Page 68 of The Devil's Pawn

Soon, Nicholas will marry, and I can’t see it taking long before he puts a baby in Elizabeth. Then the pressure will be off me.

“Change the record.” I thrust my glass at him. “And get me a drink.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

IMOGEN

I make sure to avoid Alexander for the next few days, which honestly isn’t that difficult considering I hardly see him anyway. After his panic room stunt, I don’t trust myself not to take revenge by running a scotch bonnet chili around the rim of his glass, or putting spiders in his shoes. Given his underlying threat, it’s probably best I dial it back for a few days at least.

But when Tuesday morning dawns, I can’t stand the isolation for another minute.

Both Saskia and Tobias seem to be permanently away, there hasn’t been another social gathering for me to maybe bump into Vicky, and Emma is too busy for me to expect her to constantly prop me up. Even the group chat with my college buddies has gone silent, each of them embarking on careers and, naturally, leaving their old lives behind.

I want to go home. Ineedto go home. Problem is, if I ask Mom whether I can come for a visit, she’ll tell me it’s too soon.

Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

Before I lose my nerve, I book a flight for this coming Saturday. I’d rather go today, but the regular De Vil family dinner that’s held on the first Friday of each month is this week, and while I don’t give a shit about my absence showing Alexander up, I do care how it looks to Charles. I like and respect Alexander’s father, and as lonely and homesick as I am, he doesn’t deserve a public slap in the face.

After showering and dressing, I head for the dining room, stopping by Alexander’s seat at the head of the table to leave a business card that I know will draw a reaction. There’s something about watching him lose his temper that I’m growing addicted to. Plus, until I can think of the next big thing to shove him in the direction I need him to go, little irritations all add up.

I smile gratefully as Lauren sets down a steaming cup of coffee. I’ve only taken a single sip when Alexander enters.

Ignoring me, he sits at the table and puts down his phone. Lauren scoots over and pours him a glass of iced water. At first, I think he’s missed the card or put his phone on top of it, but then he picks it up and reads it.

“What’s this?” He brandishes it in the air.

“I thought you might find it useful. I found her online. I told her you need a tattooed eyebrow, and she’s had a cancellation so can fit you in this morning. Her reviews are terrific. Lots of five stars.”

An atmosphere descends on the entire room, and the three members of staff in attendance all freeze at the same time. Alexander is a statue, except for a muscle quivering in his jaw, and the flash of irritation radiating from his amber eyes.

“Cheese omelet,” he snaps, picking up his phone. Laurenimmediately springs into action and dashes out of the dining room to give his order to the chef.

“That’s a no, then? Truly, I’m surprised you haven’t done something about it before now. It’s not like you can’t afford to have it fixed.”

He lowers his phone, and the look he gives me would have most people quivering in their boots. Maybe I have a death wish, but all his angry glower does is make me want to rile him further. I’m interested in how far I can push him before he cracks, and what happens when he does. I could be wrong, but I’m betting he won’t get physical, other than a spanking, perhaps. The thought of him bending me over his knee excites me even when it shouldn’t. The small taste I got before he dumped me in the pool is evidence I’m not averse to the idea.

“I’m a busy man,” he clips out. “Conventional appearances don’t concern me. It’ll grow back on its own.”

“It concerned you when you were meeting the king’s private secretary.”

Electricity crackles all around as we glare at each other. “Well, it doesn’t concern me now.”

I think it does. I’d wager his refusal to get something done about it has more to do with stubbornness or pride. He can’t stand the fact I won that round, and this is his way of trying to reassert control.

Lauren returns with his omelet. He ends our stare-off and picks up a fork, slicing off a large piece. When he swallows, I track the way his Adam’s apple bobs. An urge to press my thighs together consumes me. If he was awful all the time, then his insane good looks wouldn’t be enough to attract me. It’s the odd flashes of humanity, the snippets of kindness, the memory of how hard I came in the stables, and how gentle hewas afterward that makes me yearn for something I can’t have and shouldn’t want.

I doubt I’m off the hook for the eyebrow incident, even if he did lock me in the panic room all day. Probably just as well I’m heading back to America this Saturday. Maybe our time apart will show him he doesn’t need me around disrupting his life. Wouldn’t that be fantastic? A girl can hope.

“Could I have a slice of toast, please, Lauren?” The idea of eggs or greasy bacon is making me feel nauseous, and I don’t like cereal or oatmeal all that much.

“Of course, Mrs. De Vil. White or brown?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her to call me Miss Salinger, but after Alexander’s warning on Friday night, even I’m not that brave. I’ll be a Salinger soon enough when my divorce comes through. I can wait until then.

“White, please, and can you make it the butt end?”

Alexander lifts his head, his one remaining eyebrow forming a perfect arch. “The… the what?”

---