by Nora Ash
As a result, I was completely isolated, and I was beginning to go more than a little stir crazy. When I woke up on day six after The Incident so nauseous I had to sprint to my en-suite bathroom to throw up, I was done suffering in silence.
I leaned weakly against the toilet after the heaving was finally over, unable to muster enough energy to get off up from the tiled floor.
Great. Just what I needed—a stomach bug.
I stayed on the floor for a good half an hour, until I was reasonably certain I wouldn’t hurl from moving. When I got up, my stomach lurched again, but at least the dry heaves didn’t return. I quickly cleaned my teeth and then pattered downstairs to the front door.
Rob and Greg were back on watch. They both looked mildly surprised at my disheveled appearance when I opened the door, probably thanks to my checkered pajamas bottoms, silk camisole, and sleep-messy hair.
“I need crackers,” I croaked. “And ginger ale.” A pang from my empty stomach made me add, “And gherkins, please,” before I shut the door again, not waiting for a reply. Sure, it wasn’t their fault that they seemingly weren’t allowed to talk to me anymore, but right then, I felt so completely alone in the world that I didn’t have it in me to care whether or not it was their choice to treat me like a leper.
I felt like crap, and no one cared. Heck, if I’d somehow contracted something lethal and died, my so-called husband would likely throw a party to celebrate it.
When Rob popped in to drop off my requested goods approximately twenty minutes later, he found me hunched over the breakfast bar, crying miserably with self-pity.
“Hey now, what’s the matter, love?” He sounded halfway concerned, halfway like he’d rather be anywhere else than trapped with a weeping woman, but instead of fleeing like I would have expected, he put the groceries on the counter and placed a tentative hand on my shoulder.
That one, small gesture of someone actually giving a crap turned my quiet crying into full-on belly sobs.
Rob made a startled noise at the back of his throat, clearly not having expected the Niagara Falls of snot and tears erupting in front of him.
“I-I’m so-sorry,” I hiccuped, doing my best to rein in the torrent of volatile emotions that ripped through my chest. “I’m j-just s-so alone. A-all the time.”
“Mmmh,” Rob hummed, as if that made all the sense in the world. It instantly made me feel a bit better, as if maybe I wasn’t completely crazy.
“Tell you what, why don’t you eat some of them crackers, love, and have a glass of ginger ale? I’ll just give Blaine a call, have him come home to look after you.”
My moment’s relief vanished immediately at the sound of my husband’s name. “No. Not Blaine. He h-hates me.” For some unknown reason, saying it out loud made a fresh bout of tears burst out of my eyes and stain my already salt-speckled glasses.
“Nah, he’s just a bit rough ‘round the edges. You gotta learn to handle him. He’s a Steel alright, but he’s a good kid when it comes down to it.” Rob gave my shoulder a light pat and fished his phone out of his pants. “You just settle down now, yeah? He’ll come runnin’ the second he hears you’re upset.”
“Don’t tell him that,” I sniffled pathetically. The last thing I wanted was for Blaine to know he’d beaten me with his silent treatment—especially when I felt so inexplicably weak. He didn’t need to see me when I was down.
“Don’t be daft,” Rob said as he left the kitchen with a backwards glance over his shoulder, phone already lifted halfway to his ear. “He’s a bloke—he’ll crack at the sight of his wife’s tears. You gotta learn to play the game, love.”
I stared after the big, burly man as he disappeared out of the kitchen and out the front door. Even with my best efforts I couldn’t imagine Blaine being anything remotely close to “a good kid,” but perhaps Rob did have a point. Perhaps a softer touch was what was needed when it came to Blaine. I’d spent all my time trying to be strong and together—and even when I’d failed miserably, I had reacted with anger rather than tears.
Maybe he would indeed react better if he saw vulnerability in me instead.
I grabbed a piece of paper towel off the counter and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. At least it would be pretty easy to show him vulnerability today.
* * *
When Blaine walked in about three quarters of an hour later, my tears had finally stopped, even if my face was still salt-streaked and my eyes red-rimmed. I hadn’t been able to find the energy to go wash my face or even change into regular clothes, so when he rounded the double doors into the kitchen, he found me sitting on a bar stool still in my pajamas and snacking on a gherkin straight out of the jar.
I turned to face him when he paused in the doorway, half a pickle still in my hand. “Hey.”
He frowned, his light gray eyes taking in everything from the half-empty pickle jar and used tissue on the counter to my tear-stricken face and ruffled appearance.
“What’s going on? Rob said you weren’t feeling well?”
From the gruffness in his voice it was hard to imagine he actually cared about my state of mind, but then again—he had come home early to check in on me, which was more than I’d expected. I bit my lip and looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Beg your pardon?” An apology was obviously not what he’d expected, judging from the clear note of surprise in his voice.
I managed to lift my head again so I could look at him. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “For everything that went down between us last week. It wasn’t how I’d intended the night to go.”
Blaine looked at me silently for a little while, as if trying to determine if I was being genuine or not. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t really blame him for his hesitance. If he’d suddenly apologized to me out of the blue, I would have suspected him of ulterior motives, too.
I put the pickle down and wrapped my arms around my midsection. Being open like this made the feelings of vulnerability come rushing back.
“I don’t want it to be like this,” I continued. “I know you have your family, your work, but I… I don’t have anyone except you. I c-can’t keep living like this, w-where we d-don’t even s-speak and…” I had to pause to not break down completely again, but I couldn’t stop the tears that started to pour down my cheeks again while I tried to word exactly how alone I felt.
Blaine made a low noise at the back of his throat, something between surprise and concern. He even took two steps toward me before he paused, his hand falling to his side as if he’d been about to reach for me.
“Look, I…” His frown increased as he looked at me, obviously at a loss for what to do.
I shook my head. “You d-don’t have to s-say anything. I’m s-sorry, I d-don’t know what’s g-gotten into me.”
Blaine looked at me for a few more moments before he sighed deeply and sank down on the bar stool next to me. “I hate crying women,” he muttered under his breath.
“S-sorry,” I hiccuped. “D-didn’t want Rob to c-call you.”
“And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it,” he growled. “You’re so bloody stubborn.”
I didn’t have the spirit to point out that he wasn’t exactly easy to deal with, either.
Blaine rubbed his face with one hand and gave me a long, evaluating look. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I have a business meeting with some really important people on Sunday. They’re old family friends, and I know they want to meet the new Mrs. Steel. I’ll bring them home for the meeting instead, and you’ll set the table and cook dinner like you did last week. If you can get through the entire night without throwing wine, I’ll reconsider starting to let you get out a bit more. Show me I can trust you, and this doesn’t have to suck as hard.”
I blinked, sheer surprise stopping the flow of tears. It had actually… worked? Not being strong to earn his respect, not trying to be friendly to earn his trust… No, breaking down and bawling for more or less inexplicable reasons was what it took to find my way out of
this mess.
“Think you can do that?” Blaine seemed noticeably more comfortable, now my sobbing had quieted down. He stretched out his long legs and grabbed a cracker from the open pack, once again the picture of an alpha male in perfect control.
I nodded and reached for another piece of paper towel. Yeah. If it meant I didn’t have to go through this crushing loneliness again, then I could play his good little housewife. And who knew—perhaps by the end of it, I would also gain the key to my freedom.
* * * *
Chapter 15
Blaine
The smell of garlic-roasted chicken hit my nostrils the second I walked through the door. Soft jazz played from the dining room, and I could see the warm glow of candle lights spilling out into the doorway, just like it had when I came down to Mira’s “Lasagna Surprise” last week. I suppressed a cringe at the memory of how that night had ended. Hopefully, tonight would go a whole lot better. I was banking a pretty big business deal on this, and had had time to regret making the suggestion more than once since I found Mira sobbing in our kitchen in the middle of used tissue paper and clutching a giant jar of pickles. But if it worked…
I sighed softly at the memory of how vulnerable she’d looked as she sat there in her pajama bottoms and the same, silky chemise she’d worn on our wedding night. How frail. And sweet. If it worked, then maybe we could finally move forward. Yeah, I had my work and my family as she’d pointed out, but it didn’t help much when all my thoughts had been circling around her for the entire past week. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but not talking to her and having the whole fucked-up disaster that was last Friday hanging over my head had been awful.
Her unexpected apology had been a godsend.
“What a lovely house. A wedding present?” Gerald Brigs, one of my father’s old connections and the twins’ godfather, looked around the entry hall. Next to him, his nephew, Leo, was in the process of taking off his scarf. He inhaled deeply, obviously appreciating the scents floating out from the kitchen as well.
“Ha, this is the first time I’ve come to your home and it doesn’t smell like stale beer. New wife keeps you on a leash, huh?”
I ignored Leo and turned my focus on his uncle. He was the real power behind this deal anyway—Leo was just here as part bodyguard, part trainee. His dad didn’t trust him to handle anything important on his own, and from what I knew of him, I couldn’t say it was a big shock.
“Yeah, my father bought it for us. Said my old flat wasn’t a place for newlyweds.”
Also, he had needed it for one of his money laundering schemes.
“Mmhm, a flat is nowhere to raise little ones. They need grass and trees.” Gerald patted me on the back with a jovial grin.
I suppressed a grimace and extended an arm to lead them toward the kitchen, where I could hear Mira bustling around. If given the choice, I’d honestly rather opt for a full day of torture than have to deal with a kid, but I’d rather not burst Gerald’s little fantasy of our happy home. He’d always favored doing business with men who had families, and I was keenly aware that my recent marriage was the sole reason he’d chosen to go directly through me for this deal rather than my father.
When we rounded the corner to the kitchen, it was like stepping into the twilight zone. Pots and pans were simmering on the stove, where the heavenly scent emitted from, and in front of it Mira stood, wearing an apron and a pretty dress. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat and there was a smile on her face when she looked up. Compared to what I’d walked in on earlier this week, I wouldn’t have been too surprised to find that body snatchers had suddenly taken over London, starting with my temperamental little wife.
“Blaine, welcome home,” she said. And then she put down the pot she’d been stirring and walked over to me where she proceeded to raise up on her tiptoes and plant a light kiss on my cheek—just like she had with Marcus.
My heart gave a weird sort of lurch. I cocked an eyebrow at her, but she just smiled up at me like nothing was amiss.
“Blaine, introduce us to your lovely wife,” Gerald said from behind me, and I was jolted into motion by the reminder that we weren’t alone.
“Gerald, Leo, this is Mira. Mira, Gerald and Leo. Both old family friends.” More business relations, really, but to our family, it was the same—and it didn’t hurt to butter Gerald up a bit.
Mira stepped forward to grab Gerald’s outstretched hand and accepted his cheek kiss with that same smile on her face.
“Pleased to see you again, my dear,” he said, before moving over to let Leo greet her. “I was at your wedding, of course, but I regret I wasn’t able to greet you then. Forgive me, but I could have sworn the vicar introduced you as Agnes, or something to that extent?”
Mira didn’t bat an eyelid. She just shrugged as she returned to the stove. “Oh, you know how it is. With a name like Aignéis, an Irish girl isn’t going to have an easy time in the big city. I’ve been Mira for the past eight years now. You boys best get settled in at the table, the food’s almost ready.”
We’d never talked about why she’d changed her name, but I had a pretty good idea that it had to do with the extents she’d said she’d gone to to get out from under her family’s thumb. It had obviously been a sore subject from the way she’d talked about it with me, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her now. She looked like the perfect housewife, all smiles and homely warmth as she moved around the kitchen.
With a stab in my gut I realized that she looked like my mother had, in my favorite memories of her. There weren’t many wholesome family memories from my childhood, but those I had were of the times I’d snuck into the kitchen just to be around her. She loved to cook, and she was always happy when she was in the kitchen. Possibly because my father never ventured into what he classified as a woman’s domain. It had always been safe, and warm.
I shook my head to clear it of the sudden onslaught of conflicting emotions. She was long gone, and getting all mushy about the past wouldn’t help me land this deal.
Mira looked up at me when I left the room with our guests, an eyebrow raised in question and the warm smile replaced by a determined expression now that their backs were turned.
I couldn’t hold back a wry smile of my own as I gave her a short nod—yep, no body snatchers at work here. She just wanted me to keep my end of our bargain, and was working hard to ensure I did too.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted.
* * *
“I’ve got a shipment waiting to be shifted, and I happen to know you are on the lookout for a weapon upgrade for your guys.” I nodded at Leo, making it clear I had my intel from a reliable source. “Why don’t we hit two birds with one stone and make it part of the payment for your development site?”
Gerald leaned back in the dining chair with his glass of wine in one hand and his eyes fixed on me. As much as his friendly smile was still plastered on his face, I knew from experience he was all business now.
“Son, are you even ready to delve into developments? You and your brothers do nightclubs, small business protection, drugs… that sort of thing. And you do it well. This scene… it’s for the big boys.”
I gritted my teeth to stem my irritation at his patronizing tone. “Oh, I’m ready. Which I’m sure you’re aware of, or else you wouldn’t be here. I know you’re a busy man—you don’t waste your time.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in acknowledgment of my point. “True. I do think you have the potential—but forgive me for having a few reservations still. It’s a big project, and one I’ve poured a lot of resources into. Whoever takes over needs to know how to grease the right palms and crack the right skulls, or else, I’ll end up looking bad. Let’s say I take your guns off you as part of the deal—how are you going to raise the last fifty million pounds?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly, letting him know I wasn’t that easy. “Forty, tops. And don’t you worry about my funds, Gerald. I know how to shift assets around.
And I know this is a big opportunity. Why else would you be in my home, drinking my wine and eating the food my wife has cooked for us? I want this. And you’re not going to find a better deal elsewhere.”
“Well, speaking of your wife’s food, it’s time for dessert,” Mira interjected. She and Leo had been watching us negotiate for the past twenty minutes in silence, so the sound of her voice was somewhat unexpected. I frowned at her for the interruption as she stood up, the same chirpy smile she’d been wearing all night plastered on her face. “Blaine, would you give me a hand, please?”
I cocked my eyebrow at her in silent disapproval, but she just looked at me as if nothing was amiss.
“It’s a bit fiddly. Come on, please.”
“Go help your wife, son. We’ll continue this over the dessert,” Gerald said. He gave Mira a wink. “I’m afraid you have your hands full with this one, my dear. Their mother sadly didn’t have enough time with them to iron out their kinks, bless her soul. She was a good woman.”
“Right,” I muttered, only barely managing to keep my irritation with not only the interruption, but also the second reminder of my mother for the day, out of my voice. “Let’s go look at that dessert."
Mira led the way into the kitchen, and when I’d passed through the French doors, she closed them behind me quietly, as if she was trying to not alert our guests in the dining room down the hall.
“What is it, then?” I sighed. “I gotta say, I had no idea I gave off the impression of a master confectioner.”
Mira turned toward me and put her hands on her hips. The smile was once again gone. “He’s playing you like a fiddle.”
“Hm?” I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He’s manipulating you by seeming so reluctant. Trust me, he wants to sell that development-whatever to you really, really bad. And if I were you, I’d be very careful.”
