First of all, she was neither dressed nor looked like a thief. She had a lavender dress on and it came down to her mid-thighs. Her hair was loose, with two tiny braids on either side of her temple, but they pulled back and got lost in her waves. Her ankle boots were black and leather, still quite new.
Second, she fidgeted too much to be a thief.
And third – Bishop’s security was tight and a little girl like her would definitely not be able to sneak inside. So, I had already come to one conclusion.
“Of course not,” she responded, clearly affronted by such judgment.
Coal’s attention was on her and I knew that look very well. He definitely didn’t like her and felt threatened by her presence. I kept a hand on him, trying to soothe the big beast. “Did you do something wrong and now you’re running away?”
Her lips thinned. “No.”
“Then why can’t you give me your name?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Not an acceptable answer, princess,” I rasped.
Her lips parted and I watched her inhale sharply. “You already know who I am,” she accused.
My lips twitched. “I might already have an idea.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and inched closer to me. “Tell me,” she challenged.
“You tell me,” I shot back. Coal threw his head back, stomping and letting out a small huff. He had been a good boy all day today and I didn’t want our intruder to mess this up, so I led the stallion back to his stall. He happily stomped inside and I closed the latch behind him, making sure he was securely locked inside.
He had already tried to run away twice.
I faced the girl once again and rubbed my sweaty palms over my pants. I still wore my office clothes since I wasn’t supposed to be here today to train Coal, but it was a last-minute decision. I might have missed his stubborn and grumpy ass.
She eyed me carefully, her gaze drifting from my polished leather shoes, up my legs and then my stomach. Her eyes lingered a second longer on my chest, where the top of my white shirt gaped open; the buttons were undone and my sleeves were pulled up to my elbows while I worked with Coal.
I leaned back against a beam and crossed my ankles. “Once you’re done checking me out, please don’t hesitant to introduce yourself.”
She gasped indignantly. “I wasn’t checking you out.”
I quirked an eyebrow, watching her flush and mumble under her breath.
“What’s your name?”
“Killian,” I finally introduced myself. “Killian Spencer.”
Her jaw went slack and she sputtered. “You–”
She looked left and right and wrung her hands together. Her wide eyes would have been comical if she wasn’t so goddamn… beautiful, while looking so confused.
Her round face. White-blonde hair. Grey eyes. Pink lips and a curvaceous body. I usually went for brunettes, but I’d definitely make an exception for this one.
“You are… the Killian Spencer. William Spencer’s son? What are you doing here, training my father’s horse?” she rambled, clearly in shock.
Ah.
So that confirmed my suspicion. She was Bishop’s daughter.
And she must have thought I was some stable boy her father hired. How fucking hilarious.
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my black slacks, watching her. “I have to go,” she breathed, when I didn’t answer her quick enough. “Um, I shouldn’t be here.”
She was already walking backward and I watched her disappear around the corner of the stables. She left without giving me her name.
I saw her again the next day.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
She had a habit of running away and every time, I’d let her.
Until…
I slammed the whiskey glass on the countertop. The fury still festered, even after three long years. It dug holes inside me until I was less human and more monster. And it was all because of her.
I closed my eyes. The memories didn’t make me sad anymore nor did they hurt because I was fucking enraged.
Julianna.
My wife.
She stole the one good thing I had in my life.
Her face, hidden by the black and lace veil, flashed behind my closed eyelids. Even though I had put more distance than possible between her and me, she was still here. In my head. Mocking me with every breath she took, taunting me every minute of the day.
How was it possible that I thought of the woman who destroyed my life with a simple flick of her wrist more than I thought of my Gracelynn?
The heartbreak had long been forgotten. I was no longer heartbroken; I was just so goddamn angry. At Julianna. At my father… at everyone and everything. It was easier to be angry than to feel hurt.
Heartbreak made me weak.
Rage gave me purpose.
It had been six months and two weeks since our wedding, since I left her on the Island. I thought she’d come back a few weeks into our marriage, demanding her wifely rights. I thought she’d expect us to stay together – to share a fucking bed and a life.
But Julianna shocked me by not only continuing to stay on the Island, but she made it her home. When Bishop had asked her to return back to the mainland, she simply refused.
When my father had tried to convince her to come back to Spencer Manor, she said that she had already settled on Isle Rosa-Maria and that she liked it there.
The gossip had spread far and wide – but both my father and Bishop had tried to shut it down. They succeeded when my father’s illness was made public.
The focus had switched from my failed marriage with Julianna to my father’s little time left on this earth.
A tumor in the brain, the doctor had explained. It was not operatable. And worst, it was invasive and growing rapidly. One doctor said my father had less than a year to live. Another one gave him an estimate of eighteen months. They said he could try radiation therapy or chemotherapy, but I remembered the look on their faces – the pity and the defeat.
They said it all depended on my father’s luck and God’s will.
But fuck that. What was the reason for science and evolution when we still had to depend on “luck” and “God”?
My father was dying and I had approximately ten months to make his wishes come true and fulfill our contract with Bishop Romano.
An heir for the Romanos and Spencers.
A child to connect the two families by blood.
My fist clenched around my glass. “Fuck,” I hissed under my breath, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.
“Well, you’re in a good mood today.” My father joined me, coming to stand by my side. He grabbed the bottle before I could and poured the whiskey into my glass.
“Are you packed yet?” he asked, almost lazily, but I didn’t miss the threat in his tone.
“You’re literally kicking me out of my own home,” I snapped, before bringing the glass to my lips, taking a sip.
“Your home is with your wife, Killian. If she’s not coming here, you will go to her.” He was talking as if I was a five-year old and still needed my father’s guidance in life.
Yeah, no. I knew exactly what I had to do and it has nothing to do with Julianna Romano.
“You have a contract to fulfill,” my father reminded me. “And I don’t have long to live. I want to see my grandchild before it’s my time to go.”