Page 38 of The Devil's Deceit
He pulls himself upright. “Of course, you couldn’t. No one is blaming you, Grace. If this plan doesn’t work out, then we’ll have to find another way to get to the truth.”
“You and I both know there is no other way. Oakleigh Hall is sealed up tighter than Buckingham Palace. The only way we’re going to find out what really happened to Mum and Dad is for me to gain access to Christian’s private quarters. His office. His car. His phone and computer. You’ve tried to break into their systems, but it’s impossible.”
Arron heaves a deep sigh, the worry lines around his eyes and mouth deepening. “I hate that you’re having to spend time with that bastard. I hate the whole marriage idea.”
“I know it wasn’t our original plan, but we had to pivot or risk losing our one chance to find out what happened.I’m going into this marriage with my eyes wide open. Our parents deserve the truth, and so do we.”
“I just wish there was another way to get it,” he mutters.
“There isn’t, and if Christian bails on this idea, that’s it, Arron. We will never know what really happened. I don’t know how I’ll live with that.”
He squeezes my fingers. “Have faith, Gracie. He told you he doesn’t want an arranged marriage where he’ll have to give up his bachelor lifestyle. That’s the winning ticket. You’re offering him a way to fulfill his familial dutiesandscrew anyone he chooses. He’d be crazy to refuse.”
Arron’s right. All I need to do is have some patience and wait for him to call. Even if he calls to refuse my offer, that will give me one last chance to persuade him. This isn’t the end. Not by a long shot.
Sitting round here waiting for the phone to ring is driving me insane though. I leap up from the couch. “Going out for a run. I can’t stand sitting around for another second.”
“Take your phone,” Arron yells as I head upstairs to get changed.
I change into athletic gear, stuff my phone in the pocket at the back of my sweats, and shove my feet into my running shoes. Running is one of those activities I used to do regularly, but since my parents died I’ve let it slide. But when my mind is spinning and I can’t stop thinking about a particular problem, I’ve always found it enormously helpful.
I get a mile in, and I know it isn’t going to work this time. Thoughts of Christian fill my head, and the most concerning thing of all is that each one is either of him kissing me or doing something kind, like sending me the dress and jewels, or making me laugh and forget who he truly is.
Maybe I am doing the wrong thing. Mum wouldn’t want me to get myself into a dangerous situation for her and Dad. It’s unsettling, but before I met the guy, I found it so easy to hold hatred in my heart. Since that first meeting at the ball, where he showed me the gardens and shared stories of his childhood, I have to keep reminding myself who he is. And when he kisses me, I forget to breathe.
The last thing my parents or what’s left of my family need is me being subsumed to the dark side and forgetting the entire reason I’m there in the first place.
I stop on the corner by a traffic light and wait for it to turn red. I’ve got a stitch, which serves me right for going at it so hard when I haven’t run in months. The last time was the day before Mum and Dad passed away.
My heart clenches, grief coming at me like a steamroller. I brace myself on the nearest lamppost and wait for the wave to pass. The light changes to red, and still I can’t move. My vision clouds, stomach cramping, and I double over, clutching one arm across my abdomen.
The cars move off again. Slowly, my vision restores, my breathing returns to normal, the episode passing and leaving in its wake an emptiness that sends a rush of tears to my eyes. Grief is the oddest emotion. Sometimes days pass where I only think of my parents fleetingly, and always with joy—memories that bring a smile to my face or make me laugh. Other days, like today, it’s as though I’ve been run over, and my body aches from head to toe, mimicking what it would be like if one of these cars zooming past actually did barrel into me.
I have to make this thing with Christian work.
The light turns red again, but instead of crossing, I reverse course and head back the way I came. I’m halfwayhome when my phone rings. I almost break a finger trying to pull it out from my pocket. Christian’s name scrolls across the screen.
Keep calm. Breezy. Friendly.
I hit the answer button and lift it to my ear. “Christian, hi.”
“Grace.” His smooth voice, with that sinful tone, sends a shiver running down my spine. I choose to blame it on the sweat cooling on my body rather than accept the fact it’s him. It’s all him.
“How are things?” I roll my eyes. Small talk is something I’ve always found challenging.
“Where are you?”
“Me? I’m… um… I’m out running.”
“Give me the address. I’ll swing by and pick you up. I want to talk to you about your proposal. I’m outside your place right now.”
Pick me up. Nope. Not happening. I’m too close to my house and too far away from Juliet’s, which is where he thinks I live and where he is right now.
“Not a good idea. I’m sweaty. Go get a coffee somewhere and let me get changed. There’s a half decent café on the high street called Duttons. I’ll meet you there.”
He chuckles. “I don’t mind a bit of sweat. In fact, I quite like the idea of you glowing.”
“Trust me, it’s not an attractive sight.”
