Page 84 of Captive Bride

Tristan

The building is taller than most of the skyscrapers in town. It’s dark, ominous, and foreboding. The Montague headquarters downtown is much more magnificent than the gilded Capulet cage my princess used to live in.

I’m glad to be back in the city.

Country life was nice for a while, especially with Isobel who appreciated the grounds. I’ll miss target practicing with her and showing her the merits of living the good life outside of the city.

In truth, if none of this business or crime or anything existed, I could disappear with Isobel somewhere and be totally happy in the absence of people. I can see us living on a private island, just the two of us. As it is, I have to attend to my family’s dealings, and I’ll always probably have to.

The deals I had to do today involved how to take down her father and her cousin Theo.

He’s been increasingly annoying about trying to find her. I know Isobel cares about Theo, but I’m afraid because he’s in the crossfire. There’s no way around it.

It’s either him or me. He’ll kill me the first chance he has.

I walk into the building and feel better knowing that it’s so secure. I have armed guards everywhere, and trust me, these ones aren’t gonna flip sides.

I pay them too much damn money for that.

I took Isobel here back to the city, straightaway after our little incident in the country. The war has officially started. And I have the wound to prove it.

It was only superficial, but still.

I take the elevator up to my penthouse, and once the doors open, I see her sitting there in a soft leather chair, just relaxing.

The room is imposing. It’s dark, and chic, and modern—just like me. Isobel’s drinking a glass of white wine.

I walk over to her and take it from her hands and help myself to half of it. I need a drink after the day I’ve just had. I’ll bet I need something stronger than wine.

“Hi Tristan,” she says, looking up at me with those blue eyes of hers that make my heart stop every time I see them.

“Hi, baby. I need a fucking drink,” I say, walking over to the bar.

I pour myself a strong glass of scotch and come to join her at her place by the window.

“It really is a breathtaking view, Tristan,” she says to me.

Looking at her, I see that she’s sad.

She’s worried. And I know she feels like she’s back in prison.

Another damn skyscraper keeping her inside.

“I know you don’t like being here, Isobel. I know it’s just like your Capulet home. But we have to keep you safe. At least, until this thing blows over,” I say.

She looks at me with a determined, yet downbeat expression.

“Oh yeah Tristan? When is that gonna be? When are you ever gonna be at peace with my Capulet family?”

I look at her, my eyes pleading.

I need her to understand that this is all about business. It’ll be sorted out soon.

“Isobel, it’s not gonna be like that. I’m resolved to figure this out, sooner rather than later. I want you to be happy.”

She’s pensive. She doesn’t even look at me. This war has been an ongoing source of contention between us for as long as either of us can remember, and I’m fucking sick of it.

I know she’s worried about me. I know she’s worried about her cousin and Thelma.

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