. Young blokes in coveralls yelled at each other in Polish as they flung furniture into them.

“Devon?” My sister’s voice rang from the woods. I turned to see her making her way from the thick curtain of trees, lifting her skirts in one hand. “Is that really you?”

She hurried toward me. My heart caught in my throat. Just for a second, she looked like the Cece I’d grown up with. The one I held by the legs and pretended her mass of blond curls was a broomstick, sweeping the floor with them while she giggled. I blew raspberries on her bare stomach and told her to stop farting. Taught her how to snap her fingers and whistle “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses—and not just the chorus.

“Cecilia. This is my partner, Emmabelle.”

Cecilia stopped dead in her tracks, measuring Belle head to toe. I saw Sweven through her eyes. A stunning, self-made woman dressed like she was ready for her Vogue cover shoot.

“Hi.” Cece smiled, offering Belle her hand tentatively. Belle used it to jerk Cecilia into an embrace, hugging her tightly.

“You’re beautiful,” Cecilia blurted after managing to weasel her way out of Belle’s hug.

“Thanks! And you’re … holding a pogo stick?” Belle poked her lower lip out, her eyes widening a little.

Cecilia laughed, and I realized that she was holding a pogo stick. I lit up instantly. “We used to race in the woods with pogo sticks to make it more difficult,” I explained. “I won every time.”

“Every. Single. Time.” Cecilia groaned, mock-punching my arm. “Even after he went to boarding school and I practiced daily. The minute he’d come back, he would leave me to eat dust. I wanted to do it one last time, before … well …” Cecilia turned to smile at me. There was sadness there, yes, but no anger or malice.

“Already moving?” I asked.

She nodded. “Mum can’t afford to stay here. The bills are just too much. There’s no reason to postpone the inevitable. She is going off to London to stay with a friend.”

“What about you and Drew?”

Cece wiped sweaty locks of gold from her forehead. “Drew found a job! Could you believe it?”

“No,” I said flatly.

Cece laughed. “Yes! He is starting from the ground up. An admin assistant for a private bank in Canary Wharf. Can you imagine him fetching coffee and getting people’s dry cleaning?”

I couldn’t, in fact, but I was glad he managed to make use of himself nonetheless.

“I signed up for uni. I think I’m going to become a vet.” She smiled sheepishly.

“I’ll pay,” I offered. After all, Cece was not a part of Mum and Louisa’s plans for Belle.

“Cheers.” She reached to squeeze my arm. “But a bit of student debt didn’t kill anyone last I checked, and it’s time I do something on my own, don’t you reckon?”

Mum decided to make her grand entrance to this odd scene just then, walking out carrying a box full of knickknacks.

“Cecilia? What on earth is all this commotion? I—”

Belle turned to look at her. The minute their eyes met, two things were clear to me:

They both knew who the other one was.

If anyone was going to kill anyone, I’d put my money on Sweven and wouldn’t even consider it a high-risk investment.

“Oh.” Mother put the box down and pressed her fingers on her mouth like we were both naked, standing there in her driveway.

My mother couldn’t stop staring at Emmabelle’s stomach. The latter, in return, rubbed it protectively, like the woman in front of her was going to try and snatch the baby away if she wasn’t careful. Her belly still had a shallow, faint scar from the whole ordeal with Frank, but Belle told me she loved it even more now. The story behind her pregnancy. How precious and rare our child was.

“Belle wanted to see where I grew up before we left. I took care of the will today. Everything’s done.” I draped an arm over my girlfriend’s shoulder.

My mother was still looking at Belle’s belly with violent, hungry longing.

“I hope it’s to your liking.” She took a step toward the belly—and the woman it was attached to—acknowledging her for the very first time. “It’s free for you to use. We’re moving away. You caught us at a bit of an inconvenient time. Sorry I cannot offer you any refreshments. My kitchens are all packed.”

“It’s always a dud when all the kitchens are packed. I always leave, like, three, fully stocked. Just in case.” Emmabelle offered her a feline smile, producing a lollipop from behind her ear—like a cigarette—unwrapping it and shoving it into the side of her mouth.

She was a trickster. An unexpected rainbow in a bleak, gray painting. A woman of many faces, many shapes, and many hats.

Mother swallowed her with her eyes, fascinated. “Are all American women sarcastic?”

“No, ma’am. Only the good ones.”

“Your accent is so … lazy.”

“You should see my workout routine.” Belle sucked hard on the lollipop, looking around her, like she was figuring out what she wanted to do with the place. “Oh, and yours sounds like you were born to chide small children for asking for a second helping of porridge.”

That earned a snicker out of me.

“I hear you’re a stripper.” Mother tilted her chin up, but there was no defiance in her. Only fascination.

I took a step forward, ready to give her a verbal spanking.

Belle put her hand on mine.

“I’m not a stripper, but as someone who knows a few, I can tell you no stripper I’ve ever met fell behind on her bills. They usually do it to pay their way through college or to just make a quick buck. Lots of tips. Don’t slam it before you try it.”

My mother nodded. She was impressed despite her best efforts.

“You’re different from what I imagined.”

“You should’ve never doubted it. Your son has great taste.”

Mum turned to look at me.

“I don’t hate her, Devvie,” she said with a good portion of resignation.

“Wish I could say the same about you, Mrs. Whitehall.” Belle’s voice caught her attention, and their gazes locked. “But you hurt the love of my life, and we have an open beef to settle.”

“We will.” Mum nodded curtly, moving in our direction almost gingerly. “First, can I touch your belly? It is oh-so-full of baby. And looking at both of you, I just know the child will be gorgeous.”

“You can cop a feel, Mrs. W,” Sweven warned, “but that doesn’t mean you’re off of my shit list.”

Good god, I loved that woman.

My mother put her hands on Belle’s belly and grinned up at her. “She’s kicking.”

“How do you know it’s a she?” I asked.

“A woman knows.” She pulled away, smiling at us enigmatically.

There was nothing more to say really. This wasn’t a part of a reconciliation or an olive branch. It was a quiet, dignified goodbye. A goodbye that should have happened two decades ago.

My mother gathered my hands in hers, and I let her. One last time.

“I just want you to know, I do love you, Devon. In my own roundabout way.”

I believed her.

But sometimes, a bit of love was simply not enough.