Sin I’d turned and stalked toward the door of that hospital waiting room... and paused. I'd turned and caught a glimpse of Karma and Summer holding each other, Victoria, slightly to the side. At least Summer would have company. My wife wouldn't be alone in her grief. That had reassured me; enough that I’d walked away. I had set her free, just as I’d intended to do all along. Arranged the funeral for her father; had told myself I wouldn’t go. Then had contented myself with watching her from a distance. Fuck, when had I started second-guessing my moves, huh? Why is it that I can recall the shape of her black dress as it had hugged her curves, ending below her knees? Her pink hair had shone in the afternoon sun. Yeah, unlike in the movies, in real life, the fucking sunshine bathes a funeral scene in golden light, even in rain-drenched London. My wife had held onto her sister, flanked by her st epmother on the other side. Saint had r epresented the Seven. He’d stood at the other end of the crowd, his attention focused on Victoria. Again. Summer had glanced up and spotted me. Our gazes had connected. I’d held hers, willed her to come to me. She’d stiffened, then deliberately turned away, and I’d forced myself to leave. That was exactly seven days ago. I’d focused on 7 A and FOK media, had buried myself in my work. She’d told me to get away from her, and I had. For the first time in my life, I had gone against my every instinct, which had screamed at me to gather her close, comfort her, take care of her. She hadn’t wanted it. And I had listened to her wishes. Fuck me. Fuck her. Fuck this thing between us that seems to grow bigger with every second. I raise the bottle of whiskey and chug it down. The liquid hits my stomach like a fireball. I stare out through the open window of my office. "Planning on alcohol poisoning yourself, huh?" Saint walks up to stand next to me. I don’t r eply, stare into the distance, where London spreads her skirts out, waiting for the next big bastard who will fuck her in the cunt. Oh, wait. That’s me. I am the one who’s turned every innocent thing that’s come my way into sordidness; who’s made my millions doing whatever it took, for as everyone knows, you can’t reach the top without st epping on some bodies. That’s all she’d been. Collateral damage. So why am I standing here brooding when my plan had worked spectacularly? I had destroyed Adam, and in the process, my wife. I hadn’t thought she’d take me down with her. Without trying. Without raising a finger. She’d bared herself to me and I had crushed her. "It wasn’t your fault." "Oh?" I raise the bottle to my lips, take another healthy swig.
"He could dish it out, too bad his heart couldn’t take it." Whatever. He holds out his hand and I hand the bottle to him. "How long are you going to sulk?" "Do I look like I am sulking?" "Abso-fucking-lutely." I thrust out my hand and he holds out the bottle. It’s empty. Typical. "Why did you come here, Saint?" "No reason." "You always have a reason." "Making sure you’re alive, old chap." "I am. You can bugger off now." "You’re in a pisser of a mood." "Get off my balls, you knob." "Have you spoken to her yet?" I’d tried, once. She’d hung up on me. No one hangs up on me. No one. I’d almost walked out of there and to her house... And then what? What would I have done? Apologized? Told her I’d become a new man? This is what I am. And it is true that her father played a big role in that. Perhaps the old man had been right; I had forged my identity from that incident. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t forced myself forward. Aimed so high that no one could touch me. So I could have the perfect revenge until... It had gone all pear-shaped on me. "I’m divorcing her." Saint stiffens. "I’ll ensure that she’s set up for life. Give her enough money so she won't have to work ever again." "Is that what she wants?" "It’s what she gets." I place the bottle on the table nearby. "That should be enough compensation for what I put her through, right?" "Well, then." He turns, walks to the bar. I hear the ice clink. He returns with two glasses of whiskey. "A toast then." He raises his glass. I toss the alcohol down my throat. "You’re such a chutiya." "That’s me." Always ready to bring out the worst in people. "Maybe you should try to placate her?"
"Not my style." "Not that you should change your approach or anything... not unless you want her." "I don’t—" "If you love her—" I scoff, "I don’t." Jace walks in. "The man doth protest too much." "Thought you’d left the country." I glower. "I returned last night. Sienna and I are buying the house up the street." "What?" I frown, "Why?" "Let it not be said that you didn't welcome me with open arms." He laughs. "It wasn't my call. She wants our child to grow up in the UK. Don't ask me why." He shakes his head. "Besides, she fell in love with Primrose Hill when she attended your wedding." Jace's face lights up, as it always does when he speaks about Sienna. All of this emo shit, fuck, it's too early for that. "She figured this way she could get to know your wife better as well." "You missed the memo." I grind my teeth so hard, pain flicks up my jaw. "I’m getting divorced." He shakes his head, "Don’t be such a..." He turns to Saint, "What was the very eloquent word you used?" "Chutiya." "Y ep, that." My left eyelid twitches, "And you’re the master of relationships because?" "I am the one who’s married to a woman who lights up my days and my nights." "What-fucking-ever. That flowery-ass bullshit may suit you, but it’s not for me." "Hmm." Jace approaches me. "Close your eyes." "What?" Saint snickers, "If I were you, I’d be careful. Whatever Jace is on, it’s clearly infectious. I, for one, intend to savor my single status." He st eps away, giving us both a wide berth. Jace grimaces, "You going to be swayed by this sorry excuse of a douche, or you going to, for once in your sorry life, listen to your fucking heart?" "Newsflash." Saint stretches out on the couch, "He doesn’t have one." Jace jerks his chin at me, "Didn’t take you for a pussy." Fuck this. I shut my eyes. "Now what?" "What’s the first image that flashes behind your eyes?" Her. "What’s the first voice you hear? Hers. "The first scent?" Her arousal. "Color?"
The pink strands of her hair. "The first touch you recall?" How her lips had parted under mine. How she’d moaned, opened up for me. Welcomed me into her body, her life, her soul. My eyes flash open. "You doubt what you feel for her?" A hot burn stabs at my chest. "What are you going to do about it?" Saint punches a cushion behind his neck, "Shag her out of your system, that’s what you should do. Get it all out, man." I turn in his direction. "Then," he rubs his hands together, "divorce her." I prowl toward him. "After," He links his hands behind his neck, "making her sign a watertight contract that she gives up all rights to your name, your firm, every goddam thing that she’s come in contact with." I squint down at him. "You’re right." "I am?" "Good thing I am not you, eh?"