Page 107 of The Devil's Deceit
Victoria makes a calming motion with her hands. “Keep your hair on, Mr. Quick-Tempered. All I’m saying is take a moment to imagine this from Grace’s perspective. She loses her parents and is convinced, for whatever reason, that Christian either knows something, did something, or is hiding something. Put yourself in her shoes. Are you saying you’d have acted differently?”
“Yes,” Xan says between gritted teeth. “I’d have confronted him like a fucking adult and demanded the truth.”
“Easy for you to say, oh privileged one. Come on, Alexander. Don’t be obtuse. You know this family’s reputation as well as I do. Grace’s position in society is a bit different to yours. Imagine her walking up to Christian on the street, or at her parents’ funeral, and straight out accusing him of murder. How would that have gone down? Like a shit sandwich, that’s how. All I’m saying is don’t rush to judgment when you haven’t got all the facts.”
Xan’s cheeks redden and his hands fist, but before he can come back at Victoria, Imogen puts her hand on his arm.
“I agree with Vicky. And before you go all alpha-protection-y, Grace is Christian’s wife, and therefore, this is hisbusiness. Not yours, not mine, not Vicky’s or Nicholas’s, or any other member of this family. So, stow your anger, walk a minute in Grace’s shoes, then take a backseat, and let Christian deal with this however he sees fit. If he decides that’s it, that Grace’s betrayal is too much to come back from, then that is his decision to make. Equally, if he decides that he loves her enough to try to work through this, then again, that ishisdecision. Not yours.”
There’s a moment of silence, then Dad lets out a low chuckle. “We’d all do well to listen to the women in this family.” He looks over at me. “Whatever you decide, son, this family will stand beside you. If you need us, we’re here. Otherwise”—he glances firmly at Xan before returning his gaze to me—“we will leave you alone to process this and come to a decision in your own time and on your own terms.”
He stands, picks up the empty whisky glass, and makes his way to the door. Halfway there, he pauses and glances back over his shoulder.
“And for goodness sake, please call the doctor to tend to your face. You look like you bumped into the heavyweight boxing champ and pissed him off.”
As he disappears, a laugh bursts out of me. All this time, I worried I’d disappoint my father if I admitted the mistakes I’d made, so I buried them. Turns out the only true concern he has is my bruised and battered face.
I’ve never felt more loved, more understood, or more seen than in this moment.
I squeeze Saskia’s hand, where she hasn’t let go of my shoulder since coming to hug me, and get to my feet.
“Guess I’d better call that doctor.”
As I follow my father from the room, multiple hushedvoices break out behind me. I leave them to their gossip and head upstairs, but as I enter the suite of rooms I shared with Grace, a deep depression settles over me. A depression I haven’t felt since our mother died.
Love fucking sucks. Especially when the one you love has been plotting your downfall this entire time, and you didn’t even see it coming.
Chapter Thirty-Four
GRACE
After a dreadful night in a flea-bitten hotel in London—one that didn’t ask for ID or credit cards to rent a room—I rise early and head for the nearest hotel that has a business suite. God, I miss my phone and the ease at which information was at my fingertips, but it’s simply not worth the risk to turn it on.
How did it come to this? Why the fuck did Daniel take matters into his own hands and screw everything up? If he’d waited another day, the outcome would’ve been completely different. Of course, Christian would be infuriated when he found out I’d created a fake identity and married him under false pretenses, but I could have talked to him, explained, and maybe, just maybe, he’d have understood. But this… it’s a catastrophe.
An intensive internet search reveals that the best place to travel to initially is Mexico City. Christian will easily trace my real passport, and I need a large, sprawling metropolis to hide in while I work out how to get my hands on a fake one. After that, I’ll decide where to hunker down and wait it out. Thereare tons of tiny islands off the coast of Central America which aren’t as online or security aware.
Pawning my wedding and engagement rings gives me a wedge of cash that should tide me over for a few weeks until I can find work. I take out enough to pay for an airline ticket, and put the rest into a zip pocket inside my coat. Traveling with that much cash makes me nervous, but I’m not exactly swimming in choices.
I hail a black cab and set off for Heathrow airport.
Mexico, here we come.
Getting my hands on a fake passport wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. Little wonder criminals can move about the world so easily if a slip of a girl from England can source false documentation within two days of landing in a foreign country. It took a chunk of my cash, and I’m pretty sure I got ripped off, but hopefully, once I get settled somewhere, I’ll be able to get a job and earn enough to live on.
Doubts that I’m doing the right thing crowd my mind every second of the day, but I’m committed to the course I’ve chosen. Over and over I keep repeating that this is for the best. Christian and his family are bound to be incandescent with rage at what I’ve done. A cooling off period is best for all of us.
Especially me.
Here’s the thing, though. Having lived inside the lion’s den for these past few months, I got to know the family pretty well, and in my heart of hearts, I don’t think they’d hurt me. Granted, I once did, and yes, when Christian calledand told me to run, panic sent me fleeing to the other side of the world. But now I’m here, this awful feeling that I’ve made a big mistake won’t go away.
The airport is crammed with tourists and locals alike, all eager to get to their destination. Meanwhile, I’m pushing back a creeping sense of dread and constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the killer blow, in a manner of speaking. It’s such a strange feeling to know you’re on the run from someone. It’s an empty pit in the bottom of your stomach. A hollowness that fear is only too happy to fill.
The not knowing is the worst.
What did Daniel do to Christian?
Is Arron okay?
