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NO, LET’S TALK about those drugs you just swallowed.
Was it true he had a headache? Or was there something more sinister in that tiny bottle?
Sylvie clutched her heart, swooning a little. “It’s so romantic. Star-crossed lovers reunited after lies and a miscarriage split them apart.”
I let her turn my attention back to the stage-show but made a mental note to steal Jethro’s pills the first chance I had. I had to know what they were.
“It’s so tragically perfect.” Sylvie’s eyes were dreamy and dumbstruck by Jethro’s undivided attention. He held the poor woman enraptured with his piercing golden gaze.
I nodded.
It was perfect.
Love and wealth and family.
Pity it’s all a heinous lie.
“If Vanity Fair would be interested, you’re more than welcome to an exclusive when I’ve finished designing my wedding gown.” I hadn’t even thought of saying that. My own lie snowballed, gathering faster and faster momentum.
If I had a future engagement with the magazine, it might make my untimely death more suspicious. If the debts took me, would they dig a little harder and uncover the truth? Then again, knowing the Hawks, they would spin some plausible tale, and I would be forgotten.
“Wow, that’s a fantastic offer. Thank you, Ms. Weaver,” George said. “We’d be delighted, of course.”
“Excellent.”
Jethro ground his teeth.
Despite his attempts to manipulate the conversation, he was in my shadow this morning. I had no intention of giving him the limelight. Jethro and his father had forced me to do this. But I would do it my way. I hadn’t broken any of Cut’s rules. I’d played along. I’d painted a picture for the world to eat up.
I’d just been smarter than they gave me credit for.
“When will the ceremony take place?” Sylvie spun on the spot, eying up the beautiful parlour. “Will you get married here or in a church?”
Jethro pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to plant a smile on his lips. “It wasn’t going to be announced for another few months, but I suppose it’s out now, so we can spill a few of the details. We’ll most likely have a garden wedding.”
“I can imagine how happy you are,” George said, fiddling with his camera and preparing to move from questions to pictures.
Jethro beamed, looking so young and carefree he took my breath away. “Extremely. I’ve never been so happy.” His eyes landed on mine; a thought flew over his face. Then he grabbed me, dipped me as if we were on a dance floor, and before I could breathe, his lips slammed against mine.
The world switched off. Completely. Utterly. Everything disappeared.
There was no sound.
No colour.
No fear or stress or panic.
Just him.
Crackling, sparking, all-consuming lust. His taste, heat, smell. My skin hummed, my lips melted, my core clenched.
For weeks, I’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him. To hold him and find that combustible connection. To bind ourselves together even in the face of debts and danger.
I moaned as his tongue nudged against my lips.
I opened for him, sighing into the passionate kiss, suspended in his arms in front of the press. He didn’t seem to care we had an audience. I loved that he didn’t care.
He’d changed so much—lived through something I didn’t understand. He’d become a stranger all over again. But no matter how he changed his thoughts and mind-set, he couldn’t change his body. That part of him I knew. His body belonged to me as surely as my body belonged to him, and I had no doubt that would enrage and petrify him. Because no matter what distance he tried to put between us—it disintegrated whenever we touched.
With another soft moan, I slinked my fingers into his thick hair, jerking his mouth harder against mine. His tongue dived deeper, wrestling for dominance. His muscles trembled, holding me in the dip as the coolness of his mouth switched to heat and for the barest of delightful moments his teeth nipped my bottom lip.
Then sound came back.
Colour returned.
Awareness of the outside world drove a wedge between us.
The kiss was over.
Jethro swooped me back onto my feet, his mouth glistening.
It was a set-up.
My heart hardened. He’d kissed me for the reporters.
George stood with his camera, busily clicking, capturing every second of our sexy ‘staged’ slip-up.
Good.
At least people would have half of the story.
The part not drowning in bullshit.
There was love between us; there was a story about connection beneath all the fakery. If only love was enough, I could be free. Jethro could be free. It could all be over if only love was stronger than debts.
“That was some kiss. Hot with a capital H.” George laughed, fanning himself. “I can see why your brother wouldn’t want you anywhere near Mr. Hawk, Ms. Weaver.”
My tummy flipped. “Why?”
Jethro stiffened, paying strict attention.
George grabbed a tripod from his duffel. “I have a younger sister myself and if I saw her kissing a man like that, I would want to break them up, too.”
Sylvie frowned, asking the question floating around in my head. “But why? It’s a dream come true for any woman to have such a compatible partner.”
George snorted, waving at Jethro and me with his camera. “Maybe women see it different, but from a guy’s point of view, I know what I just witnessed, and it scares me.”
Jethro cleared his throat, his natural intensity suffocating the room with power. “Explain. I’m not quite following.”
George rolled his eyes. “Come on. You don’t get it? Passion is incredibly dangerous if it’s not respected and you two...” He shrugged. “Forget it. I’m overstepping. All I mean is chemistry like that can’t be contained. It can bring great happiness but also destroy.”
A shiver ran down my spine. His words sounded oddly prophetic.
Dragging his tripod over to the window bay, he clapped his hands. “Now, Ms. Weaver, if you wouldn’t mind standing here. I want a picture of you with your diamond necklace in the sunshine.”
For some reason, my feet remained planted on the carpet. What did he mean with his previous comment? That Jethro and I were freaks of nature governed by sex and nothing else? That we were idiots in a game we didn’t understand?
George came toward me and manhandled me over to the window. “Perfect. Stand right there.” His fingers slipped into my hair, fluffing the now dried strands, then brushed a powder over my brow and cheekbones that magically appeared from nowhere. “I don’t know many women who look as stunning as you do without makeup.”
I had no reply as he backed away and clicked a few test images, moving the tripod around until he was happy.
Passion is incredibly dangerous if it’s not respected.
“If you could gather your hair to show off the choker?” George paused. “By the way, what does the choker symbolise? Were the rumours right that it portrays ownership...a wedding ring if you were?”
I opened my mouth to reply—with what, I had no idea—but Jethro jumped in. “It’s a Hawk family heirloom. It’s given to the woman who bewitches the first Hawk.”
“Bewitches, that’s an interesting word.” Chuckling to himself, George turned his attention back on me.
Did I bewitch him?
My eyes drifted to Jethro as I cascaded black hair over my shoulder and angled my neck so the diamonds caught the sunlight. Instantly, rainbows drenched the carpet around my feet.
Jethro sucked in a breath, his hands fisting by his sides.
If what George said was true...did I have more power than I realised? Did that mean Jethro had more control over me than I thought? Passion can be dangerous... I already tried to rule him with sex—but what if it works both ways? Had I dug myself into this hole without even realising it?
Too many questions. And really, answers wouldn’t help. I would still be in the same situation.
“Give me a half smile. Look mysterious,” George commanded, ducking to take angled pictures.
I pouted and preened, doing my best to come across secretive and coy.
If I was running out of time, I meant to be talked about for years after my death. I wanted to be known as the woman who brought down an empire—even if I had to sacrifice my life to do it.
A macabre thought made me swallow a laugh.
I’m living a real life Romeo and Juliet saga. Montague and Capulets, fighting an ancient battle. Would it end like that tragic tale, too?
Five minutes later, George had taken a gazillion pictures and grabbed his tripod. “Before we go, we would appreciate some photographs with the two of you outside.”
Sylvie packed up the gear and made her way to the exit. “We’d love a tour as well, if that would be possible?”
Jethro drifted close to me, stealing my hand. My heart stuttered. I couldn't stop the overheating prickle of his skin against mine.
“I’m afraid the Hall is undergoing some renovations currently. Very few rooms are useable.”
There were no renovations. Just lots and lots of things to hide.
Smiling to soften the blow of his rejection, Jethro added, “But I’m more than happy to invite you back when Nila has finished her wedding gown and you can see it then.” His fingers squeezed tighter around mine in a silent reproof at my earlier comment.
Looking down, he gave me a calculating look. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
I nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
If I’m still alive.
“Follow us to the gardens.” Jethro strode past George and Sylvie, dragging me with him. His long legs ate up the corridor, putting a couple of metres between us and our entourage.
Once out of hearing distance, he whispered harshly, “You’re doing very well so far, Ms. Weaver. I’m impressed. However, if I were you, I’d stop overstepping boundaries.”
Leaning into him, I murmured, “What boundaries are those? I don’t remember boundaries when I was last here. Oh right, yes I do. No going on the chase where my family is buried. No going on the second floor. No running away. No talking to Vaughn. However, I don’t remember you ever telling me to stop touching you or telling you how I felt.”
His shoulders bunched. “Don’t get cocky, Nila. No more games. I’m done trying to win—”
“That’s because you always lose.”
Jethro’s eyes flashed. “I never lose. Unfortunately for me, my opponent hasn’t been playing fair.”
“What do you mean?” My forehead furrowed. “Everything I’ve tried to do—”
“Was to manipulate me. I was stupid to believe otherwise, but my eyes have since been opened. Regrettably for you, I will no longer be so easy to control.”
Leaving the Hall by the main entrance, we stepped down the imposing stairs and crunched onto the gravel below.
“You were never easy to control, Jethro, and it was never about that. It was about finding someone I never thought I’d find. It was about falling in love—”
He yanked me to a stop. “Don’t mention love in my presence again. You don’t love me, and I certainly don’t love you.” Grazing his knuckles over my jaw, he smiled frostily. “Never underestimate my desire to fit in with my family, Ms. Weaver. And remember that I’m now immune to your distractions. Life at Hawksridge is going to be a lot different from now on.”
I wanted to shout and scream. I wanted to attack him and kiss.
“You don’t know anything, Jethro Hawk.”
“Ready?” George appeared with his incessant camera.
Jethro wrapped his arms around me. Our tense standoff was silenced for a moment. He gave me no choice but to liquefy in his arms, smile demurely, and pretend everything was perfect for one of the fakest photographs ever taken.
“I know more than I need to,” Jethro murmured, his breath hot and enticing on my neck. “I know everything I need in order to complete my task.”
George darted forward. Sylvie, with her bouncing blonde hair, checked the sunlight with handheld sensors. The day was cool but bright; a brilliant autumn backdrop for Vanity Fair’s extravaganza.
“Perfect. Don’t move,” George said.
“Oh, I hadn’t planned on it,” Jethro whispered just for me. He rocked his hips into my arse as he cradled me in his arms. His head bowed as he nuzzled my hair. “You smell just as good as I remember.”
“Oh, you remember that, do you?” I cocked my chin, glaring at Hawksridge and doing my utmost to remain unaffected by Jethro rubbing himself on my lower back. “And here I thought you’d forgotten everything to do with me.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered sadly. “You’ve forgotten what I said to you the night you brought me back in the springs. You’ve forgotten that I said I was in love with you. That it didn’t come with conditions or commands. That I couldn’t hate you for what you did yesterday or tomorrow.” I sighed, nursing the pain deep inside. “Don’t you see what I’m offering you? Cut doesn’t love you, Jethro. He’s the one controlling you. Choose me. Love me. And we can be free together.”
Jethro growled under his breath. “Stop wasting your time. It’s not going to happen.”
George pranced closer, clicking his camera, capturing us for eternity.
“You’ll see, Kite. Eventually, you will see, and I hope for both our sakes it isn’t too late.”
That was the last time we talked while we became the perfect models for George. For the next hour, we were told where to stand, how to smile, what to do. Photographs were taken in front of Hawksridge, in the stables with the foxhounds threading around our feet, and beneath the apple trees in the orchard.
With each click of the shutter, my heart fell a little more. I had no doubt the pictures would turn the world from suspicion to adoration. The rumours would die. The questions would disappear. And life would move on.
Exactly as the Hawks intended.
