Page 118 of The Devil's Pawn

When three days pass without my wife contacting me, my patience runs out. I message my father, letting him know I’ll have to miss my first ever family dinner, but as this counts as a major fucking crisis, he won’t have an issue. All he’ll want is for me to return home with Imogen.

It’s finally clear what I have to do. I must remind my wife that what we have is worth fighting for. Grabbing a pen and paper, I jot down a list of things I can do to show her how much she means to me.

Tomorrow, my plan to win Imogen back begins.

Chapter Forty

IMOGEN

I should have guessed Alexander didn’t have the patience to sit and wait for the ax to fall on our marriage. He’s a man of action, of decisions, of calculated outcomes. He’s used to getting what he wants, and this time, it’s me he’s set his sights on.

At first, the gifts start off small. Avocado toast with greens and Sriracha sauce from a local deli for breakfast. A box of sweet treats from Madeleine’s; my number one bakery. White and yellow lilies that smell divine and are my favorite flower. I’m guessing Mom has been talking, or he’s had one of his team do some digging on the things I like.

When I don’t call, he ups his game. An elegant diamond ring and matching earrings from Tiffany’s. A pair of supple leather riding boots with my initials engraved on the side. A stunning crystal chess set that makes my heart ache.

The problem is, I’m still no closer to a decision. I’ve done a lot of soul searching since leaving Oakleigh, and if I think about it logically, the tracker makes sense. It’s not the deviceitself I have an issue with; it’s that Alexander decided for me without consultation.

Although… if I’m being fair, he did give me the cell phone first, and he told me that had a tracker in it. I was the one who activated my stubborn streak and chose to leave the phone behind so he wouldn’t know where I was.

The truth is, we’re both at fault. We’re as bad as one another.

With distance, I’ve realized it’s the no kids thing that I’m having trouble accepting. While the idea of providing heirs as part of some arrangement my father made with Charles De Vil has always been abhorrent to me, it was the forced nature of it I railed against. I’ve always wanted children, but with a man of my choice.

Somehow, Alexander became that man, but now, there’s a price attached. Am I willing to pay that price? Will I live a fulfilling life without children? Lots of people do it. The question I have to answer is whether I’m one of them.

I just don’t know.

The following morning, I get up before dawn and dress in shorts and a T-shirt. Being close to the ocean often helps me think, and if I go now, I’ll get some peace before the crowds descend.

As I step onto the sidewalk, the bodyguards who’ve guarded the house and followed me every time I’ve left fall into step behind me. Even now, with our marriage at a fork in the road, Alexander makes sure I’m safe.

My chest hurts. I miss him. We may have only known each other for two and a half months, but the heart knows the truth, and my truth is that I am desperately in love with my husband. There has to be a way for us to work through this.

A few joggers are out, and one or two yoga enthusiasts have set up camp on the beach, but mostly, it’s empty. Waves float into shore, gentle and calming. I sit cross-legged on the sand, conscious of the bodyguards standing a few feet away. I close my eyes and block them out, allowing my mind to only think of Alexander and the conundrum he’s placed in my lap.

Why do people have children? Societal pressures? Because it’s expected of them? Because it’s an extension of the love they have for their partner?

The better question is why doIwant them? Or think I want them. Is it a primal need? An urge I can’t deny? Or is it something I can decide to ignore, to choose a different path for myself? And is what we want now the same as we’ll want in ten or fifteen years’ time?

“It’s beautiful here.”

I startle, clasping my chest. “You scared me.”

Alexander sits beside me, as out of place as can be, even though he’s not wearing a tie. Open necked dress shirts and pants aren’t exactly beach attire, but also, if he was sitting here in shorts and a T-shirt like me, it’d look odd on him. This is who he is.

“How did you know I was here?” He arches a brow, and I shake my head. “Forget I asked.”

“Your security detail called me to say you’d left the house.”

“Oh. So, you haven’t been stalking me through the tracker?”

His lips lift on one side. “No.”

“If I agree to never go anywhere without security, will you let me take it out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

---