Chapter Nineteen
Soren
A week after Gilbert D’Hautpoul’s death, I stand in the empty den of the D’Hautpoul mansion near a rather large grandfather clock and an impressionist painting that I assume must have been someone’s face at some point. Studying the erratic lines and texture of the acrylic paint makes me pensive and uneasy as I raise a glass of whiskey to my lips.
If Alex was here, she’d tease me about it not being cherry vodka, I consider while taking a few sips of the brown liquid. But this hits better than vodka. Lord knows, we fucking need something that packs a damn punch.
Light shifts across the room and I glance toward the wide windows, observing the way the sun casts eerie orange hues over the gardens. Spring looks gorgeous from this angle, yet there’s no one to enjoy the view.
At least, no one would appreciate it like Alex.
My eyes roll over the modern upholstered couches, the muted colors, the fireplace, and the antiques positioned at every possible visual point. The rest of the place looks like a damn castle, but this den is the only place that seems to hold any modern liveliness—I can only assume Marie had a hand in furnishing the den, as Gilbert doesn’t seem like the type to do anything other than follow tradition right down to the punctuation.
“Soren.”
Tomas is the first to step into the room. He carries a glass of his own filled with clear liquid and ice, extending it toward me in a greeting. I clink my glass against his, watching his slow, calculated movements as he makes his way toward the couch near the fireplace. He gestures next to him.
“Please have a seat. Parker should be here shortly.”
I nod. “And Mikhail.”
Tomas huffs. “His presence is conditional. Don’t let him mow you over.”
“Nobody can replace Lev.”
His eyes darken while he lifts the glass to his mouth. His lips part, but he doesn’t drink, closing his eyes as he rests the glass on his knee instead.
He exhales heavily. “That’s true.”
“The only reason he’s invited is to keep the families linked together. I know what’s up.” I pause for a second as I peer down at the whiskey, wondering how much of it would get me sloshed enough not to care anymore. “We have to uphold some of our values, after all.”
“What a charming way to put it,” Parker says from the doorway. He glances around as if anticipating someone else joining us. Maybe he’s looking for Mikhail—or like me, he’s looking for Alex. No one has heard from her in a while. “Shall we discuss what the hell happened last week?”
I nod. “We have to wait.”
“For what?”
“For Mikhail.”
He scowls and stomps into the room, wandering to the drink cart where he grabs a whiskey as well. He sits on the couch across from me and runs his fingers over his short hair, ruffling it repeatedly. Is it longer than usual? That’s weird. Parker never goes longer than a month without a fresh cut.
Must be recent events affecting our routines or something.
“Anyone seen Alex?” I dare to ask. “Did she say why she wouldn’t attend?”
Parker snorts. “She’s mad.”
I sigh. “What’s it about this time?”
“She’s upset because we won’t help her with Coach Neill,” he explains. “I told her we have more important matters to attend to.”
“That’s true.”
Tomas shrugs and gestures with his glass. “We might have been able to manage both.”
“You’re too soft on her,” Parker accuses. “She needs to be handled firmly.”
“Oh, you mean she needs to be verbally abused and skull fucked?”