Now, I was speaking to Mason as Xan took his turn in the shower. I felt badly that I hadn’t spoken to my friend since the charity gala when Alexander had shown up to usurp his bid for my date night, but life had been to chaotic to spend any time on friendships over the past few weeks.
I couldn’t very well explain why that was to Mason, so I tried to be patient with his annoyance.
“That man who bought you, Cosi, he’s a fucking British lord, did you know that?” Mason demanded. “I read online that he’s from one of the most notorious families in the United Kingdom. His great-great grandfather was called ‘Black Benedict’ because he would import slaves from Africa to use for his own pleasure!”
“Mason,” I said, my tone warm with unsuppressed amusement. “I hardly think it’s fair to judge someone based on the actions of their ‘great-great’ relative.”
He snorted. “Still, I don’t have a good feeling about him. I hope you aren’t seeing him now.”
“I am,” I told him, happy to do it.
I wanted people to know I was in love. I didn’t want to hide anymore. Alexander was the greatest man I knew, and I was proud to be with him. That didn’t necessarily mean I was ready to tell my family about him, not with the drama already wracking my family over Sinclair breaking up with Elena, but it was nice to tell at least one of my best friends about him.
There was a heavy silence as Mason processed this.
“What does this mean?”
I sighed. “It means I’m happy. For the first time in a long time. I would love if you could be happy for me.”
“It just…this changes things.”
“With your family?”
“Well, yes. My uncle…he won’t be happy I’m not with you anymore,” he admitted with a tense groan. “I don’t know how I’ll handle this.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I truly meant it. Mason had been such a good friend to me over the years, and I felt badly for leaving him to deal with his oppressive, old-school thinking family. But I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of Alexander and me, not anymore.
I was just pulling a sheer black blouse over my lace bra when Xan emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of steam looking like a wet gold statue stolen from the Pantheon. Immediately, my mouth went dry at the sight of him.
He frowned at the phone in my hand. “Who?”
“Mason,” I mouthed to him before saying into the cell, “I’ve got to go, honey. I hope we can get together when things are less crazy for me. If you need any help with your family, let me know.”
“It would help us both if you left that guy,” he muttered darkly, but when I only laughed at him, he sighed. “Fine. Take care of yourself, Cosima. I don’t get a good feeling about any of this.”
Xan stalked toward me, wrapping an arm around my hips to tug me against his damp body so he could place a kiss behind my ear and then a line of them down my jugular. I shivered, hung up the phone, and dropped it to the dresser behind me, Mason totally forgotten as Alexander whispered, “On your knees, topolina, I missed you in the shower, and I feel the need to show you just how much.”
Alexander
The man we needed to see lived in a large home in a small town in Upstate New York, and he had done since he immigrated to this country after being tossed out of the upper crust of British Society. I knew this because I had helped to relocate him and his money to the new country in order to keep him safe from further harm.
I had told Cosima the story about what happened after she disappeared at our wedding, how I’d decided to head the Order’s demands and punish Simon Wentworth for the exact crimes I myself had committed. She had listened with pursed lips and sad eyes, keeping her condemnations to herself. Ours was not a world of black and white, and she knew better than to guilt me about Simon when I’d been forced in to an impossible position. We’d both made tough choices, and we both knew what it meant to live with them.
Still, I was watching her face when we pulled up the drive of the old stone house and knocked on the door. I wanted to see how she would react to the reveal.
She didn’t disappoint.
The moment Simon Wentworth opened the door, she gasped.
I was right. She recognized him from the night of The Hunt.
She recoiled a step just as Simon’s pale, pleasant face broke into a wide grin, and he stepped forward to embrace me a back-thumping embrace.
“Thornton, old chap, what the hell are you doing on my doorstep?” He laughed as he pulled back. “It’s been an age since you telephoned.”