Page 72 of A Wedding in a Week

“No. Marc.” I take a breath and get real. “And me. Us, together. We’d be a safe base for him.” I can’t look away then or avoid this conversation. I don’t even want to. I’ve confessed to Lukas once already. This only confirms it. “You know Marc’s it for me, right?”

“You really are in it for the long haul this time?” He screws up the plastic his sandwich was wrapped in, balling it up. It bounces off my head. “Because it was you that summer, wasn’t it?”

I nod. It was, and yes, I want longer than a summer with Marc this time. I want that so much that, after I pick up my brother’s litter and stuff it down the back of his shirt, I nod again even harder.

“Bloody took you long enough.” Lukas somehow finds a way to both smile and shudder. “Just don’t tell me any details about…” He pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, miming a blow job while backing off like I might chase him. I don’t, and not only because I can’t see me ever putting him in a headlock again, but because Rex Heligan’s PA arrives.

Jack bears more of the supplies he’s delivered twice daily since we got here, another light shining on the fact that we’re miles from home but we’re far from alone.

He comes inside with me, and once we’re in Noah’s room, he passes over yet another bag of items. “I had to guess your size for the undies.” His eyes sparkle, and he whispers as Marc dozes again. “You are a big boy, aren’t you? Are there more like you at home? I mean, London is life, but that could actually make Cornwall tempting.”

It’s the first time I want to laugh in what feels like forever. I would if Marc wasn’t out for the count.

Jack also reminds me about a door key and an alarm code he already gave me. “Have you recharged your batteries at the duke’s house yet?” He tuts when I shake my head, but we haven’t made use of Lukas’ flat either, too far from this hospital for comfort.

Jack promises that South Kensington isn’t far. “It’s literally only an eight-minute walk from here. Use it.”

“Won’t the duke be there?”

“Nope, he’s back on the island and Rex is all the way up on the Scottish borders making heart-eyes at his hot historian, so you’ll have privacy.”

He peers at me, and he’s been nothing but efficient from the moment we met him, but these twinkling eyes are fun-filled. “I would say, make the most of Rex’s old sex lair. He’s turned a monogamous new leaf so his candle-lit bathtub for two, black silk sheets, and fluffy handcuffs are gathering dust. Only, going by the bags under your eyes, they’d probably be wasted on you. But everything feels better after a lovely long soak in a deep bath and a good sleep, doesn’t it? At least use his home for that, yes?” Jack’s a little guy, shorter than Marc, and slimmer, but his firm clasp to my shoulder is deceptive. “That’s an order.”

“From Rex?”

“From the duke. Take him up on his offer, yes? Look after yourselves so you can look after him.” His glance Noah’s way is pointed, and I’d agree but I can’t imagine leaving, not until Noah’s parents finally arrive that evening.

Both of them have glowing suntans and holiday hangovers. They should at least smell of regret. Instead, they fill this side room meant for healing with a mix of alcohol fumes, suntan lotion, and resentment.

I want to scoop Noah and Marc up then.

I’d carry them both back to Cornwall or stand between them and these too-late arrivals with my fists raised. And I could—both of my fists clench with zero problem the moment Marc touches his throat. It’s an unconscious movement, I’m sure, but he only does it while speaking to his stepfather.

“I’m taking over Noah’s care.”

“You?” His stepfather snorts. “Fuck off.”

Marc mentioned he was a big man, but his gym bulk is superficial, made from protein powder, not my land-forged muscle. I can take him. Right here, right now, I’ve never been more certain of my purpose.

I shrug out of my sling, but Marc shows me he’s far from defenceless. He’s quiet but ferocious, and I don’t need to punch this man who tries to bullshit, blame, and threaten. Marc makes him step back with one statement and a single question.

“You’ll be charged with child abandonment the minute the police know you’ve finally turned up. Want me to call them?” He pulls out a phone I know he wouldn’t take off flight mode. Not here where monitors might be vulnerable to cell-phone interference.

Noah is vulnerable too, and you don’t have to tell me there’s something about younger siblings to make older brothers’ hackles rise when they need to. Marc and I are so well-matched it reminds me of that moment during a sight test when the world jumps to pinpoint focus—everything about Marc makes complete sense, all of his drive and determination.

He’s me, only about Noah.

I’m him, with Lukas as my perpetual worry.

No wonder my heart clenches while I witness Marc take back what these people stole from him—what my parents showed instead of told him. For years.

He’s powerful.

“I’m taking over Noah’s care.”

That’s all he says. It’s all it takes.

Not that his parents leave, but the rest of their visit is almost silent, and I don’t like how this man looms, but I’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel something for his mother. Only a sliver of something, mind. And only for a split second.

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