Defiance of the Heart (Book 2)

by Monica James

  Will, the building’s security guard, waves at me as I enter the elevator. So far, so good.

  When I reach my floor, I prepare myself for battle. There is no way Jenn will let me in to see him if I go in all gung-ho. I have to play it cool. I have to put on my lawyer face and walk into that office like I own it.

  I see Jenn sitting behind her round white desk. She is speaking to someone on the phone, but when she peers overhead and sees me strolling casually toward her, she quickly ends the call. Great. I don’t let it deter me, though.

  “Hi, Jenn!” I say with a little too much pep. She wheels her seat back a fraction. I wonder if she’s reaching for the panic button. “Is my fiancé in?”

  Those words burn my throat, but I try my best to smile.

  She doesn’t buy it. “Um, no, sorry. He had a meeting across town. I don’t expect him to be back for hours.”

  When you’ve been in the game for as long as I have, you learn that actions speak a lot louder than words. By the way her eyes are darting back and forth as if seeking an escape route and the sudden flush to her cheeks, it’s apparent she’s lying out of her ass. But unlike her, I’m a very good liar.

  “That’s okay. He’s always working so hard. I’ll catch him later.” I literally see her exhale in relief. However, as I go to turn, I halt, pretending my love-lust brain was too caught up in seeing Lincoln, that I forgot to mention, “Oh, someone called Henry was looking for you. I saw him by the coffee machine when I walked in.”

  I raise my shoulders innocently, but I know she’s about to launch from her seat because her office crush is supposedly seeking her out. I know this because Lincoln told me some guy named Henry was hanging around her.

  Mean, I know, but so is protecting an asshole.

  She falls for the bait. “Oh my god. Really?”

  “Yes, I overheard him talking to a bunch of very handsome men.” I wink, hoping this camaraderie will give me some leeway.

  It does.

  “Oh my god,” she repeats, yanking open her desk drawer. The contents rattle as she shoves aside whatever stands in her way. She produces a lip gloss wand and cakes her lips a deep red. “Thank you for telling me!”

  I don’t get a word in edgewise before she leaves skid marks in her haste as she rushes off in search of Henry.

  I can wrestle with my conscience later because I only have a few minutes before she’s back with security. With no time to waste, I charge over to Lincoln’s door and rip it open. I’m surprised to see him working behind his huge desk and not getting a blow job by the new intern.

  He does a double take when he sees me but soon composes himself. “Babe, what a nice surprise.” He places his gold pen onto the desk, smiling slyly.

  It just enrages me further. “Oh, cut the shit. What do you want?” I storm over, not interested in humoring him a second more.

  “You know what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  I’m stopped dead in my tracks because I was not expecting that response. “You can’t be serious? After everything, you think I’d really parade around like your prized poodle?”

  He steeples his fingers and shrugs. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “Is that what you call ruining Emily’s life? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

  “I’m doing no such thing. Belle is the one who seems intent on making us one big happy family,” he calmly states. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.

  “Stop her then. You’re the one who called her in apparent tears.”

  “Crocodile tears. A means to an end really.”

  “You’re disgusting. I can’t believe I ever felt a shred of love for you.”

  He flinches, alerting me that under this bravado, I can still hurt him. But he’s quick to recover. “This could have been done with. It still can.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There is a company dinner in my honor. This can all end. You know what I want.”

  So, it appears Tony Petrov hasn’t pulled the plug. If he had, this dinner wouldn’t be happening. My disgust at being in the same room as him overrides my disappointment.

  “I want you to take a slow walk through heavy traffic, but we can’t always have what we want.”

  He has the gall to laugh. “It appears you’re wrong. Happily ever after is possible after all.” When his eyes drop to my ring, I curse my error.

  Even though Belle would have told him London and I got married, I shouldn’t have come in here, flaunting it. It’s like waving a red flag in front of an angry bull.

  “Go to hell. I won’t be blackmailed by you.”

  “Then I will never sign those adoption papers!” he counters angrily, shooting up and slamming his fist against the desk.

  His violence stuns me, and I jump back.

  My reaction is music to his narcissistic ears. “Oh yes, I know it all. Belle told me London intends on adopting my daughter. Well”—he rounds the desk slowly—“you can tell him from me…over my dead body.”

  With London involved, that could be arranged.

  There is no reasoning with him, and besides, I’m running out of time. “I’ll be sure to pass the message on. I’m pretty sure his response will be along the lines of fuck you.”

  He tips his head back, laughing. He knows he’s won. “I’ll be seeing you very soon. Remember, I love you in red.”

  Blanching, I think back to the last red garment I wore. My red bikini. Lincoln has managed to taint a memory which I once held dear to my heart.

  I exit, slamming the door shut.

  Not wanting to push my luck, I make a mad dash for the stairwell, breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t get hauled off by security.

  When I hit the sidewalk, I bend at the waist and breathe steadily. Lincoln siphoned off my air supply.

  I can’t believe he still wants to proceed with our original agreement. How desperate is he? But this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him wanting me to submit, to humiliate me, and for me to surrender, something I have never done before.

  Yes, I have connections, but this is personal. This is him finally winning—being the victor over both London and me.

  Coming to a slow stand, this time, I allow the tears to flow because there is no way around it. There is no exit. No magical potion this time. I have to do this, but for me to surrender, I know London will hate me for it.

  I wander the streets of NYC just as I did when I first arrived. I was so in love with this city, and everything was so new. I could forget who I was and what I’d done. But you can’t run away from your past forever. I’ve been reminded of this fact time and time again.

  I thought London and I had beaten fate at her own game. But I’m starting to think I was wrong.

  Every time we take one step forward, we end up taking three back. He hasn’t called me or text in over five hours. Unable to avoid the inevitable any longer, I head back to our hotel, unsure what I’m walking into.

  Will he still be mad? Will he forgive me? Or will he even be there at all? There are endless possibilities, all of which have me rubbing my chest over my heart.

  Swiping the key card though the slot, I open the door and enter cautiously. I don’t realize how frantically my heart is beating until my eyes lock with London’s and everything settles.

  “Princess.” He jumps up from the sofa and sprints over.

  I stand tall, not daring to breathe.

  But when he pulls me into his arms, fisting my hair, everything falls quiet—except the staccato of his beating heart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I was out of line. You have every right to tell me to go to hell,” he says in a rushed breath.

  I choke on my looming tears as they’re shed in relief. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” he argues. “You were only trying to help me, and I bit off your head. I’m a fucking asshole. I’m sorry.” He squeezes me tighter. “This thing is just eating m
e up inside. I don’t know what to do. I’m so angry, but most of all, I’m scared.”

  He holds on tighter—if that’s possible.

  “What happened? Did you see him?” His disgust is apparent.

  “Yes.” I need a moment before I divulge what we discussed. “He will stop this if I agree to the terms of our agreement.”

  “What the fuck?” he spits, his chest rumbling in utter spite.

  “I know. It’s crazy, but this isn’t about his name anymore. It’s about his pride. He wants to punish us. He knows what this will do to you and what it will do to me.”

  His silence is worrying.

  “Maybe I should just do it?” I put it out there, but when I feel him tense, I know what his response to that suggestion will be.

  “No. This isn’t negotiable. You say yes, then what’s next? He won’t stop.”

  I tend to agree with him, but I’m running out of ideas. “What do you suggest we do then? Have you gotten a hold of Belle?”

  “No.”

  I don’t need to say it. Without her, we’re screwed.

  “Maybe I can write up a new agreement? Just one dinner—”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about this,” he cuts me off. “One dinner is one too many. One dinner will cost just how much?” I knew what he was implying. Dinner wouldn’t be enough. It never was. “I can’t stand the thought of it. Of him touching you.”

  His reaction to my suggestion is no surprise; his response, however, is. “So what do we do?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “How?”

  Silence.

  “What’s going on?” I pull out of his arms, beseeching him to tell me what’s happening.

  He only shakes his head, lips pressed tight. “Trust me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I trusted you, and now, it’s your turn to trust me.” Those words send a chill straight through me.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. He’s not worth it.” I don’t know what he has planned, but I can’t imagine it’s good.

  “No, but you’re worth it.” He places a hand on my cheek, cupping me softly. I nuzzle into his touch.

  “What are you going to do?” I whisper, almost afraid to hear his response.

  The question lingers, never getting an answer…well, not for tonight, anyway.

  Even after five days pass, London remains tight-lipped, refusing to divulge what exactly “I’ll handle it” means.

  No matter how many times I ask, he won’t budge. It’s beyond frustrating because I can’t even guess what he has planned. We’ve been working with Mitch, attempting to breathe life into the case of adopting Emily, but we all know it’s futile. Without Belle, London’s hopes are dwindling.

  I haven’t heard from Lincoln since our unfortunate meeting, and I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. The fact Belle still hasn’t been in contact tips the scales toward this ending ugly. London hasn’t spoken to Emily in days, and that has resulted in me watching him become a shell of who he once was.

  I’m helpless, we both are, and I hate it. No matter how positive I attempt to be, this just goes from bad to worse. London refuses to acknowledge much. He simply stands on the balcony, staring off into the distance. He doesn’t eat or sleep. He is just existing.

  This is breaking my heart into tiny pieces because when we argued, at least I knew the anger was driving him. But now, it’s like he’s on cruise control. I ask if he wants to discuss it, but he says he has nothing to say.

  I know he isn’t angry with me, but I can’t help but feel like it’s personal, especially when he’s on the phone with someone quite often. When I ask who it is, he brushes me off, saying it’s work. He can talk to them, but he can’t talk to me. He’s shutting me out, and each day, I feel us drifting further apart.

  I thought marriage would bring us closer together, but it hasn’t. It seems to have driven a wedge between us because London obviously doesn’t feel like he can talk to me about this.

  Tonight is bitterly cold, reflecting my mood and how I’m constantly feeling these days. I’m sitting in front of my laptop because working takes my mind off everything. I’ve given up asking London if he wanted dinner about two hours ago because he didn’t reply.

  He just sat in front of the TV, not really watching the flickering picture.

  This distance is killing me. I feel like a part of me is missing, and I suppose it is.

  The only way to deal with this shitstorm is by having a glass, or more like a bottle, of wine most nights. I know it isn’t a solution, but it’s the only thing that’s helping me get by.

  As I’m reading over some legal paperwork, London’s cell chimes. I almost hit the ceiling from my jolt because I was lost in the silence. I turn over my shoulder to see him look at the screen and get up to go out onto the balcony.

  He clearly doesn’t want me to hear his conversation. This secrecy has got to stop.

  Deciding to deal with the repercussions later, I stand, following him. I only get wind of the end of the conversation. “I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up, guilt instantly following when we lock eyes.

  “Who was that?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.

  “I have to go sign some paperwork for the bar,” he says, avoiding my question.

  Peering down at my watch, I arch a brow. “It’s after nine.”

  He shrugs, quickly pocketing his phone. “New York is the city that never sleeps.” He’s nervous. Why?

  “London,” I say, my voice heavy as I know he’s lying. “Talk to me. Please. You’ve been avoiding me these past few days. I can’t help unless you talk to me.”

  He sighs, running a hand down his face and over his full beard. “There is nothing to talk about. Whatever we say leads to the same outcome. I’m sick of talking.”

  I have tried my hardest not to lead with my emotions, but I can’t do it anymore. With tears filling my eyes, I beg that he lets me in. “I’m scared of losing you. I know I’m being s-selfish, but you’re my wo-world, and when you’re not in it, everything crumbles.” I bury my head in palms, ashamed I can’t pull it together. “I feel like I’m losing you. Each day, I don’t know if I’ll wake up, and you’ll be there.”

  “Oh, Princess.” That name jumpstarts my heart because I haven’t heard it in what feels like forever. “Come here.” I don’t have a choice because he drags me into his arms and hugs me tightly.

  I sob into his shoulder, hating that he’s comforting me when I should be the one comforting him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his cheek resting atop my head. “It’ll all make sense soon. I promise. But right now, I have to go. You stay here, okay?”

  I never want to let him go. He will have to pry my fingers from him. But when he gently coaxes me to release him, I eventually do.

  Wiping away the tears from both cheeks, I sniff. “When will you be back?” When his eyes drop to his motorcycle boots, I hug my middle. “Are you coming back?”

  This shouldn’t be a hard question. It’s a yes or no.

  “Of course, I am.”

  It’s hard to believe him when he refuses to look at me. But I have no other choice than to let him go.

  Once upon a time, he let me go, thinking he was doing the right thing, and now, I have to do the same thing. I could demand he stay—give him an ultimatum—but that won’t achieve a thing. All it will do is drive an even bigger wedge between us.

  “Okay. I love you.”

  There is something weighing heavily on him, and when he opens his mouth, I think he’s going to finally tell me what’s going on. But he doesn’t. “I love you, Princess. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

  If he spoke these words to me in any other situation, I would be touched. But now, they leave me with a sense of foreboding. “Why do I feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

  “It’ll never be goodbye between us.” He storms over and crushes his mouth to mine.
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  We are frantic, pawing at each other, desperate to fill the void that has been missing from our lives for days. This kiss is soaked with desperation, longing, but most of all, it’s filled with finality. Whatever happens from this moment forward will change us forever.

  A salty wetness passes over my lips and into my mouth, but I don’t know whose tears I’m tasting. London pulls away before I get a chance to ask.

  “Good night, Princess.”

  “Good night,” I repeat softly. He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering, savoring our touch as he brushes over my ring, before he turns his back and walks out the door.

  I stand still, watching the doorway, hoping the door will open and he will come charging back in. But he doesn’t. I’m alone. When a few minutes pass, it’s evident he won’t be returning.

  This is the first time in my entire life I’ve ever felt this way—I’m utterly defeated. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where London is going, or if he’ll be back. I know I’ve been through this before, but it feels different this time.

  As much as every part of my body is telling me to storm out that door and follow, I don’t. There’s a reason London has decided to keep whatever this is quiet. But that look he gave me leaves me wanting to be sick.

  I may have made peace with the fact that I won’t follow, but I’ll be damned if I leave him out there, unmanned.

  Reaching for my cell, I dial Detective Freddy Gomez. No surprise, it goes to voicemail. I leave a brief message, asking him to call me back. I may not want police protection for me, but that doesn’t apply for London.

  With no other option now, I wait.

  London said he’ll be back, and I have to believe him. But it’s hard to put my faith in fate when all she’s ever done is stab me in the back.

  Gulping down another glass of wine, I pace the hotel room, a thousand scenarios flashing before my eyes that all end in London being hurt. I don’t know why, but I just can’t shake the feeling that “handling things” means he’s sold his soul.