Page 11 of The Devil's Deceit
“Got ditched, huh?” Tobias joins me, nursing a half-drunk glass of champagne.
I swipe it from him and down it in one go. “I didn’t get ditched. She had to leave. Family emergency.”
“Sure, sure.” He reaches for two more glasses from a passing waiter and hands me one. “So, who is she?”
“None of your business.”
Tobias laughs. “Chill, brother. I’m not planning to swoop in. I’m showing an interest in your life, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t.”
“You’re being awfully touchy.”
“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”
Tobias presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”
Bullshit. Nothing bothers Tobias. He’s the easiest going out of all of us and is impossible to offend. “You’re Teflon.”
Throwing back his head, he laughs. “Busted.” Nudging me, he adds, “Dad tells me you’re off the hook with HSE.”
“I wasn’tonthe hook. They carried out an investigation and they’re satisfied there was no wrongdoing by me or my company. It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all.”
He frowns. “But something must’ve made the building collapse.”
I turn to him, eyes drilling into his. “Drop it, Tobias. It’s done. Finished. We move on.”
One hand comes up. “Okay, okay. Don’t get testy.” He drains the rest of his glass. “Want me to stick around?”
“No.”
He shrugs. “Fair enough. Catch you later.” He wanders off, absorbed by the crowds in seconds.
My phone burns a hole in my pocket. The urge to call Grace if only to satisfy myself that it is her number is almost impossible to ignore. The connection I felt with her is rare enough to have piqued my interest, but calling now may make her withdraw even more. Better to leave it a couple of days and then make my move.
I float from group to group, making small talk as is expected of me, but once I see Dad deep in conversation with our local member of parliament, I slip out of the ballroom. They’ll talk politics for hours, meaning I get a reprieve. Instead, I find a quiet corner and put in a call to the driver who took Grace and her friend home. He assures me they got home safely.
I have some work ahead of me to win over the rather lovely Lady Grace Ambrose, but that’s okay. I’m ready for the challenge.
I love women. All women. But thinking of a particular woman before I go to bed and having my mind travel to her the second I wake up is new.
Looks as though I have a little obsession building over the rather lovely Grace. I’ve never been fixated on a person before. I’m not sure whether I’m a fan or not. Time will tell. One thing is certain though: I’m not letting another moment pass without calling her.
After I’ve showered and dressed, I answer a few urgent emails, then get up from my desk to lock my office door. Just my luck to be laying the charm on thick only for one of my brothers, or worse, Saskia, to interrupt me. I’ll get ribbed for weeks. I don’t lose my head over women. Ever. I enjoy their company until my enthusiasm wanes, then I wait for the next one to catch my attention. And even though I’m keener on Grace than I have been on anyone in a while, maybe ever, the same will eventually happen with her. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself until that time comes.
Now Nicholas is married, it won’t be long before the focus turns on me, and I intend to get my kicks while I’m still free to get them. Once my father chooses a bride for me, that’s it. My playboy days are over. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that. Dreading it would be a better description. If I had a way to skip it, I’d hurtle down that avenue like a sprinter racing for the finish line with his rival breathing down his neck. The problem is, arranged marriages are what we do, what weare,and there is no skipping.
I dial the number my research uncovered as Grace’s. The call connects. One ring, two, three. She probably screens when there’s no caller ID. I wait for her voicemail to kick in. When it does, I disconnect and open the text app.
Me: Grace, it’s Christian De Vil. Are you free for a call?
I stare at the screen, willing her to reply. A full five minutes pass, then three dots appear. I hold my breath.
Grace: Sure.
I’m smiling as I hit redial. This time, she answers.
“Hi, Christian.”
