Devils Don't Fly (Love Me, I'm Famous Book 4)

by M. H. Soars

  “Oh yes. You’re quite the talented musician. I love all your songs, but my favorite is your duet with Ollie. It’s so beautiful.”

  The song I still haven’t been able to listen fully. I drop my gaze to my lap. “Thanks.”

  “Saylor wrote a new song. It’s just as good,” Oliver pipes up.

  “Oh, you did? Wonderful. We have a piano here. Perhaps you would like to sing it for us after dinner?”

  Panic seizes me. I look wide-eyed in Oliver’s direction, trying to convey to him how not ready I am for a public performance. In fact, I can’t believe I had the cajones to give him the new music sheet in the first place.

  “Maybe another time, Nana. She hasn’t even played for me yet. I’m calling dibs on the first performance.”

  Gilbert enters the room and announces that dinner is served. We all stand up, but Oliver and I hang back and wait for everyone to leave the room. He moves closer, placing a warm hand on my hips. “How are you holding up? Do you need a drink?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Sorry about my mother. My father’s illness only made her worse than she already was.”

  “I can handle her. It’s your grandma I’m worried about.”

  “Why? She’s clearly taken with you.”

  “I know. That’s the problem. I’m afraid she’s going to ask again for me to sing one of my songs. I’m not ready for that.”

  “Hey, sugar. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.” He leans closer to whisper in my ear. “The only singing you’ll be doing tonight is a thousand yeses when I make you come so hard, even the mile-away neighbors will hear you.”

  He takes a step back to watch my face burst into flames. His sinful lips turn into a wolfish grin. Blast Oliver and his dirty mouth. Now I’m all hot and bothered. I’ll need a bucket of icy water to cool down.

  But two can play this game. I casually brush my hand against his crotch as I walk around him and say, “I can’t wait.”

  Twenty-One

  Oliver

  Despite my mother being the usual stuck-up bitch, dinner is a pleasant affair. Thank all the gods for Nana, who diverts Mum’s not-so-veiled insults at Saylor. Using her sarcastic sense of humor, she annihilates Lydia. You can’t win against Adeline Best.

  Saylor is laughing at something Nana said, but I’ve missed the joke, too busy staring at my gorgeous wife. I can finally see the woman I fell in love with. Before, it felt like she was hiding from me, maybe even hiding from herself. Now she glows.

  My hand sneaks under the table to squeeze her thigh over the fabric of her dress. I won’t dare doing anything more scandalous, not wanting to put Saylor in an uncomfortable position.

  There’s no birthday cake for me, as my family knows better. I haven’t had a cake to celebrate the occasion since Harry’s passing. My chest is tight as I think about my brother, and being in this house doesn’t help. The ache is always there, a dull reminder of my darkest sin. No matter what I do, I will always carry that burden. It will never allow me to soar to a place where guilt doesn’t exist. Devils don’t fly.

  Mum places her napkin down and looks pointedly at me. “Your father would like to have a word with you.”

  I haven’t seen the man since I arrived. Mum told he was too tired for visitors, so why the change of heart?

  Grandma makes a tsking sound, leaning back in her chair. She’s openly glaring at Mum.

  “You said he was too weak to see anybody,” Charlotte says.

  “Well, considering it’s your brother’s birthday, Frank is willing to make the sacrifice.”

  Just twist the dagger a little deeper, why don’t you?

  Standing up, I say, “It’s okay. Might as well see what the old man has to say.”

  I don’t bother glancing in my mother’s direction as I walk out of the dining room. She probably looks like she’s sucking on a sour grape.

  My parents’ country house is the same as I remember, even though I haven’t been here since I was old enough to go off on my own, and they couldn’t drag me back. There are too many god-awful memories. If I close my eyes, I can still hear Harry’s hurried steps as he tries to catch up with me.

  Don’t think about him now.

  With each step I take up the stairs and then down the hallway toward my father’s room, I vest myself in an imaginary protective armor. Steeling myself is the only way I can cope being in the presence of my father. He was never a kind man before Harry’s death, but afterward, he turned vile.

  I don’t bother knocking before I push the door open. The room is surprisingly bright with all the lights on. The plasma screen mounted on the wall is showing some type of game show, but the sound is too low for anyone to hear anything. The original bed has been replaced by a hospital setup, currently in a semi-reclined position. Dad is asleep, but if it wasn’t for the monitoring machine next to his bed showing his steady heartbeat, I would think him to be dead. His skin is ashen, almost translucent.

  His eyes flicker open once I approach, watching me in silence until I stand next to his bed. They’re glazed and red, the dark circles under them a stark contrast against his sickly pale skin.

  “You wanted to see me?” I force out.

  “I heard you got married.” His voice is weak, not the booming one that used to put fear in my heart when I was a kid.

  “Yes.”

  “I would congratulate you if I thought it was something that deserved any praise.”

  “Did you ask me to come here so you could tell me how disappointed you are in my actions? I guess almost dying hasn’t changed you at all.”

  Ignoring my comment, he continues, “Did you have her sign a prenup, at least?”

  I clench my jaw hard before I respond. “No.”

  “You irresponsible cad. I don’t care what you do with the filthy money you ‘earned’ by shaking your ass to a bunch of deranged girls, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let a low-class gold digger have a dime of my fortune.”

  Hot rage makes my blood boil. How dare he insult Saylor. My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath, holding it in while my hands curl into fists by my sides. It takes a Herculean effort to not yank the oxygen tube from my father’s nose. It’s probably what’s keeping him alive.

  That’s Frank Best, able to make me want to commit murder even from his deathbed.

  “I don’t give a damn about your fucking money.”

  “Good, because you aren’t getting any. It’s a pity your brother left us too soon. God took away the only child who was worth anything.”

  Oh yeah. Here we go again. It’s not the first time he’s flung that horseshit my way. I bet if the roles were reversed, if I had died and Harry was alive, Frank Best would say the exact same vile things to him.

  “Hate me all you want, but what did Charlotte ever do to you?”

  My father snorts. “That little leech? She’s your mother’s project. She’s not a true Best.”

  I stare at my father with mouth agape, trying to figure out if he had a stroke as well.

  “What do you mean she’s not a true Best? Because she’s a girl? You disgust me.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “Rot in hell.” I turn, ready to get the hell out of the room.

  “Harry was always the better son. I wish you were the one who had died.”

  Clenching my jaw tight, I step into the hallway, closing the door with enough force to rattle the pictures on the wall. God damnit! Why did I let him get to me like that? I thought his hateful words could no longer affect me, but boy, was I wrong. I feel like punching something.

  I can’t let Saylor see me like this.

  I veer toward the secondary set of stairs, the one that leads into the kitchen. There I find the family’s private chef cleaning up the place. He stops what he’s doing to glance at me.

  “May I assist with anything, Mr. Best?”

  “Yes, where do you keep your stash of alcohol?”

  “What kind? We have wine, whiskey—”

/>   “Give me the whiskey.”

  The guy ventures into the storage room and comes back with an unopened bottle of Chivas Regal. I don’t thank him when I curl my hands around the dark bottle, too focused putting as much distance between me and my father. I step into the back courtyard, the cold winter air immediately going through my sweater and chilling me to the bone. There’s no way to retrieve my coat without walking by the dining room, so suffer I must. The whiskey will keep me warm.

  The darkness around me thickens until it’s almost absolute. The sky is cloudy—shocker—so I get nothing in terms of celestial illumination.

  That’s fine, I know this place like the back of my hand. I veer toward the edge of the forest that surrounds the property, hoping the old tree house is still there. Our childhood chauffeur built it for Harry and me. It used to be our favorite hangout spot until I got too old and stupid to want to play with my baby brother. That’s my biggest regret, not treating Harry better.

  I break the seal of the bottle, bringing the rim to my lips. The whiskey burns my throat as it goes down, but it’s a welcome pain. Warmth spreads throughout my limbs and some of the tension melts away.

  “Much better.”

  After a couple of minutes walking through the thick vegetation, I can finally make out the silhouette of the tree house out in the distance. In the gloom, I can’t tell what shape the structure’s in. Do I fucking care? Not one bit.

  Once under the house, I test the wood planks nailed to the tree trunk—the makeshift ladder. The planks are a bit wobbly, but I think they can handle my weight. Cradling the bottle in one arm, I climb up until my head breaks through the opening in the floor of the house. No critters are bunking here, so I push myself all the way up. We used to keep toys, blankets, and snacks here, but they’re long gone. It’s only me and Chivas tonight.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Twenty-Two

  Saylor

  As soon as Oliver leaves the table to see his dad, we relocate to the living room to sit by the fireplace and drink. Lydia doesn’t linger long, and when she retires to her room, the change in the atmosphere is palpable.

  I don’t mind Oliver’s absence. It gives me the chance to get to know his grandmother better. She’s a hoot, so clever and funny. Her wicked sense of humor has me in tears more than once. Time flies without me noticing, and it’s only when she declares she’s tired that I realize how late it is. Oliver’s been gone for two hours.

  “Do you think Ollie is still with your dad?” I ask Charlotte.

  “Shit, he’s been gone for a long time, huh? I don’t think so. Oliver and Dad don’t get along. I doubt their conversation went smoothly. He probably went back to the guesthouse.”

  “Maybe,” I say without really believing my statement. A sense of foreboding drips down my spine. Oliver wouldn’t bail like this without cause.

  With a sense of urgency, I head to the entry hall. Gilbert appears like magic to hand me my coat. He also has Oliver’s.

  “Have you seen Oliver?”

  “No, ma’am. But our chef informed me that Mr. Best stopped by the kitchen earlier and commandeered a bottle of whiskey before he went for a stroll.”

  “He went out in the cold without his jacket? Is he insane? It’s freezing out there,” I say.

  “Mr. Best is not known for being a sensible lad.”

  I grab my coat from him, stepping out into the freezing night before I finish putting it on. Then I break into a run, hoping to find Oliver in the guesthouse. Something happened. I know it in my bones.

  I call his name as I open the door, but the only greeting I receive is from Felix. He comes bouncing my way, wagging his tail and barking with joy. I rub his head, then go check every single room with the dog close on my heels. As I feared, Oliver isn’t here. I call his cell phone and it goes straight to voice mail.

  Shit. Where did he go?

  There’s nothing around for miles, and I don’t think he drove into town. I would’ve heard the noise if a car left the property.

  An idea strikes me. I go back into the room Oliver claimed and grab the first piece of clothing I can find, a white T-shirt. I bring it to my nose, inhaling his signature scent. This should work. Next, I go to my room to change from my high-heeled shoes into sensible boots. I grab a hat as well. If I’m going to brace the cold weather, I ought to be prepared.

  “Come here, boy.” I signal to Felix, placing Oliver’s shirt in front of his nose. “Take a good whiff of this. Let’s go find Daddy.”

  I have no idea if Felix will be able to do that. I’m sure dogs require training in order to track specific scents, but it’s the only idea I have.

  We venture back out and I use the flashlight app in my phone to illuminate the way. Felix takes off, and I have to run to keep up with him. I hope he’s leading me to Oliver and not on wild-goose chase. When he disappears through a cluster of trees, I curse out loud. Going into a forest in the middle of the night is not how I envisioned the evening ending.

  The things I do for you, Oliver.

  I call Felix’s name when I can no longer see him, and he barks a response farther ahead before coming back to me. He runs in circles a couple of times, then takes off once more. I think he wants me to follow him. I increase my pace, careful not to trip over an exposed tree root or hole in the ground. It wouldn’t do to fall and twist an ankle. Losing mobility again would suck balls.

  I find Felix barking at a tree, more specifically at the tree house that sits on top.

  “Oliver, are you there?”

  “Go away, sugar. I don’t want you to see me like this” comes his slurred response.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s drunk.

  I turn off the flashlight and put my phone back into my pocket. Climbing up the makeshift steps proves to be a challenge. I can move my left arm, but I still have difficulty making my fingers cooperate, so I ball my hand into a fist instead of trying to grab the wooden plank. I scratch my knuckles in the process, but at least I’m making progress. I’m glad I’m no longer wearing heels, though.

  Once I reach the top, I find Oliver sitting in a corner with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

  “I asked you to go away, Saylor.”

  Leaning on my elbow, I pull myself all the way up. Then I throw Oliver’s coat at him. “No, you ordered me to go away. Too bad I don’t take orders from drunk asshats.”

  He doesn’t move, just keeps staring at me with his mouth partially open while I tower over him, glaring.

  “Well, at least you finally get to see who you married.”

  He brings the bottle to his lips again, making me see red. Before he finishes his first sip, I take it from him.

  “Hey!”

  “You’ve had plenty.”

  I sit next to him, making sure the bottle is out of his reach. Without glancing at his face, I ask, “What happened?”

  “The usual. I was reminded how worthless I am.”

  “You’re not worthless.”

  He snorts. “You know nothing. You remember nothing.”

  I wince. My eyes prickle, but I won’t cry over such a childish insult.

  “That was harsh.”

  “It’s the fucking truth, isn’t it? You know I had a younger brother, right? Did you know that he’s dead because of me?”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Open your eyes, sugar. I’m a monster. If you were smart, you would pack your things and run away while you can.”

  “What did your father say to you?” I glance at his profile, noticing the hard-set of his jaw.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I pinch his chin with my forefinger and thumb, forcing him to look at me. “It does matter.”

  “He told me again that he wished I was the one who died. Happy now?” He pushes my hand away and makes a motion to stand up. I jump on his lap, straddling him and keeping him in place.

  “No, I’m not happy. I’m fucking sad. No one deserves a parent who wishes them dead. I don�
�t know your father and quite frankly, I don’t want to ever meet the man. He’s vile and blind.” I touch Oliver’s cold cheek. “I don’t remember the past year, but in the short period of time we’ve lived together, I saw you. You’re a wonderful person, Ollie. Patient, caring, loyal. Yes, you have a colorful past, but so what? It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Saylor—”

  I place a finger over his lips, silencing him. “The world would’ve been a sadder place if you weren’t in it, Ollie. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with a man twice if he wasn’t worthy.”

  “What did you say?”

  I bring our foreheads together, holding his face between my hands. “I love you, Oliver. So damn much.”

  Our restraint breaks loose, the stretched cord finally snapping, and Oliver’s mouth is on mine. I get a taste of his whiskey-flavored tongue, but it doesn’t matter. I surrender to that kiss, tasting the saltiness from tears as well. Whose, I don’t know.

  Everything happens in a blur. We’re all tongues, teeth, and limbs. Oliver’s hand is already under my skirt, traveling to where I so desperately need it to be. When his fingers swipe against my core, I moan loudly. I’ve been craving his touch for so long, it almost sends me over the edge. As much as I love foreplay, I don’t care for it in this moment; I need to feel Oliver inside of me so I can believe this is finally happening.

  I slide off his lap and lie on the hardwood floor, rolling the thick tights off my legs. Oliver watches me, paralyzed, as if he too can’t believe this is happening. I want to make it very clear to him so I pull my dress up, bunching the fabric waist-high, and open my legs as an offering.

  “I want you inside of me, husband. Fast and hard.”

  “A woman after my own heart. Wish granted, wife.”

  Oliver makes quick work of his pants, his rock-hard erection springing free in the next moment. I don’t have time to admire his length before he’s between my legs, the tip of his cock teasing my entrance. He brings one of my legs over his shoulder, kissing the inside of my knee before leaning over me, his nose brushing against mine.