My feet carried me to them without thinking. I flipped on a worklamp and ducked carefully under the police tape. They’d photographed them and then laid them out in a neat orderly row. A bunch of bones that looked like femurs and ribs—but it was the skulls that stuck with me with their hairline cracks. Proof their deaths had been anything but natural. There were six of them in total, no longer piled in that gruesome pyramid I saw when I closed my eyes, but I knew exactly which one had been on top. It was the one I saw when I closed my eyes. You can’t erase the sight of a skull that small from your mind.
4
Belle
Harrods was already experiencing the holiday crush, even in October. The department store had wasted no time decorating for Christmas. A massive tree was erected outside the entrance, which meant tourists were clustered around it taking photographs. Strings of lights were hung along the building’s exterior, and I was greeted with a Happy Holidays by the doorman. I resisted the urge to remind them that we were still weeks away from Christmas, knowing my ill humor regarding the matter stemmed more from being ready to give birth than any impropriety on the part of the shop. With all the preparation at the house, I hadn’t even thought about getting presents. Now it occurred to me that my spontaneous shopping trip, meant to lure Edward into the open, might be the last chance I had to prepare for the upcoming holidays. I had no idea if I’d get a chance after the baby was here. Suddenly, I felt the familiar panic I’d begun to experience every time I thought about what the future held. Just as I was on the verge of hyperventilating, a man bumped his shoulder into me.
“Excuse…” the rebuke died on my lips when I turned to glare at the guilty party.
“You came!” I threw my arms around my best friend who accepted my embrace awkwardly. I pulled back to study Edward for a moment, wondering if I was overwhelming him but he simply gave me a sheepish smile.
“I don’t want to squish Mini-Belle.” He patted my stomach softly, looking as though he was afraid if he touched it too forcefully he might break me.
“Mini-Belle?” I repeated.
“Well, you two haven’t given her a name,” he explained. “Have you?”
“We have a few contenders.”
“How vague of you.” He spoke lightly but there was an edge coating his words, as though he didn’t approve.
Of course he didn’t. Edward’s family was built around secrets. Secrets that had recently cost him the person he loved most in the world. It must be hard to see any kept information as innocuous after something sinister takes someone that important to you.
“I promise you will know as soon as I do.”
“You could just be like us Royals and give her every name you come up with,” he said dryly.
“Ah, yes, the old Louisa Anne Elizabeth Mary Victoria Fanny scenario,” I said.
“Fanny?” he repeated. “Please tell me that’s not a contender.”
“Billie?”
“That might be worse.” Despite his rough edge, the corners of his lips tipped up and he nearly smiled.
“Dare I say that you look good?” I asked, as we wove arm and arm through the crowd in Harrods. He’d opted for a t-shirt and jeans, not his usual style, although judging by how they showed off his lean, well-toned physique I couldn’t see why. Usually, he was clean-shave with his curly hair carefully coiffed into perfect submission. Today, it was hidden under a cap and he was sporting the start of either a beard or a refusal to pick up his razer. Between his hat and the sunglasses he’d kept on, he stuck out and blended in at the same time. It was hard to tell it was him under there. Although, it certainly looked like it must be someone. A few people studied us for a moment. No doubt trying to figure out who the celebrity was before giving up. He looked more like a rock star than the Prince of England.
“I look like shit,” he said flatly.
“Nope.” I shook my head, pausing long enough to admire a pair of Jimmy Choos. “You’ve got this whole devil-may-care vibe going. It’s very hot.”
“So is hell,” he said with a shrug.
I bit my lower lip as I picked up the shoe, examining it a second longer than necessary while trying to come up with what to say. The truth was I wasn’t certain how to play this. Did I ask him about David? About how he was feeling? Maybe he needed to talk. I’d tried to get him to in the beginning, but he’d been shell-shocked—and for good reason. It wasn’t everyday that your husband died.
It wasn’t everyday that your brother killed him.
But weeks had passed and I was worried about him. Not because he was sad. I expected that. But rather because he seemed to be retreating into himself and away from the rest of us. He’d cut off his family. He barely spoke to me. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing with his time. Was that because I was so busy with my own domestic bliss I didn’t notice? Was he avoiding me? Was I ignoring him? How did I make him feel safe to open up without pushing him too fast? Why wasn’t there a how-to manual for this?
I put the shoe down with a heavy sigh.
“Too much?” Edward asked.
“When am I going to wear that in the middle of nowhere? Out to feed the chickens?”
“You have chickens?” The idea seemed to genuinely horrify him.
“And if I did?”
“You’ve never been much of an outdoor girl,” he said, holding up his free hand in surrender and sounding genuinely amused for the first time since he arrived.
“I grew up in the countryside,” I reminded him. “I can do all the important trappings of the wealthy country types: stalk deer and walk dogs and even feed chickens.”
“So, is that what you’re up to all the way out there?”
“Come visit and find out,” I said. I’d been trying to tempt him to come with us to Sussex since this whole mess happened.
“I was thinking about going away,” he said, shrugging a single shoulder like he couldn’t be bothered to do more than think.”
“To Sussex?” I pressed.
“Somewhere warmer.” He stopped in front of a display of winter scarves and gloves. “I don’t think I want to deal with winter in England this year.”
“But you’ll be here for Christmas?” I asked in a soft voice.
“I don’t know. I find I don’t really feel like celebrating this year.” He fingered the rough edge of a Burberry scarf. “It would be our anniversary, you know.”
“I know. I don’t think you should be alone.”
Edward licked his lower lip, and I found myself wishing I could see his eyes. The last thing he needed was to be alone on his first anniversary. But was spending it with me, my husband and our daughter going to be better? Or just a painful reminder of what he’d lost?
“I thought I’d find a beach somewhere with cold drinks and hot men. Who says I have to be alone for Christmas? I’m not the only single gay man in the world.” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin that was too forced to be believable.
As long as the wound was open, I might as well pour all the salt in with one go. “Clara wants to have lunch.”