Page 55 of Doubts & Fears

She sighed dramatically and huffed before plopping down in the chair. Tuning us out, she struck a pose of studying her fingernails. Ivan pulled out his phone, dialed, and put it on speaker. Marcel greeted us and launched right in.

“Ms. Taylor, I hope it’s okay that Nik spoke with me today about something you mentioned,” he started.

With a roll of her eyes and a voice filled with irritation, she responded, “As I clearly told Ivan last night and will tell you the same, I don’t need to speak to a therapist.”

She was furious at being put on the spot. Couldn’t say I blamed her, but she could have avoided this by just being upfront.

“There’s nothing wrong with talking to someone about your feelings and thoughts,” Marcel said smoothly.

She responded to his voice by visibly relaxing her hands. His voice made him good at his job.

“My hesitation to talk with you has nothing to do with shame about talking about my feelings. But you know what, ask your question. I’m exhausted tonight and not in the mood to do this.”

“Duly noted. First thing I want to say is, I’m available to talk with you at any time you feel you might want a more private conversation.”

She scoffed. “Privacy is not something exercised in this household, and I thought you had questions? Are you planning on just talking this whole time? It’s like you’re trying to sell me something. News flash, I’m not interested.”

“Very well, I’ll jump right in then. What was your relationship like with Owen Taylor?”

Her eyes flashed to mine, reading betrayal. Surely, she didn’t expect that I wouldn’t have updated the family about our conversation. “Excuse me? I don’t wish to discuss mygrandfather. Next question.”

“I can understand your reluctance. It seems intrusive that people are asking you about something that causes you pain.”

“Do you like the sound of your own voice?”

She was on a roll tonight, and Alek and Ivan exchanged looks.

“Ms. Taylor.”

“Mr. Marcel.”

“It’s actually Dr. Marcel.”

“No, it’s Mr. Marcel. You’re not my therapist. Surely, there’s a whole host of actual patients for you to focus your attention on.”

I hid a grin behind my hand as Alek lowered his head, trying to do the same. Ivan just outright chuckled. She was so fucking amusing.

“Good lord, you’re stubborn.” Marcel sighed. “Brothers, it’s a good thing our Bella paved the wave for my patience levels.”

“Who is that?” she asked, looking to change the subject, I was sure.

Isabella was Sebastian’s little sister and, by default, ours as well.

“Someone you would probably get along with quite well. She’s equally stubborn, but in a completely different way. You should ask the guys about her. Each of the men sitting in the room with you knows her intimately.”

I had to laugh at Kinsley’s face as Marcel answered.

“Fabulous. Maybe she can give me some advice. How intimately are we talking here? Please let her know I’m not willingly sleeping in their beds.” Her eyes filled once more with fury as she looked at the three of us.

“I’d say they know her as intimately as your old dance partner, Pavel, knew you,” Marcel said smoothly.

He was testing the waters by mentioning Mr. Lenkov, and her reaction was telling. She opened her mouth to say something and then promptly closed it. She had no poker face at all. It was hilarious to watch.

“That’s a poor comparison, then, seeing as Pasha and I were never intimate.” She crossed her arms, not realizing she called him Pasha instead of Mr. Lenkov or Pavel.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she laid her head down on them and closed her eyes, looking wistful. She mumbled something, and the tail end trailed off. I looked at Alek and smiled, remembering her words from the night of the fire about having babies with someone.

“What was that? Did you mention babies?” Marcel asked. She looked sharply at the phone on the table.

---