Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes again. Another video clip. It might seem like overkill if I was in the mood for being flippant. But I’m not. Not as I watch Holland stroll through one of the country lanes behind the castle, dressed hunter green wellies and a waxed jacket. She even has a Sandy’s tweed cap on. Gertie plods alongside her providing companionship but absolutely no protection at all. Somehow, this clip is the scarier. The boys had the protection of the car, the protection of Holland. But here, Holland is alone. She might be hit by a car, or bundled into the back of one, and we’d know nothing about what happened to her.
A sob of terror catches against the back of my throat.
Their message is clear, the threat not at all implied. We have access to your family in more ways than one, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Another buzz, this one a text. And suddenly, I have a timeline, and the sword of Damocles is hanging over my head.
You have 48 hours to answer, Lady Isla.
“Niko?” I try to keep the warble out of my tone, just as I had with Holland, but maybe Niko knows me better. Maybe he even knows me better than anyone.
“Isla, what is it?” His tone, his immediate concern, causes my tears to well. “Are you all right? Is it the children?”
“I’m fine. The boys, too.” For now. “Niko, I need to see you.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“No, I … I can come to you.”
“Isla, are you sure you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Or at least I’m hanging on, hoping I will be. “I just need—” You. I don’t know why you, but I feel it in my bones that no one else will do.
“Come now.”
“Where?”
“The same place as before. You remember it?”
“Yes.” Because how could I ever forget?
I tumble from a cab that stops almost at his front door, but for an expensive and sleek looking sports car that is not an Aston Martin. Van opens the imposing front door before I have a chance to ring the bell, his hands wrapping around my bicep as though he fears for my ability to stay on my feet.
The hallway darkens a little as he closes the door behind him. The place looks exactly as I remember it, the bones of the place, at least. How many times have I replayed standing here? The elevator ride up to his lair.
“This way.” Niko turns to an oversized door to the left.
“I didn’t think you’d still be living here.” Th words sort of fall out of my mouth. I know it sounds silly given my family background of castles and vast and draughty country homes, but these days, no one chooses to live in a palace. My brother views his property portfolio as a piece of history he was born to protect, but the truth is, the properties and grounds are like great millstones hanging from his neck. Why would one man choose to live in a house this size? Who has the money? Royalty, obviously. The Chinese uber wealthy and Russian oligarchs. “All this space just for you?” I hate myself a little for asking.
“Sadly,” he answers as he opens the door, gesturing me inside, “I never found one woman to marry, never mind a tribe, so no hoards of children on skateboards.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” This fear inside me is replaced for just a moment by a rosy, warm hue. He still remembers our conversation from all those years ago. My mind hops to Archie and Hugh and how they’ve been known to play soccer and pitch tents in the great hall.
“What you’ve never had, you cannot miss.”
“Do you really think that’s true?” I find myself asking, because I find myself missing him despite what I tell myself. Missing his body and what he does to me. I’ve even missed the idea of what we might’ve been sometimes. Then I think of my boys, and I remember life is as it should be. Though not today, of course. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t feel so wretched. So absolutely terrified.
“I tell myself so sometimes.” His answer sounds bittersweet.
He gestures me into a room outfitted as an office. Despite the age of the house, the décor is light and modern. White shutters shield the room from the world outside, and a widescreen television hangs above the original fireplace. His desk is huge and sleek and for some inexplicable reason, just looking at it makes me blush. History, I suppose. I don’t think he notices as he leads me to a stylish leather sofa opposite the fireplace.
“Sit down. Do you want some coffee? Something stronger?”
“No, thank you.” Sliding my hand under my thigh, I take my seat.
“Tell me what’s wrong. What I can do to help.”