“I don’t know. I think we need some time alone.”
Getting into his car, he looks back at me, a small smile lighting his face. “I get it.” He closes the door, the window winding down. “Invitation will still stand tomorrow, if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“There’s something else I want to talk to you about.” He bites down on his smile. “Outside all this fucked-up shit.”
“What is it?”
“We’ll talk about it soon,” he says as his phone rings. Answering in the first few rings, he says, “Francis.”
“What time will you be here?”
My chest tightens at my father’s question because during our entire conversation, Leo said nothing of going to see him.
“Be there in twenty.”
The call ends without much fanfare, and he looks flustered like he’s been rumbled.
“What was that about?”
“Like I said, I have something to talk about with you. Nothing to worry about, just something.” Although he smiles contentedly, I can’t shake off the strain in my chest. “If you and Bella decide to come down…let me know.”
“Will do.”
The tightness around my heart and lungs increases as I get in the Range and watch Leo drive off.
With the light traffic it takes under fifteen minutes to get back to the hotel. The driver parks the car, and racing past all the security dotted around the wide staircase, I fly up the steps to the suite. It’s only when I almost get to the top of the first flight that it strikes me as I glance back down.
Murphy didn’t say anything about upping the security from last night.
These men don’t look like the entourage he put together with my father’s guidance. We’d agreed on less intrusive and formal-looking attire here. We don’t want more attention than necessary driven our way.
As I reach the landing, the loud voices coming from our room have me running to the already open door.
Not a single one of them sees me as I stand in the doorway watching Murphy stand between Arabella and her dad like he’s protecting her from the enemy.
Something isn’t right.
“You don’t get to fire me this time,” Murphy spits at Benedict with more venom than I’ve ever seen anyone address him. “I don’t work for you.”
“You shouldn’t work for anyone. You’re as much to blame.”
What the fuck is going on?
“I am. You are. Mrs. Sinclair is not.” Stepping closer to my father-in-law, Murphy straightens to his full height. His shoulders seem to broaden, and his chest puffs up. The way he’s looking at Benedict is filled with threat.
“Ryan…” Arabella steps around him, squeezing his shoulder with a light smile before turning to her dad and telling him, “I think you should leave now.”
“I can always escort you out, Mr. Deputy Prime Minister.”
Welcome to the fucking twilight zone.
“It’s only going to get worse. They’ll keep coming for him, and if they get what they want…well, you’re going to have to live with yourself, knowing that you could’ve stopped them. Just like you could’ve saved your child had you been smarter.”
My limbs act before my brain has a chance to catch up with itself and register his words properly. But my gut feels the hit he delivers to my wife’s—his daughter’s—heart.
I’m so fucking furious that although I know what he’s just said to Arabella, it’s still having a hard time sinking in. Even if I’m on him faster than it takes him to realise what’s happening.