Heiress vs Rockstar (Love in Illyria Book 4) Page 9

  "Where was Alice?" he asked.

  That was the part that bothered him. In his book, Lewis had only made a mention that the hostages were returned as well as most of the artifacts.

  "She was taken with the staff that was still in the camp. We paid the ransom and got them back in a few days. They didn't realize the value of what they had, so they set the ransom based on the weight of the artifacts. Some of the weapons they took were extremely valuable, they could have asked ten times what they had and we would have paid without hesitation."

  He couldn't wrap his head around Professor Lewis's tale. He sounded more worried about the artifacts than the fact that his daughter had been kidnapped.

  The professor didn't seem to realize that he put his daughter's life at the same level of importance than the relics. If not lower. He looked at Alice, sitting next to her grandmother on the other side of the room. She nodded meekly at something Clara Pellerin was saying. She didn't seem any more at ease in this place than at the formal galas where he had observed her.

  After dinner, Clara Pellerin summoned him via Wilkins.

  "She's a scary crone," Alice's father said. "But she cares about her girls. I was in your shoes twenty some years ago."

  "It seems to have worked out well for you," Tim said.

  "When you know what's important, everything else falls into place. If you want a piece of advice, be honest with her."

  Honesty would not be a good policy. His war was with Alice. The rest of the world could burn.

  Wilkins opened the door to Clara Pellerin's study.

  "Close the door," Clara Pellerin said, and Wilkins obeyed.

  Her harsh voice rose from a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.

  "I am very annoyed at your interference, Mr. Carter," she said as soon as the door was closed. "Alice and Christian were meant to do great things together."

  "She chose me."

  "Did she now? Do you really think that we're all as blind as Greg and Lara? Christian is going to be President, and Alice would have been a great help to him."

  And she'd be helping their own businesses along. Clara's fashion empire. Her husband's fleet. Whatever the hell was that Lewises made money from.

  "Why don't you support her to become president?" he asked in a neutral voice.

  He didn't want to antagonize the old woman too much, but he was curious. The more he talked to these people, the more he understood little things about Alice.

  "She doesn't thrive in the public eye. As you well know, or you wouldn't have dragged her into this media circus."

  "I love her."

  The spark in Clara's eyes reminded him of the first times he met Alice. The same disbelieving amusement, bordering on contempt.

  "You truly are Barbara Saxon's son," Clara said. "That was almost believable."

  "What do you want from me? To walk away from the woman I love because you have plans for her future?"

  "Bravo, Mr. Carter! That was a perfect reaction. Be careful though. If you say it a third time, you might make it true."

  He was playing a part, and he had to react accordingly. What would a genuine suitor would say?

  "Let me make this plain. I will not walk away from Alice. I have my claws in her, and I'm not letting her go."

  "Claws and fangs from what I can tell," the old woman said coldly. "It will be interesting to watch the two of you deal with this... situation."

  She didn't sound upset. Not in any red hot furious way he'd expect from a mother. She seemed genuinely interested in observing the evolution of his relationship with Alice.

  "Do any of you care about her? She's a travel accessory for her parents. A pawn for Cesara. An experiment for you. Do any of you see her as a human being?"

  "I care enough about her to know that she's not happy with you. If she managed to survive her childhood, she will be able to deal with you. I'm getting old, Mr. Carter. I would rather not see my granddaughter turn into the ice monster she's capable of being. You're pushing her into becoming something you will not like. You may go now."

  She dismissed him without giving him time to answer. He closed the study door behind himself, sealing the old woman in with her smoke and her bitterness.

  He went looking for Alice in the Organza salon, but she wasn't there. How had the girl survived growing up in war zones and virus outbreaks? How did she manage to appear a boring upper-class girl even after all being kidnapped, tied up and God knew what else?

  Clara Pellerin had made a good point. He could already see the change in the little monster. She was getting used to his barbs and jabs. Even the jokes about her on social media didn't faze her as they had at first.

  He wandered along the hallways, looking at paintings and sculptures without seeing them, thinking about her. He found her in a corner of the Velvet Salon, her nose buried in a book.

  Grudgingly, Tim had to admit that he disagreed with what people said about her looks. Her imperfections made her more beautiful than her mother, or Alba or Isabella. None of the classically stunning women had fired his imagination as much as Alice. Maybe Vy came close, but for very different reasons. He wanted to save Vy from her comfortable life. He wanted to give her the chance to shine on the stage. He wanted to drown Alice in glamour and publicity so that the whole world could see the monster she was on the inside. Why wasn't it working? Everything he threw at her bounced back and he found himself admiring her.

  She sat up straight at his approach. He sat on an ornate chair next to her sofa.

  "Your father told me the story of the Zimbabwe expedition," he said.

  "Oh, that's a good story," she said. "He still has one of the daggers in his study. He'll show it to you if you ask. Not that I'm inviting you to our house," she added hurriedly.

  "He never said if anything happened to you."

  "I was fine," she said waving a hand dismissively. "They paid the ransom very fast."

  "You were with them a few years later, in Peru, weren't you?"

  "Yes. They took me everywhere."

  "Wasn't then an open conflict with the Shining Path?"

  "It still is," she said.

  "And an outbreak of a horrible virus."

  "That too," she agreed. "We were fine. It was worth the risk. Didn't you read their articles? The things they found-"

  "Alice," he interrupted her.

  "Yes?"

  He shook his head. How could any responsible parents put their child in such danger? He had thought his father was careless that he went into war zones when he had a wife and children, but to take a child into those places. He changed the subject.

  "Give me a tour of the house."

  She left her book on the sofa and stood up.

  "Do you want to see anything in particular?"

  "Your room," he said.

  Alice only smiled. Not as cold as Clara, but just as dismissively.

  "Come on, let me take you to our music room. I hope you're not allergic to dust," she added.

  She kept close to him, avoiding to touch him as always. The sound of their steps was muffled by the thick carpets. He caught a glimpse of the two of them in a large mirror. He was getting used to the sight of them as a couple.

  "How come your parents don't seem upset you broke up with Sinclair?" he asked when they entered the music room. "Your grandmother was stern on the subject."

  The rest of the castle was spotless but in this room a beautiful grand piano gathered dust and cobwebs.

  "Oh, they didn't know we planned to get married."

  His eyebrow shot up.

  "Married?"

  Alice traced her finger through the dust on the piano's lid.

  "Whatever," she said.

  "Did you even like the guy? Or was his pedigree enough?"

  "If you must know," she said without trying to conceal her sadness, "we were getting along swimmingly. I care about him. He's a good man, and I had to cut him out of my life because of you. You hit the mark very well."

  "He didn't love yo
u," he said.

  "Glad to see you're so sure about that."

  That was a statement of fact. He hadn't said it to hurt her, and he needed to explain.

  "I saw how he acted around you. If another man said in front of me that he'd put you over his knee and spank you, I'd tear him apart. Your Sinclair didn't even blink."

  "Yes, I can imagine you being quite miffed if someone messed with your chew toy."

  "That's right. No one gets to touch what's mine."

  They were alone in that vast room, but he needed to be very close to her. Close enough to feel her body trembling. Vibrating in his presence.

  "You're starting to believe your own press now?" she asked, turning to look at him. "I'm not yours. I'm allowing you to take out your pain and frustration on me because I feel guilty. But I am not yours."

  He leaned over until his lips touched her ear when he spoke.

  "Who's believing her own lies now? Don't kid yourself, Alice. You are mine. Call it guilt if it makes you feel better, but sooner or later, you'll have to face the truth."

  She took a step back, but didn't say anything.

  "Why aren't you prouder of being with them in those expeditions?"

  "I am proud," she said.

  "No, you're not. You're dispassionate when you talk about them. You try to mimic their enthusiasm, but you don't feel it. You seem ashamed. But why? Most people would feel proud to be as self-reliant as you are."

  "I'm glad you think so," she said in a casual tone he knew to be fake.

  "Stop lying to me, Alice. You are far from glad that I broached this topic. I can see it in every minute gesture you use to conceal your discomfort. I know every inch of your body. I know every expression that crosses your face. I know that your mouth curves up at the right corner when you're amused, and at the left when you're dismissive. I know that your best lies are delivered without blinking. I know that you play with your hair when you're at ease and you keep it Didier-perfect when you want people not to see you."

  She pursed her lips in a manner he knew meant she was in pain. He touched them with the tips of his fingers, wanting to erase the grimace. He liked causing her pain, not reminding her of the ways other had hurt her.

  "Tell me, little monster. Why are you ashamed?"

  "I'm not."

  "Liar."

  He could do this. He'd been able to read the secrets of so many people, how hard could it be to read hers? His brain seemed wrapped in a thick fog, which had little to do with the wine he had at dinner. The emotions she stirred inside him kept him from seeing the truth.

  "Let's go back," she said.

  He put his hand on her arm, stopping her. His other hand cupped the back of her head. He pulled her close, as if he was about to kiss her. As always, her eyes fluttered at the blatant invasion of her private space.

  "What hurt you, little monster? What makes you cringe when I mention your parents? Is it because people say that your mother is more beautiful than you? Is it because you're not following in their footsteps? Your parents were world renowned archeologists at your age. Your grandmother had launched her first collection already. Your grandfather..."

  His voice trailed off when he saw that she was calming down when he moved away from her parents.

  "They took you everywhere with them. Your childhood was more full of adventure than a Jules Verne book."

  There it was. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he tightened his hold on her. He pressed his forehead against hers, as if he could reach inside her mind.

  "They didn't worry that something could happen to you. They put you in danger without a second thought. Is that it? They took you with them like you were a travel accessory. They didn't really care about you. You needed stability."

  Her rapid breathing told him he was closing in on the secret. Of course. What could the heiress of Maison Pellerin be missing? What was the one thing all the money in the world couldn't buy?

  "You needed to be protected. Loved."

  She struggled to escape from him, and he knew he had it.

  "They don't love you. They never did. You are a thing they have. One that they value less than the relics they uncover. You don't deserve to be loved."

  She relaxed.

  "I can live with that."

  "Yes. I saw that. You have a block of ice in your chest. But why are you ashamed?"

  "They're good people, Carter. They never realized that they put me in danger. They gave me everything I needed."

  "Except love."

  "Love is overrated."

  The French accent shocked him. He hadn't heard it in months. She had relaxed in his presence again. She really believed that. He expected it to be part of her mask. It was the sort of line she should have told him to make him shut up, but now he could tell when she was lying. She wasn't lying.

  "You never loved anyone if you can say that," he said.

  Something flickered in her eyes, betraying her. He was wrong. She had loved someone. Jealousy spiked inside him like a volcanic eruption. Whom had she loved and lost in such a way to make her soul shrivel?

  He'd uncovered her secret, and all it brought him was empathy for the little monster instead of a weapon against her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Alice

  On Christmas morning, Alice entered her grandmother's office hoping that she will find the reprieve from Carter there. He'd been extra annoying at breakfast with the prefect boyfriend routine and she could tell he was preparing to lay it on extra thick when they unwrapped their presents.

  It seemed that Isabella hadn't invited him over after all. She was beginning to feel sorry for herself almost as much as he was sorry for Tim.

  Clara Pellerin was smoking at her desk. Alice patted her pockets instinctively looking for her own cigarettes. The two of them were the only smokers in the family. Not even the retired general Alexander Lewis smoke cigarettes anymore.

  "Close the door," her grandmother said.

  Alice knew that tone. Clara was not happy with her. Her grandmother rarely voiced her disappointment in Alice's choices or her behavior, but she was used to speak bluntly.

  "You have to fix this, Alice. It has gone far enough, but it's not beyond repair quite yet. I'm sure you can talk Christian into taking you back."

  "You flatter me, grandmother," Alice said before she could stop herself.

  Clara Pellerin stared at her coldly. Her beautiful blue eyes seemed fashioned out of sheer steel. Alice looked down.

  "This is not a joke, Alice. That man made a fool out of you. Like it or not, you are the future of Maison Pellerin, and you have a duty to do what's best for the company."

  "We would have merged with the Sinclair clothing chain if I married into their family. Is that what's best for the company?"

  "They will buy us, now that you are not marrying their prince."

  "They will buy us if you sell the company. It's your choice, grandmother."

  The old woman shook her head. She suddenly looked more fragile than Alice had ever seen her. As if she had aged in a few minutes more the in 20 years.

  "You disappoint me. But I shouldn't be surprised. Your mother was a disappointment, and she didn't raise you any better."

  Alice pursed her lips. She didn't want to get drawn into an argument with her grandmother. She was right, in her eyes, Lara's choice of career had been a betrayal. Her gorgeous supermodel mother had chosen to run around godforsaken corners of the earth and risk her life instead of shining on the catwalks of the world.

  Alice's average looks had saved her from Clara's ambitions until that moment. Apparently, her grandmother didn't have a problem with her ugly granddaughter running Maison Pellerin behind the scenes, like she was the Phantom of the Opera.

  "At least, he brings us exposure," Clara said, sounding as if she was trying to make lemonade out of very sour lemons. " Even if he is not in his prime."

  Her eyebrows shot up. Her seventy-year-old grandmother was referring to Tim Carter who was in
his mi-thirties as "not in his prime". She saved the thoughts for later, to amuse herself away from Clara Pellerin's eagle eyed stare.

  "I trust you can handle him," her grandmother said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're not going to be one of the women he cheats on. You gave up a marriage to Christian Sinclair for this man. Don't let him make a fool out of you. He doesn't love you, Alice."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I thought it was perfectly clear. Dump him. Soon. Publicly. Before he does it to you."

  She opened her mouth to protest. She closed it again. What could she say? That Carter wasn't going to dump her? He might very well do that. Come to think of it, that was probably going to be his endgame. Dump her, publicly, in the most embarrassing way possible. That still didn't mean that she was free to dump him. He had too many ways to hurt her. And even after everything he did, she still felt guilty. She would let him humiliate her as much as he needed to. No matter what she did, she couldn't make up for giving him the hope that he could have a happy family, only to find out that it had all been an illusion.

  "I will think about it," she said tactfully.

  "You love him. That's unfortunate."

  What was unfortunate, was that she had to hold her tongue and not tell her grandmother the truth about her relationship with Carter.

  "Break up with him. He's not good for you."

  Alice studied the tips of her shoes. The rest of the world made it clear that she wasn't good enough for him.

  #

  Between unwrapping purposefully embarrassing presents and dodging Carter's public displays of affection, Christmas day finally passed. She was in her room, getting ready to sleep. Tomorrow after lunch she and Carter would leave the castle. She had to put up with him under the same roof as her family for a few more hours.

  She brightened at the sound of the phone. The only notifications she got were from King and they were always about the band. Her heart warmed to know that he thought about them even at Christmas. She cringed when she saw that the text was from Tim. Three words.

  "In the Conservatory."

  "With a candlestick," she muttered, getting dressed again.

  Son of bitch. He was really milking this situation. He could ruin her family's Christmas with a few words. He could tell them about her childhood insecurities. He could tell them about Isabella. He could tell them that she was pregnant with him if he wanted. Or with Christian. Or with King. There was no end to the things he could say to make her look bad.