Page 20 of The Devil's Deceit
“No, it isn’t.”
I’m not sure whether the waiter choosing that moment to bring our food is a good thing or a bad thing. I half expect Christian to ask for the bill and leave the food untouched. He stares at it for a few seconds as if he is considering that as an option. Then he picks up his knife and fork and cuts off a slice of duck.
“Eat, Grace, before it gets cold.”
“Christian, I am sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
His lips close around the tines, and he chews, swallows, then sets his fork on the side of his plate. “That was a difficult time for me and my family, and we’re still dealing with the repercussions of it. Not to mention two people lost their lives. I would rather not dwell on it if it’s all the same to you.”
His mention of my parents is like a punch to the gut. Somehow, I hold myself steady when every instinct in me wants to pitch me forward, to clutch my abdomen and rock in place at the pain coursing through my entire body.
We lapse into silence. I pick at the food, my appetite vanishing as fast as Christian’s mask of civility and charm. Hehas no such trouble, polishing off the entire plate. After dabbing his mouth with his napkin, he drops it on the table and rises to his feet.
“It’s late. I’ll see you home.”
“I drove in,” I say, my voice small. “My car is parked by the Royal Albert Hall.”
“I’ll take you there. Shall we?”
“Don’t you need to pay?”
“They’ll put it on my account.” He doesn’t wait for me, beelining for the exit as if the place is on fire. My shoulders droop as I trail after him. This time, I truly have done it. There’s no coming back from this.Idiot. I’m a fucking idiot.
I’m not a fan of silences at the best of times, but when they’re as uncomfortable as the short journey back to the Royal Albert Hall, I consider throwing myself out of the moving vehicle just to escape the agony that is this car ride.
As we approach the theater, I mumble directions to my car. His driver pulls in behind me. I hesitate, scrambling for something to say that will fix this.
“Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Lame, but I’m not sure there’s anything I could say right now to piece this disaster back together.
“Drive home safely.” He’s like a robot, all staccato pronunciation and a face that hardly moves.
I climb out and shut the door behind me. His car moves away, leaving me standing on the street with my plans in tatters.
Chapter Eight
CHRISTIAN
Admitting I’m wrong when I’ve made a mistake has always challenged me in uncomfortable ways. It reinforces my deep-rooted belief that I’m not as smart or as capable as the rest of my family is, and that’s something I avoid at all costs. My discomfort with it is so profound, it’s led me to the place I’m in. A place where I’m blackmailing officials to cover up Nexus’s collapse because I can’t ever let my family find out what happened.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not averse to blackmail, per se. I’ve used it many times to push through a deal, get better pricing, or myriad other reasons. It’swhythe blackmail was necessary in this instance I’m having trouble with.
I hate lying on any level, but lying to my family is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Since the publication of the HSE report released to the media, it’s as though I’m some kind of hero in their eyes. To them, I handled a tough situation that could have had catastrophic, or at least highly unpleasant, consequences for my family, and I made it go away.
No one has questioned the why of it all. My father, my brothers, my sister, they’ve all just accepted my word for it that it’s sorted, and they no longer need to concern themselves with the details.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck in a vortex of untruths that keep me awake at night.
Guilt is a new concept to me. I reached the grand old age of twenty-eight (almost twenty-nine) before I realized what a fucking vile emotion that is. If I’d had my way, I’d have gone to my grave never knowing the self-loathing it brings. It doesn’t matter that Grania and Drew Taylor were culpable in their own demise. If I’d concentrated more on checks and balances and less on which of the women in my black book I’d be fucking that weekend, maybe I’d have noticed something awry. Or at least asked more fucking questions.
I am responsible for a huge portfolio of properties, and I’m usually diligent with the management of each and every one. It’s diligence and attention to detail that help me avoid mistakes and make sure I’ve covered all the bases, but with Nexus, I trusted the Taylors far more than I should have. This wasn’t our first rodeo. I’d worked with them both on several other projects. Maybe that was the problem all along. I got toocomfortable.
Their kids cross my mind a lot. They might be adults, but losing a parent at any age fucking sucks. Ask me how I know. I was only eight when my mother took an overdose and drowned in the bath, and I still miss her twenty years later. Time doesn’t heal a damn thing. It only makes it easier for us to live with our grief.
But guilt… that’s a whole other ballgame. I’d choose grief over guilt every goddamn time.
It’s nine days since I went on that date with Grace, and Istill cringe at how I ended the evening. When she brought up the building collapse, I acted like a complete jerk, cutting her tentative questions down with a scythe sharp enough to shred metal. I’ve picked up my phone several times to call her and apologize. On each occasion, I’ve ended the call before it connected. I doubt she wants to hear from me again.
