The dilemma, in his mind, was whether they could have each other and remain on good terms when their affair ended. Since she would be the one walking, and would eventually get married and probably move away, maybe it would work.
He absently reached up and rubbed his chest, exactly over his heart. The hardest part of this ridiculous notion would be letting go of her.
He’d face that when the time came.
* * * *
Hannah stood and watched her son stare out his office window. It still gave her shivers to see him there, to know she could go up to him at any time and hug him. Because he looked so alone, she did.
“Mom.”
“Sorry. I have a few years of hugs to make up for. I’ll try to keep them in private.”
She couldn’t hold back her sigh of pleasure when he turned, and returned her embrace fully.
“I love your hugs. I always have. Well, except when, at thirteen, I tried to impress Johanna Carleton with my maturity and worldliness.”
What a treat to hear her son’s voice rumbling under her ear. Inhaling deeply, she loosened her arms and stepped back.
“Johanna Carleton. Which one was she?”
“One you never knew about. Sixteen and stacked.”
“Red, short, curly hair, liked to crack her gum?”
And oh, how she loved the shocked look that swept her son’s face, chased away by his laughter.
“You did know!”
“Of course I did. Is this a bad time?” She wanted him to know she knew something troubled him. The shake of his head, and his smile, seemed very automatic to her.
“Never a bad time for you. What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with your brother. He and his family will be arriving the Saturday before the wedding. Call him, Peter. He needs to hear your voice.” The last she added because she sensed his reluctance. Taking that first step after years of estrangement would be difficult.
“All right, I will.”
“Also, I wanted to ask you something. Alex told me that last night’s dinner would be a “casual, family event.” Is that the most laid back they get?”
“Yeah, threw me for a loop, too, the first time. Actually, I’ve seen them manage with only
one
staff member serving at the farm. But that is super-laid back—what you might call vacation mode. Why?”
Hannah sat in one of the two chairs facing her son’s desk, pleased when he sat down in the other one.
“I had the feeling, last night, that none of them ever…let go.” She felt her face heat as images of Alex letting go drifted across her mind.
Not the time to be thinking about that
.
“From what I gather, things used to be a lot more formal when Queen Liana was alive. That’s why Alex began taking them out to the farm for a couple of weeks every few months. But to hear him tell it, his mother had been another stickler for protocol and formality. I think he does the best he can based on his own experience.”
“Hmm. So he likely wouldn’t be averse to having an even more informal event.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, a bit of an idea I had. You know, under normal circumstances, having been invited to dinner, I’d return the favor.”
“Long way to go for dinner. Not that your cooking isn’t worth it, Mom.”
“Nice save. But yes, it is. If one were to be literal about it.”
* * * *
“You should have told me the truth, Father.”
She caught him off guard. He’d had his entire attention taken up by whatever file he was reading. Now she had it, and she could tell by his look she didn’t need to explain her comment.
“If I had thought for one minute that not doing so would have hurt you, I would have. I’m sorry, Rachel. I only wanted to protect you from something ugly.”
Hard to stay angry with a father who apologized so quickly
. After closing the door behind her, she approached him. “I nearly tore a strip off your security chief.”
She smiled when her father laughed, and she came around his desk when he motioned to her. Like he used to do when she’d been little, he pulled her down onto his lap.
“Peter is a big boy. I think he can handle anything you want to throw at him.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“No? What is it you want to throw at him you don’t think he can handle?”
“Me.”
Looking back, Rachel couldn’t understand how she could have doubted for one minute that her father loved and cherished her. She’d always been able to come to him when troubled, or when she needed to be near him. She used to bring her dolls and play in the corner of his office—quietly, because she didn’t want to disturb him—and he had never turned her away, especially after her mother died.
Damned teenage angst
. She could tell her father anything and everything. She could have then and knew she could now.
Rachel was very aware that he’d said nothing in response to her bold proclamation. But he continued holding her, and he hadn’t tensed.
“Did I just shock you into silence, Papa?”
“No, sweetheart.” Then he surprised her with a chuckle. “I’m trying to muster pity for the poor man. I sense you’ve finally run out of patience waiting for him to notice you.”
Shocked, Rachel straightened and turned so she could see the expression on her father’s face.
“I thought it my secret.”
“Sometimes a father senses when his little girl turns her eyes—and her heart—to another man.”
“And you approve?”
“Of the man? Most certainly.”
Well, that was short and sweet
. “Sometimes a daughter senses an unspoken ‘but.’”
Alex’s brow had creased, the way it sometimes did when he was deep in thought. He spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. “I love you, of course. You know that. But I love him like a son, and have ever since the day he saved your brother’s life. I can tell you he’s done things in the past that have cost him, and have scarred him, on the inside. And I would ask that if you discover what you feel for him isn’t a forever thing, that you be gentle with him.”
“Are you going to tell him to be gentle with me?”
“That isn’t the advice I would give him, no.”
Her father’s eyes twinkled, and she decided not to ask him to elaborate.
And then it occurred to her that her father didn’t feel the need to step in front of
her
in this instance. Partly, she thought, because this was Peter they were discussing. And partly, she realized, because her father did consider her an adult, at least in terms of her relationships.
He sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It frightens me, knowing that someone has enough hate in them they would send letters threatening you. So if I seem overprotective, have pity.”
Rachel kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder. “It scares me, too, Father,” she said. “I don’t know much about things of this nature, but if whomever it is really meant to hurt me, wouldn’t they have done so? I mean, I’ll be careful and do whatever it is Peter wants me to do when we’re outside the grounds. I’d be stupid not to. But it seems to me that a person who sends threats in the mail may only be…sending threats in the mail.”
“I sincerely hope so, sweetheart.”
* * * *
This vantage point wasn’t the best. But if she’d learned one thing from Bjorn, it was to be adaptable. Here, at the edge of the public beach, she could hide in plain sight. Hat, umbrella, book, towel—she could be anyone simply enjoying the summer sunshine and ocean breezes. Every once in a while, she used her binoculars to look out to sea at passing pleasure boats. Two boats seemed to go back and forth, each with a young couple on board.
Probably security
. By turning just so, she could focus the field glasses on the glittering palace.
She knew which windows belonged to the runt. They’d been pointed out to her before—two years before, when the plan had been different.
Now the plan had changed.
Her
plan wasn’t about money, not at all—but
revenge
.
If not for that
bitch
, Bjorn would still be alive. He’d be alive, and they’d be married, and have children. She would have a life instead of this existence, this minimal survival that hurt more every day.
She unclenched her hands and rubbed them on the towel. A cursory look around told her no one watched her in particular. A flash of light caught her attention, and she looked back up at the palace. Below the second floor, she saw what she’d not noticed until then—security guards patrolling the perimeter.
A smile twisted her lips. There’d been no guards last month, before she’d sent the first letter. Good. She studied the angle from the bedroom window to the ground below, and across the small inlet to the city. She took mental note of the scenery. Yes, she could use this.
How excellent that they paid attention. Let them have their boats going back and forth, and their guards parading around. She wasn’t going to do it at the palace, but it would happen, and soon.
She would rid the world of the runt. She’d already settled on her plan. And it was perfect.
She couldn’t see them, but she could hear them, and they were everywhere.
Shivers racked her as she tried to listen, tried to figure out where they waited. But she could only hear them scratching and clawing, and she knew they would find her and then start to nibble on her flesh.
“Look at the baby shaking on the floor. Crawl into the corner, baby, maybe the rats won’t get you there.”
Echoing off the walls, the voice sounded evil, taunting, and the laughter, the laughter was worse. How many people pointed, laughing at her? Terror flooded her in great, soaking waves. Whimpering, she crawled across the filthy floor until, wall against her back, she could crawl no farther. She huddled in the corner and, oh God, the rats came closer and closer.
Rachel shot bolt upright in her bed, her heart pounding, her breath hitching as she scanned the room and reassured herself she was in her own apartment, in her own bed. The small Tiffany lamp on the vanity that she kept turned on every night threw enough light that she could navigate. Tossing the blankets aside, she pulled on her robe, then padded across the bedroom to the enormous high-backed armchair in the corner. Pulling her feet up after her, she huddled in the chair to wait for the echoes of the nightmare to fade.
This had been the second night this week. Always unsettling, she’d nearly convinced herself these night terrors had ended. Until reading those letters. The hatred in them, and her fear, brought the nightmares back.
The first time she had the terrifying dream had been a few weeks after Philip had found her, half dead from a drug overdose. Cocaine. She knew she’d not taken any before. Yeah, she’d smoked some marijuana, tried a bit of hash oil. But she’d told Luc she didn’t want the coke and had been naïve enough to believe that would be the end of it.
She’d been naïve and stupid thinking Luc to be in love with her when all the time he’d planned to use her to extort money from her family.
Thank God Philip had found her, though he’d never said how he’d accomplished the feat. She had her suspicions, but Peter had never said a word, one way or another.
Peter. The increased tension between them wasn’t helping her sleep easier, either. It had been three days since she’d issued her challenge, three days since she’d sat on her father’s lap and confessed all. And in that time, they hadn’t even come face to face.
He’d cleared almost all of the candidates she’d chosen for interview and sent the files back to her via the same route he’d received them. Poor Gina, Rachel thought fondly, had earned a bonus for all the running back and forth she’d been forced to do.
Maybe today things would be better. She had a luncheon appointment with one of the fashion consultants from Haute Mode magazine. She and Peter would have to see each other then, since she would have to leave the palace. But first, she wanted to go to her shop. She wanted to inspect the work being done. If all went well, she’d be interviewing potential staff there in a couple of days.
Today, she’d be a businesswoman, giving her first interview about her new business. There had been so many requests for interviews that she’d considered hiring someone who could work as her assistant, someone who could go through these kinds of things and advise her of the best way to proceed, but she’d decided against it. This was her baby, and she wanted to be involved in every aspect of it. Later, if she became too busy with designing and making her line, she’d reconsider hiring an assistant.
Stifling a yawn, she turned her bleary eyes to the clock. Three
a.m
. Easing out of the chair, she strode back to her bed. Tossing her robe off, she climbed beneath the blankets. She would fall asleep thinking about the myriad things she had to do within the next few days. And hopefully, the nightmare wouldn’t return.
* * * *
“Good morning.”
“Mmm. You’re up early. That’s good. We need to talk.”
Alex laughed, then pulled the half-asleep Hannah closer. “How kind of you to notice that I am, indeed, up.”
“Hard to miss, the way you’re poking me in the butt.”
“Here, let me fix that.” Smiling, he moved her left leg forward, then slid into her from behind.
“Ah, yes, that is much better.”
For the next few moments, Alex focused on gently moving his cock in and out of Hannah, reveling in the warm, wet welcome she always had waiting for him. How had he ever managed to get through a day before her? He had his duties every day, like always, but the sense of being on vacation lingered.