And then she did something terrible.
Something I couldn’t stomach.
She lowered herself to her knees, right there on the street, her eyes twinkling like diamonds in the night.
She looked up at me, her face defiant, her shoulders shaking.
I wanted to lower myself to her level, to be right there with her, to shake her and explain that I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be what my father had wanted me to be. I never could.
“I’m sorry, Mum,” I said, then walked away.
Two nights later, Sam and Cillian dropped in for a visit.
I didn’t entertain a lot because A: there was nothing entertaining about these two dreadful cunts. And B: the longer I was around people, the more I felt pressured into behaving the way normal people did, hiding my flare, my strange musings, and claustrophobia.
For instance, I always used the elevators whenever I visited Royal Pipelines. I had to take half a valium beforehand for courage, but I did it.
Or when we were at Badlands, I had to think before I spoke, no matter what the subject matter was, reminding myself that I had a persona to uphold. That I was a womanizer, a rake, a man of certain tastes and standards.
I could never truly be myself with my mates, which was why even though I liked them on a personal level, I never truly opened up to them about my family.
“The will is iron-clad. I reread it enough times to make my eyes bleed.” I growled into my stiff drink, perched in my study, in front of the only two men I knew who could weasel themselves out of serious trouble, albeit in very different ways.
Now I had to talk to them about my family, even if I only gave them the CliffsNotes version.
“Suddenly the fact that you’ve never told us about your family makes sense.” Cillian stood in front of my floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the scenic view of the Charles River and Boston’s skyline. “Your parents sound worse than mine.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Sam took a sip of his own drink, sitting in front of me on a designer recliner. “And what happens if the charities, say, decide to skip on the fat donations?”
“The money and estate will go to various relatives, none of whom are my immediate family. Quite frankly, every Whitehall man I’ve ever come across is either a drunk, a brute, or both.”
Not to mention, I didn’t want to be indebted to Sam Brennan in any way or form. He had yet to succeed in luring me into business with him, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“Aren’t there primogenitures about shit like that?” Sam asked. “The Crown itself should grant you the lands. Even my simpleton ass knows that.”
“Loopholes,” I explained bitterly. “I’m not an immediate royal relative, so not all rules apply to me.”
Only the ones that were to my father’s liking.
“Remind me why you’re opposed to marrying this Lilian chick?” Cillian brooded.
“Louisa,” I corrected, rolling some ciggies to keep my hands busy. “Because I won’t cower to my father’s demands, not in life and definitely not from beyond the grave. Not to mention, there’s a pre-written prenup my father had put in place to ensure that if we ever got a divorce, she would get everything.”
“Even if you concede to his demand, he’d never know,” Sam growled into his whiskey. “He is, for all intents and purposes, dead.”
“I would know.”
“Marriage takes different faces and forms.” Cillian strode from the window toward the liquor cabinet, sifting through my drinks. “You could marry her and still see other people.”
“And make her miserable?” I chuckled gravelly.
Sam shrugged. “That’s none of your business.”
“I am incapable of making someone suffer unnecessarily.” I scooped up an ice cube, rolling it absentmindedly over the rim of my glass.
“Not incapable, just reluctant,” Cillian drawled. “We’re all capable of whatever it is we need to do to survive.”
“The thing is, I don’t need to survive this. My mother and sister do.” I let the cube drop into my glass. “Would you marry someone for money?”
Sam laughed sardonically, his gray eyes gleaming wickedly. “I would’ve married someone for a piece of toast if I needed to, back in the day. But the universe provided, and I chose my bride because I wanted her, not because I needed her.”
Cillian made a face. “That’s my sister we’re talking about.”
“Don’t remind me.” Sam drained his whiskey. “The fact that Ambrose shares a genetic pool with your ass without my throwing chlorine into it still gives me hives.”
“Peculiar.” Cillian tsked. “I don’t remember you coming from generations upon generations of neurosurgeons and army pilots.”
I didn’t have to ask if Cillian was willing to marry someone he didn’t love. He did exactly that a few years ago and ended up falling for the woman.
I rubbed my knuckles along my jawline. I thought about how Emmabelle would react if I told her I was getting married and realized she would probably laugh it off and ask if she needed to wear a fancy hat for the wedding.