Necromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 6)

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It made me wet.”

“It’s understandable that you’re angry. I need a beating for that. You can take a whip to me if you like.”

“Sadly, whipping you won’t turn me on.”

“Only being on the receiving end?”

“So it seems.”

She made to move past him, but he caught her arm. “Don’t marry Henry, please.”

“Why? Would you like to propose?”

“If I believed I was worthy of you, I would’ve. Don’t marry Henry because he’ll make you miserable.”

Pulling free, she carried on down the stairs ahead of him. “I’ll decide if he makes me miserable or not.”

“You want a ring? I’ll buy you a ring.”

She stopped and gaped at him. “It’s not about the ring.”

“If it’s a financial security thing, I’ll give you all the security you can handle.”

“No, Ivan,” she said softly. “I like earning my own money. It’s not a security thing.”

“Then what?”

“Tell me you love me, and I’ll tell Henry no today.”

She should know better than asking him to lie. He could only stare at her, the chance he might have had chopped off by that one, single, dreaded request.

When the silence stretched, she said, “That’s what I thought.”

“He doesn’t love you,” he said.

“Yes, but I don’t love him, either.”

She could’ve knocked his feet out from under him because he was paralyzed, turned to stone. How fucked up could he be? She’d just told him, in not so many words, that she loved him, and he had nothing to say. He guessed he deserved to be dumped for the editor. At least a man with a reliable Volvo, a clean suit, and good manners would take care of Alice and treat her right. The only niggle was that the idea didn’t sit right with him. She was his. Always was. He wasn’t blind to the selfishness of that notion.

For the first time in his life, he doubted. Before, he’d had one, all-consuming fear, namely that he wouldn’t prove to Alice he was good enough for her. Now, he feared Cain might have been right. Maybe he was no good for Alice.

The funeral was a small, subdued affair. Nobody except the inhabitants of the rented house attended. An Anglican bishop named Alistair took care of the service. It was obvious he knew Maya. They shared the kind of friendly, intimate looks that spoke of shared history. Lily had ordered the same headstone that was on her mother’s grave for Nicolas.

Godfrey didn’t show up. There was no sign of his agents, either. Joss had spent the biggest part of the previous day setting up perimeter alarms while Maya had programmed Cain’s private satellite to pick up suspicious activity. There was no one to pay their respects to Nicolas except for his sister and, ironically, his father’s enemies.

Alice regarded the fresh grave with a hollow feeling. Did Nicolas love his father despite his crimes? Could you love a parent who tortured you? Ivan hated both his biological and adoptive fathers, while, despite everything, she loved her mother. Maybe her mom had loved her too, but she’d been so busy living her life that she hadn’t shown it. In any event, it was water under the bridge, and there was no point in pondering things she couldn’t change.

After the final prayer, Bishop Alistair took Maya and Tim aside, but close enough for Alice to hear him ask, “Everything ready for the twins?”

“We can hardly wait,” Tim said.

Maya gave a husky laugh. “I’m nervous as hell about turning into an instant mom.”

“You’ll be fine,” the bishop said. “Just lock your weapons away when the little ones start to walk.”

With everyone else absorbed in their own hushed conversations, Alice walked to Lily where she stood in front of the gravestone.

“He’s at peace,” Alice offered.

“Yes.” Lily’s expression turned hard. “I’ll not forgive my father for keeping me from knowing him. Instead, I wasted my affection on a stepbrother who didn’t deserve it.” She gave a wry smile. “We can be so naïve when we’re young.” She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and looked toward the ocean. “They tell me Nicolas was deformed. At least now he’s perfect.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Come on.” Lily hooked her arm through Alice’s. “There’s nothing more we can do here, and it’s cold. Let’s go home.”

Ivan appeared at her side. “Since we’re flying out tomorrow, would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

Clelia walked up to them. “The women have decided to go for an early supper. Cain is taking the men to a cigar bar.” She gave Alice an apologetic look. “The men commemorate the dead with a cognac and a cigar rather than morbid tears. It’s a team custom. You should come with us, Alice.”

Ivan put his arm around her shoulders and gave a squeeze. “You should go.” His encouraging smile made her sad, knowing there would never be more to it, not like the smile Joss gave Clelia, or Tim gave Maya, never the smile of a husband to a wife.