“Have you thought about our conversation?” Emily asks, her stare on Christopher and me.
“Grandmama…”
Grandmama. I know whatever she’s talking about has hit a nerve with Christopher.
“We need a diversion, Christopher. Something to endear the public. A grand moment of joy. That’s what they like. Sob stories are easily forgotten. Loss is forgotten.”
“Mother…”
“A wedding would do nicely, although, given what happened…” Her pause is enough for me to guess what’s coming. And if it wasn’t, the way Christopher holds on to me tighter is certain. “A baby would be ideal.”
A baby would be ideal? Ideal.
“It’s a pity this isn’t an ideal world,” Lucian murmurs.
“The illusion of an ideal world is far more effective than the reality of one. People want something beyond this world; they want a fairy tale. I believe they call it hope.”
I’m shaking. There isn’t a single emotion that I’m not feeling. There isn’t a single word that threatens to leave my mouth that isn’t seeping in anger and hurt. My insides push at my skin and bones like pus trying to burst from a wound.
I can’t sit here anymore. I can’t listen to her words. I can’t bear to feel her eyes on me.
Pushing to his feet, Christopher stands in front of Emily, neither breaking eye contact. The air vibrates with all the things neither say out loud.
Crouching to her level, he demands, “Apologise. Now.”
“Is that an order?”
“Call it what you like, just be fucking sorry.”
“Do you want an apology, child?” She doesn’t bother looking at me.
“Don’t play games,” he snaps.
“I don’t want your apology, Emily.” I hold my voice as steady as I can. I keep my hands as relaxed as possible on my thighs. Don’t show weakness. “Just as I don’t want another baby.”
I’m well aware of the hurt I’ve just caused Christopher. He doesn’t show it as he stands and sits beside me again. But I feel it. Deep in my bones. Strangling my heart. Smothering my soul. I fe
el the blow I’ve served him. And I truly wish I was sorry, but I’m not. I’m tired of being manipulated. Done being used in a game that only serves losses.
The beautiful part in all this? Is the way Christopher shuffles closer to me. His embrace surrounds me like a safety blanket. And the kiss he presses to the top of my head is far more valuable than any metaphorical crown they wish to place on it.
“Well,” she sings with a sour laugh. “I suppose, Lucian, that it falls to your son after all.”
“Perhaps we should stick to the politics so that there’ll be a world for all these babies you so desperately want.”
“I’m a grandmother.” Emily chuckles as she rings the service bell. “Of course I want great-grandchildren. It’s what Maxwell would’ve wanted.”
“Actually, Grandad would’ve wanted you to show some compassion,” Christopher bites back.
“Francis?” Penny’s panicked voice cuts through the silence.
“Shit.” Lucian rises from his chair quicker than I would’ve thought possible. “Wayne!”
Christopher bounds up, and although I’m not in the way, I shuffle down the sofa, watching as chaos ensues. Wayne rushes in, ready for action. He’s got his weapon in his hand, searching the room, trying to assess the situation with the pile of bodies in the way.
“Motherfuckers!” he curses loudly. Pulling Penelope out of the way, he pushes her down beside me. “Call an ambulance.”
The service bell goes crazy as Emily pulls the cord beside her relentlessly. But nobody comes. Penny’s fussing with her phone, but network around these parts is potluck. My body moves on autopilot. Racing down the hallway, back to the main part of the house, I head for the staff wing. The doors to the kitchen are wide open, letting the flurry in. There’s nothing but the cold and eerie stillness of the place.