I dragged my tired, naked body from bed to the ultraluxe outdoor shower to wash last night's humidity from sun-peeled skin. It's painless now, the rough, dry patches fading and less itchy. Tepid water streamed from the wooden chute, rinsing orchid-scented shampoo through unmanageable sweat-slicked hair. I lathered the ends with a conditioning treatment, hoping Liam thought to pack straightening irons. It's not often I straighten natural curls, but those disruptive coils necessitated thorough treatment after weeks of neglect.
Towel snagged from the rack and swathed around my body. I revisited the master bedroom, half-heartedly made the bed, laid essentials across the white comforter and performed a forgotten ritual of tender loving care. I had a box of island purchased emollient and moisturiser on standby, ready to luxuriate.
I sat on the edge of the bed, checked the time on my phone and blew out a forced sigh. Premature holiday blues manifested. We leave North Island tomorrow to return to London, and a semblance of poignant distress precipitated immobilisation. I had no desire to bid farewell to the one place, the only place that's ever provided perpetual safety and secluded romanticism. To live here, twenty-four-hour rotational security, round-the-clock defensiveness and silent but deadly adversaries were non-existent. We breathed freely, uncaringly, without the constant inclination to check over our shoulders to see if someone watched or followed us.
Tossing the phone onto the piled-high pillow arrangement, I fell onto my back and stared at the thatched ceiling. Yes, I am sad and somewhat grieving a life we may never experience, not long-term, but could I genuinely never step foot inside the Manor again? I'd miss the Suits, Jace and Grayson. And Tony and I still had a relationship to build. I get the feeling Heather's a newly adopted family member. What of Chloe? She hates me. I doubt there's any salvageable friendship there, which, given our background, is heart-breaking.
Rolling onto my stomach, I buried my head on the duvet and smothered a wearied groan. It's the reality I fear most. When Liam's back in a suit, armed and ready for the world ahead, we will be all but two passing ships in the night. I dread those sleepless nights without him.
What if assumed relationship complications is a misinterpretation for habitual uncommunicativeness?
Periodic companionship is healthy, right?
I mean, I love Liam. He's quite literally the most important person in my life, but if we spent every waking moment together, can a lifelong, loving marriage survive? Deprivation of occupation, leisure, breathing space, friendships and social circles are causes for severe marital problems. If we lived in each other's pockets, love could turn into dislike and resentment, which then becomes a focal point for brewing hate and possible extramarital relations.
Pushing myself into a seated position, I held the towel tight to my chest and inwardly chided myself for lack of sureness. No, I'd never let our marriage spiral out of control. Liam and I don't talk, so scant communication is an issue for us. We fight and abuse the power of intimacy until one or the other breaks. Rather than dread normalcy, we should talk, clear the air, colour the grey areas and conform to a set of principles. It mightn't work. I am sure no marriage is that straightforward. But our reality differs from conventionality, and possible toxicity necessitates consideration for us to beat the odds.
Skin towel-dried and tropically scented, I delved through Liam's freshly steamed clothes, stole his T-shirt and boxer briefs, garbed, and then blow-dried the biff. Hot irons ensued. I uncreased the waves and appraised the waist-length completion. I knew I had long hair, but it's hard to determine the longness precision with defiant, unrelaxed curls. Maybe I should level the mane more often.
I opened the all-encompassing windows and the early morning wind and sea air drifted into the bedroom.
Usually, I forgo the beautiful burnt-orange sunrise, but today, I hung around to witness the warm hues kiss our horizon.
And then I felt him, Liam. I am not sure if he's aware of inaudible, advanced tendencies.
I perceived his noiseless movements from the very beginning, right when I had worked in Club 11, and the man took pleasure in another's fear. It's almost as though he wants opponents to lower their guards, believe they are safe whilst he stands back and waits for a prime opportunity to pounce.
Nowadays, the gravity between us meets for love, not trepidation.
"Baby," he whispered, his lips falling to the back of my neck. "Happy birthday."
I smiled to myself. "You remembered."
"As if I'd forget." He caged my waist in his arms. "Although, I should warn you. Our unplanned stay prevented acceptable gifts. I had to scour the boutique for an alternative."
I had everything and more. "Even if we were in London, what could you possibly buy me, Liam?"
He pondered the question. "For you, shoes are a winner."
"You have provided me with bountiful shoes." If it's not self-bought designer heels hoarding the shelves, it's Liam's monthly deliveries of new lines. "Continue to do so, and I'll require a wardrobe extension."
His hand cupped mine, and he thumbed the white gold rings on my fourth finger. "Diamonds then."
Courtesy of this generous man, I am the proud owner of an impressive diamond collection. "The diamonds I possess give the Queen's jewel vault a run for its money." He's heavily involved, if not the main attribute, in illegal trade. Nothing is out of reach or unattainable for us, and for that reason alone, I benefit greatly. "In addition to what I stated, I want for nothing. Do not trouble yourself over inessential remittance." Turning in his arms, I peered up at him and admired him for a moment. "As long as I have you, what more could I possibly want?"
"Visionary," he said under his breath, his eyes briefly drifting over my shoulder. "It was never about money for you."
My eyebrows cinched. "Did you ever doubt me?"
"Never." Liam's unfaltering gaze settled on the rising sun. "Your persistent conscientiousness was one of many reasons why I fell for you." His expression morphed into frowned assuredness, as if only just comprehending how we fell in love. "It was deeper, wasn't it? It was neither wealth nor attraction." Blue eyes seared into mine. "You understood the darkest part of me."
I was concerned by his earnest cogitation. "Even if I didn't, I loved you far too much to walk away." When he dropped his arms from my waist, I palmed his jaw, keeping him with me. "What's wrong?"
"I'm obsessed with you." He grasped my wrist. "For that reason alone, I forget how young you are." When he perceived the worry in my eyes, he added, "I merely granted myself a second to admire the strength of a young woman."
"Trials and tribulations will do that to a person." Although his approbation filled me with pride, I sensed he felt unperturbed by birthday celebrations. Our age gap has never been an issue. It's not something discussed. We ignored it from the beginning, and without annual reminders, we can continue to disregard it intentionally. "It's just another day." I missed many birthdays growing up. "And you know what? I don't even care for celebrations."
He toyed with an object in his hand. "Does it not bother you that I'll be thirty-one in less than a month?"
"No," I said, unhesitant and unarguable. "Besides, it's a bit late to reconsider our future, Liam. You married me. So, give me the gift shop present, let me express gratitude and then throw me over that sofa and fuck your name right out of my mouth. Jamboree or not, I deserve to be eaten out on Born Day."
"Born day." He stared at me with an element of bemusement. "Is that what we call it now?"
"Yes." I offered an upward-facing palm. "Numbers are boring, anyway." A multi-layered beaded bracelet falls into my hand—I laughed once at the absurdity. "You buy me the very souvenir that caused you to gripe. Am I right to assume Zack's fashion taste isn't horrendous?"
"Based on the unflattering style of our hippy neighbour..." His head tilted as he examined the scintillating rosary wrapped around my wrist. "Where did you get this?"
"Really, Liam?" I tried to withdraw my arm, but his hold tightened. "I wore it on our wedding day. How can you not remember?"
"And you have worn it every day since?" he asked, and I nodded. "Baby, I don't like repeating myself."
"It was a gift from Vincent," I said cautiously, flexing the numbness from the tips of my fingers. "I don't understand—" He began to unravel the beads. "Liam, what the hell is wrong with you?" We struggled against each other. "I swear—"
"Stop talking," he admonished, and I had to stop myself from walloping him. "Alexa!"
My shoulders sagging, I reined in the claws. "I should disown you for ruining Born day."
With the rosary wading through his fingers, Liam counted the beads. "Why?"
I recoiled. "Why, what?"
"Why did he give this to you?"
How the hell should I know?
"Well, I was due to marry his brother. Perhaps he wished for future allowances?" Lightening the mood was necessary. "Hey, I am the crazy sister-in-law now. For you two to get along, maybe he figured it wouldn't hurt to earn brownie points—from me." Even as I spoke, I knew the words made zero sense. "Ignore everything I just said."
Liam held it higher and watched the large beads slide seamlessly down the chain. "Stretch fabric."
"Really?" It reminded me of white leather. "That's nice, I guess."
"What do you see?" Draped from his fingers, the carved crucifix. "Alexa?"
My spirits were suddenly low. "A silver cross?"
"No, it's white gold." He thumbed the intricate set of what must be diamonds. "What do you know of the catholic faith?"
"Not much," I answered honestly. "Besides the fact that God lives above and Jesus rose from the dead."
"Mostly in confession booths and with a priest present, believers use rosaries to recite specific prayers, to repent, to ask their God for forgiveness and to wash away their sins. In addition to their declaration of guilt, they'll mantra the Hail Mary or the Our Father." His jaw locked. "Priests use fifteen-decade varieties whilst Catholics use something of a smaller scale—a five-decade version, perhaps. Symbolic representations," he added, showing me the death-on-the-cross. "Ten white beads for decades. Do you see those? Four larger beads to separate said decades and five smaller beads in between, correct?"
I nodded in agreement.
"Alexa?" he growled. "Pay attention."
"I am," I said, albeit miffed. "Four large beads separate decades of ten..." No, only five beads amid decades. "Initially, you said ten."
"Exactly," he grated out, and I began to deteriorate mentally. "A catholic rosary has ten beads per mystery decade. Vincent gifted a worthless artefact. Why?" I shook my head. "What, he said nothing? He never explained the reasoning behind such a pointless sentiment. He decided to visit his brother's bride for future allowances."
Okay, that sounded like an accusation. "No," I said a bit too defensively. "And you say I over analyse everything. What is the purpose of this conversation?"
"It means something," he spat, slumping onto the edge of the bed.
"If it bothers you so much, why not call Vincent to ask these questions?" My hand to his shoulder, I sat beside him. "Liam?"
"My brother's an atheist." He's unable to look away from the beads threading through his fingers. "You don't kill and then seek vindication from your God." Sarcasm dripped from each syllable. "Not unless you fear death."
I doubt Vincent feared anything except his brother. "Vincent always has a cross in his ear, so it's plausible, right?" My fingers kneaded Liam's shoulders to alleviate tension. "And he wears an onyx rosary on his wrist, too."
"Bonding gifts?" He scoffed. "How touching?"
I halted his massage. "Please tell me, that's not jealousy." His shoulder jerked under my palm. "Liam, seriously?"
Shirking away from my touch, he stood and paced. "How else does one comprehend the encounter?"
I eased back onto propped elbows. "Is it hard to believe someone can be thoughtful or nice?"
"In our world? Yes," he retorted, lunging the rosary across the room. It smashed into a wooden beam, and one of the pristine beads rebounded, spinning on the hardwood floor.
"That's unpardonable." My eyebrows lifted. "You better replace it."
The not-so-holy bead rolled to a stop at Liam's bare feet. With an unreadable expression, he crouched down and pinched the bead between his thumb and forefinger. "Oil," he said aloud, though it's apparent a private conversation transpired. "Rust prevention." In four strides, he reclaimed the rosary and assessed it thoroughly. His thumb paused on the holy centrepiece. "There aren't any antiphon beads."
A tired breath blew from my mouth. "Liam, can we get back to Born Day sex now?"
"See?" Only a white leather look line from the centrepiece and the crucifix. "It's missing all five beads."
"Who cares?" My patience hung on by a thread. "As you said, it's just pointless sentiment."
In a warped like motion, Liam pulled the crucifix upwards by the chain until it met the face of Mary, and, in doing so, every bead clicked together to expose a slither of obscured cord. "Garrote wire." His fisted hands were white-knuckled. "Why the fuck did he give you this?"
I had to pick my chin up from off the floor. Yes, at first, the rosary had felt weighty, but I never suspected a hidden weapon. Hell, I wouldn't even know how to use it. "I..." I was speechless. "Does Vincent actually think I have the balls to strangle somebody with that?"
With a mixture of anger and astonishment, Liam tested the wire's strength and durableness. It rounded his fist and cut a perfectly symmetrical line. A rush of blood seeped from the gash, tricked down his fingers and splotched against the floor. The second he released the contraband, the wire retreated, beads magnetised to their rightful place. On the ground, it stayed, and we both watched as if waiting for something preternatural to occur.
"I'll fucking kill him," Liam said, and I believed him. "How dare he give you this? And without consulting with me first? Who the fuck does he think he is?" He patted down his shorts in search of his phone. "The problem with brothers?" he snarled, setting the phone to his ear. "They get complacent—too goddamn comfortable. If Vincent wants to fuck with me? I can take it. But not you. Never. You."
I almost rose to my feet. "Liam—"
"No," he snapped. "Don't defend him, baby. I don't want to hear it."
Sprawling across the bed, I draped an arm over my eyes and peered under my elbow to furtively watch him. "We should talk."
"No answer." Liam hurled the phone onto the sofa. "He's avoiding me."
"It's improbable Vincent's telepathic abilities reached Seychelles." The man's smart, but he's not a mind reader. He can't know that his brother is on the warpath. "He works. Maybe he'll call back in a few hours."
"No." Liam lights a cigarette by the open window. "That shit with the twins," he said randomly, and I dropped my arm to meet his gaze. "They lied to us. Raymond never distributed funds to beneficiaries. Molly's erroneous 'will stipulation' was yet another rapacious tactic. In her small, docile mind, she thought, whether it be her or one of the other deranged siblings, that mothering my child guaranteed steadfast maintenance. And this motherfucker right here?" He motioned to himself. "Fell for their bullshit—hook, line and sinker. I, Liam Warren, foolishly believed there was a slight possibility Raymond reformed. He visited the solicitor's office to write his will and thought, I am a fucking disgrace. I abandoned my sons and never looked back. But you know what? I can do something right. I got money in abundance, so why don't I secure their future? I'll be a fucking man and own up to responsibilities. No," he snarled, blowing out smoke halos. "Not him. He didn't leave us a fucking dime. The prick left me a myriad of unwanted half-breed siblings instead."
Although Liam's rant came from nowhere, I sat straight and listened.
"Vincent," he said contemplatively. "Him and me, we are cut from the same cloth. He infuriates me, but I feel something indescribable when he's nearby. When I look in his eyes, I see myself. When he regards me, I have this strong, powerful urge to watch over him, yet I barely know him. I am not even sure that I trust him. I got this droning voice at the back of my head, telling me he's dishonourably questionable." Flicking the cigarette outside, he slumped onto the sofa and weaved his fingers together. "He's privy to something I am not, and what bothers me most? He proceeds to hide it from me. Why? What is he protecting? Or rather, who is he protecting?"
I considered carefully before asking, "How can you be sure that he's not upfront with you?"
"When we raided Raymond's estate, Vincent found our fathers will. After scanning the details, he fled. Whatever he read that night? It was revolutionary. He didn't want me to see it."
Yes, Vincent's a mystery, but much like his brother, money is of no importance, so how damaging can a will possibly be? "I don't understand why he'd do that."
His gaze re-examined the rosary on the floor. "No more than I can comprehend why he gifted garotte to my wife." He rubbed the scruff of his jaw. "What is it you wished to discuss with me?"
I waved a flippant hand. "It can wait."
Liam relocated to the bed. He sat beside me, brushed his knuckles down my cheek and planted a kiss to crease between my brows. "Talk."
My tongue, heavy and cumbersome, stuck to the roof of my mouth. "I worry when back in London life might alienate us."
His regal nod suggested he had concerns alike. "Let's avoid such tragedies," he half-joked, his finger curling hair behind my ear. "Date nights?"
"At least once a month?" I hinted, and he agreed. "And I don't care how long you stay at the office but come home before sunrise."
"Done." He exhaled slowly. "Can we lose Jace?"
I blinked at the disrespect. "Can we lose Blaire?"
"Blaire is Nate's burden. Not mine."
"It's all an act." My arms folded. "This crap with Nate? She's not interested in him. It's you she wants."
"What?" My straightforwardness took him aback. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm serious, Liam. That woman despises me. When I enter a room, she looks at me like I'm the enemy. If you are at my side, she can't see anything beyond our joint hands." His mouth parted to speak, and I raised a hand to silence him. "You are a sharp-sighted man. You miss very little, but akin to every other male on the planet, in spite of your astute perceptiveness, you will never truly understand how a woman operates." I point to myself. "That, my dear husband, is where I come in handy."
"If Blaire betrays her bondsman, I will allow you to handle her whichever way you deem fit." His amused eyes studied my mouth. "How's that for a bargain?"
I snorted. "Well, if I knew it was that easy, I'd have bartered months ago when she 'betrayed' Nate to make a pass on you."
He'd been inches away from kissing me. "Come again?"
"The text?" I made a face. "All that flirtatious care providing?" His glare sharpened. "Liam, I am not speaking Spanish. Why are you looking at me like that?"
"What text?" he asked in a tone suddenly low and serious.
"You spoke to her..." His rising anger had me questioning whether or not I dreamt the occurrence. "You told her we had relationship issues, so she texted, offered to be a shoulder for you again or whatever." I wish I'd saved screenshots. "Will you say something?"
His eyes blackened. "I allegedly sent flirtatious text messages to a woman who, at a prior date, I entrusted to discuss our quandaries. Is that right?"
I am definitely speaking Spanish. "No, she flirted, and I responded on your behalf—"
"Alexa," he berated.
"What?" I acted innocent. "I'm only human, Liam. Be fair, with your track record, how could I not presume the worst?"
He simpered. "My track record?"
Okay, we're doing this. "With women."
He'd taken my words like a slap to the face. "What were you hoping to achieve? An unfaithful partner?" His lips grimaced. "I have never cheated on you."
"I know," I whispered, rubbing the strain from my eyes. "In between our separations, you womanised compulsively. Naturally, I was worried. At that point, I didn't know the dynamics between you two. All I saw—rephrase—all I ever see is a woman who resembles me uncannily. What's worse? We both share an obsession with the same man. And don't tell me otherwise. If she and I could switch places, Blaire would be on this bed with you right now. Not me."
Anticipating Liam's lambasting, I held my breath. He regulated his breathing, pulled my legs across his thighs and clasped the bracelet around my ankle. "It is an Anklet. I had considered the beads but knew you'd never let me hear the end of it." His head lolling back idly, he zoned out to the tropical scenery, listening to the far-flung waves. "If I require any form of counselling, I present the issue to Brad. On occasion, I may offload to Nate. It seems the quieter of two gossiped behind my back." He squeezed my knee absentmindedly, and I swallowed a wince. "I will not make that mistake twice."
Guiltiness fractured my heart. "No, Liam. It's okay. You can talk to your men. Even if it Is to bad-mouth me from time to time. I mean, I can't recall exact instances, but I bitch about you," I said lightly. "I think it's normal for couples to rant. It's a cure for resentment, right?"
"Alexa, you confuse back-stabbing for exposure. I am not bothered by your knowingness. Anything I say to my most trusted is nothing I wouldn't say to you directly; however, what I find most unfathomable is how Nate betrayed our trust for fucking pillow-talk and with a woman who threatens his alliances, no doubt. I know nothing of these text messages. I can assure you, I will get to the bottom of it, but for now, I wish to enjoy our last night on the island." He yanked me close and helped me to astride his thighs. "What's your idea of the perfect Born Day?"
I smiled against his lips. "It starts with oral."
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Okay, so the texting between "Liam" and Blaire is out in the open. Curious, what are your thoughts on this?
Do you have any idea how Liam will handle Blaire?
How might he handle Nate?
Vincent's gift?
Old readers, you might recall Vincent's liking for rosaries from his book?
I need votes on male characters. If I pop their names below, can you leave a comment (any type of comment or emoji) to let us know who you'd pick?
Liam Warren.
Bradley Jones.
Nathaniel Alzaim.
Joshua Fitzpatrick.
Vincent Warren.
Jace Williams.
Donny Stevens.
Logan Broderick.
Ryan Scott.
I would include our Russian's and Italian's, but I'll save them for book five. 😉 x
Other.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please hit the vote. 🌟