As soon as dawn breaks, I leave Danny in bed, slip on a robe, and go down to the kitchen, and the moment I enter, it feels so empty. No Esther puttering around, baking, cooking, making tea.
Tea. I need a cup of English tea.
I make myself one and take a seat on a stool at the island, taking my first sip. My nose wrinkles. It’s drinkable, but certainly not in Esther’s league. I miss her. Not just her tea, but her ability to reason with me. With everyone. What would she tell me right now? Other than threaten to slap my face, she would remind me of who I’m married to and why I am married to him. It’s so easy to forget, to lose sight of forever and happiness, when I am immersed in the violence and trials that being with The Brit brings.
For over an hour, I tussle and argue with myself, often looking down at my tummy, coming back to the same conclusion.
I shouldn’t be here.
I serve no purpose but to rile him daily. I am incapable of handling my emotions, even more so now, but more than anything, I should go for all our safeties. Danny can focus, I can be with Daniel, and the baby and I will be out of harm’s way. Or, more like out of Danny’s way. Neither of us can do right for doing wrong, so it’s for the best.
I nod to myself and turn on my stool when I hear dainty footsteps coming down the marble steps. With Esther still in St. Lucia, it can be only one person.
I get up and go to the door, seeing Beau nearing the bottom, her slight, toned body adorned in gym clothes, her hands in her hair tying it. She looks like she got about as much sleep as I did, dark circles around her eyes. I don’t need to ask how she and James are. The fact she’s up at six o’clock heading for the gym tells me. This tragedy definitely hasn’t brought them together, and after listening to Beau last night and watching her monitor her cell like a hawk, waiting for a call from her ex-fiancé—God help us—I know it’s not likely to either. She wants to get out there and get all the details. She wants to find out what happened, the circumstances, the perpetrator. She wants to be the cop she once was, and that’s going to go down as well as a missile hitting the mansion.
I see a raging fire. Heat. Damage.
I flinch, shaking those thoughts away. Or I try to.
Beau hits the bottom of the stairs and looks up, finding me by the kitchen. “Okay?” I ask, a stupid question I know, but what else can I say? In the space of a day, her murdered mother’s remains have been stolen and her father shot dead.
“Have you spoken to Lawrence yet?”
“No, I’m building myself up to that.”
“Did you hear from Ollie?”
She reaches behind her and pulls her cell from the back of her gym pants, looking at the screen. I’m taking that as a no. “I’m going for a workout.”
“Do you want a tea?”
She shakes her head, swallowing, so obviously holding back her emotions. “My period came.”
Oh God. “Beau—”
Her hand comes up. “Please, Rose, do not give me sympathy.”
“I’m your friend. What do you expect me to do?”
“I don’t expect anything, but I hope you’ll hear me when I say I can’t. I just . . . can’t.” She backs away from me, sadness a veil all over her, and there are endless reasons for it.
Oh, Lord, have mercy on this woman and give her a fucking break.
“Beau,” I blurt, sounding urgent, stopping her halfway to turning. “I’m going back to St. Lucia.” This makes her blink in surprise. “I think it’s for the best.” My hand falls to my stomach, and so do her eyes. It’s not the first time my heart breaks for her, and it won’t be the last. “Danny and I are at each other’s throats constantly, the pressure to be fine is just way too much, and in my condition—” I wince at my own stupid words. “I mean—”
“I understand.” She comes to me and hugs me, and still, even with her heartfelt embrace, I’m injured. I hoped she’d beg me not to go, because I’m certain I would if she declared she was leaving. I couldn’t be without her. I deflate in her arms, my eyes stinging. She’s too focused on her loss. Or her newfound mission. Jesus, trying to find her mother’s killer nearly broke her. If she does this, she might not come out the other side. And starting her period will only make her more determined to distract herself. “Come with me,” I blurt, feeling panic setting in. I push out of her hold and take the tops of her arms, and she looks at me with a heavy forehead.
“Me and you, back to St. Lucia. I know you and James are struggling too.”
“You mean since my ex sent me a picture of him all over another woman?”
Okay, it didn’t look good, I admit that, but . . . “Haven’t you wondered why Ollie was there?” She looks away, telling me she has. But she’s choosing to ignore that logic. “And that Beth woman. How did she know James would be at Hiatus, because I’m sure as shit she doesn’t look like the kind of woman who pops into a strip club for a drink?”
She won’t ask herself those questions because she’s too busy thinking about how her ex can help her rather than how he can ruin her relationship.
Beau looks at the screen of her phone again. “I don’t have the bandwidth, the capacity, or the energy to fix this right now, Rose.”
“Because you’re too focused on finding your father’s killer?” I ask quietly. “But what if he wasn’t shot? What if . . . what if there’s an explanation? A heart attack? A stroke? What if there’s no killer to find?”
She smiles softly and rubs my arm. “I’ll be in the gym,” she says, walking away, taking her phone to her ear as she does. Calling her ex. How many times has she done that since last night? And why isn’t he answering? The asshole. He better hope he doesn’t find himself in a room alone with me. I look down at my tummy. Roll my eyes.
I go back to the kitchen and jump out of my skin when I find someone in there. James. He’s making himself a coffee, shirtless, fiddling with the machine. I frown. How did he get in here without me seeing? “Morning,” I say to his scared back as I go to the stool.
“Morning,” he replies, not looking at me. “I saw you talking to Beau and took an alternative route.” He obviously read my mind. I look at the French doors onto the garden. They’re ajar. They also would have been locked, but that wouldn’t be a problem for The Enigma, and clearly it wasn’t. “Coffee?” he asks, giving me his attention as the machine spits one out.
“No, thanks.” I hold up my mug. “Tea.”
He nods and takes his cup, joining me at the island, and I find myself sitting back, withdrawing. Damn it, he’s going to pick my brain. “How are you feeling?” he asks, nodding at my tummy that’s concealed beneath the countertop.
“Fat.”
He laughs under his breath and necks his caffeine in one hit. “The only thing big about you, Rose, is your willful streak.”
If he’s about to lecture me for causing Danny unnecessary grief, I’m not game. I lecture myself enough without anyone else’s help. “Are you tired of fighting?”
He looks at his empty cup as he places it down, then peeks up at me. “You?”
I breathe out, exasperated. “How does this keep spinning back onto me?” I think I’d rather him pick my brain about Beau. I lean forward. “With respect, when it comes to relationship issues, you and Beau are definitely out in front.” And I wonder . . . does he know her period started? Will he be relieved? Disappointed?