Author: Tiffany Reisz

“I left a note for Kingsley in the library,” Søren said as casually as if he’d said he needed his dry cleaning picked up. “Please see that he gets it. Don’t tell them where I’ve gone. I don’t want Laila...” He paused then, as if he couldn’t bring himself to speak the next words.

“I’ll take care of your girl...both of your girls.”

Søren nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

He started to pull away but Grace couldn’t quite let go yet. She grabbed his hand again and held it to her heart.

“I have to tell you something,” she said, and he met her eyes.

“Last call for confessions.”

“I love my husband more than life itself. And there’s no one in the world other than Zachary who I want to grow old with. I want to have his children and be his wife and stay with him for the rest of my days. But the truth is...” She paused for courage and found it in him. “I would have sold my soul for one night with you.”

She spoke the words and gave him a smile, gave it like a gift. He would die today. At least she could give him that one act of kindness, of letting him see a woman who loved him smiling at him on the last morning of his life.

“Beautiful Grace,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the center of her palm, “I wouldn’t have charged you nearly so much.”

She laughed and the laughter shattered into tears as he let her go and started to walk away into the woods. As he reached the tree line, Grace called out after him.

“She said you were the best man on earth.”

Søren turned around.

“She says that all the time. No one ever believes her.”

He turned again and was gone.

Grace spoke two words that only she and God would ever hear.

“I did.”

Standing in the middle of the road she held her stomach. The pain...she’d never known such pain. She could have screamed so that every devil in hell heard her cry and it wouldn’t relieve the pain, the betrayal, she felt. She would not live in a world where someone thought they had the right to hurt him, to hurt the woman he loved, the woman he would die for. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t stand for it.

So instead she ran for it.

30

THE QUEEN

Nora lay on her side on the floor. She’d been left alone in Marie-Laure’s room. It seemed that they’d lost interest in her now. They’d expected something, something that hadn’t happened. It scared her, this sudden lack of loathing, lack of fascination with her. Marie-Laure’s obsession with Nora’s stories had kept her alive for a couple of days. Now she wanted no more stories.

No more stories, no more Nora.

Alone on the floor Nora prayed her last prayers. If she did die today she prayed it would be clean and quick. She hated the thought of dying screaming and shitting herself. At least if they’d gotten bored with her, then they might simply put a bullet in her brain. One blink and she’d be gone.

She prayed for her mother, too, prayed she would be okay, wouldn’t be broken by losing her only child like this. She prayed for Wesley, that he would find someone else to love, someone who would give him everything he wanted and deserved—marriage, children, an equal partner and an undivided heart. For Kingsley she prayed, too. She prayed he’d understand that she never wanted to steal Søren from him, that she never begrudged Søren’s love for him, their friendship. She prayed he’d forgive her for not having his child and not asking what he wanted. She’d been so afraid of the answer she hadn’t dared ask the question. She prayed he would find peace with Juliette and everything else he needed.

For Søren she prayed that he would survive losing her, that he would remember his faith and know that he’d only lost her a little while, and she would be with him again someday.

Her final prayer she devoted to Grace and Zach, who ached so badly to have a child. Maybe the final prayer of a condemned woman might get God’s attention.

As the sun finally showed itself over the edge of the horizon, Nora finished her prayers and closed her eyes.

Even when she heard footsteps coming her way only minutes later Nora kept her eyes closed. She had no desire to look death in the face. She stayed safe behind her eyes, hiding in her heart where she kept all her most beautiful memories of Søren.

“Wake up,” came Damon’s voice from above her.

“Five more minutes, Mom,” Nora said from the floor.

Nora cried out as her side exploded in pain. She curled into the fetal position and choked on her own tears.

“I said ‘wake up.’ I’ll kick you again if you want me to.”

She opened her eyes and painfully sat up. Every breath hurt. He’d cracked a rib kicking her so hard.

“I’m awake.” She looked up at Damon and met his eyes. She saw a delighted fire burning in them.

“Good. He’s here.”

31

THE KNIGHT

Wesley woke up early. Too early. The sun hadn’t even quite clawed its way up into the sky yet. But now that he was awake he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until complete exhaustion overtook him. He crawled out of bed and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He forced himself to focus on the basics. He needed to eat something, check his blood sugar, take a shower. He shouldn’t make things worse for everyone by going into DKA again. Nora needed to be the only thing anyone worried about. Saving Nora...getting her back, getting her safe.

Alone in his room Wesley checked his blood sugar and took his insulin. As he put away his supplies he noticed what was beneath his feet for the first time. An Oriental rug covered the floor. Peeking out from the edges of the rug, Wesley noticed darkly stained hardwood flooring. He walked to the edge of the rug and kicked it back, baring the floor beneath.

He could do this. Of course he could. If Nora did it, so could he. Bumps and bruises...nothing bad. At worst he might get a shiner and a headache. With one deep breath Wesley let himself fall forward, barreling face-first toward the floor.

In an instant and only an inch from the floor, Wesley’s hands shot out and caught himself. He rose up in a high push-up. Maybe from here, from a mere two feet from the floor, he could drop down and let himself hit the floor. For a solid five minutes he held that pose, daring himself to let go.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself fall.

“Dammit, Nora,” he said to himself as he stood up. Wesley left the room and his failed experiment behind him. Across the hall was Laila and Grace’s room. Grace was already up but Laila still lay in bed, her body bowed into the fetal position. Did she always sleep like that? Curled up tight into a ball? Or was she cold and that’s why she had her legs pulled into her chest? Without waking her, Wesley grabbed the spare blanket from the closet and covered Laila with it. She looked so pretty in her sleep, so calm and peaceful, with her long, dark eyelashes resting on her cheeks. Weird a girl so blonde would have such dark eyelashes. Hard to believe a girl this gorgeous had made it to eighteen still a virgin. Then again, he wasn’t hideous, as Nora always said, and he’d made it to eighteen, nineteen, twenty even. Must be hard having such an intimidating priest for an uncle. Even if she liked a guy, no way would he be able to meet her uncle’s exacting standards. And Laila seemed so smart, so sweet, and she wasn’t even freaked out by the needles and the shots. No, a girl like Laila definitely deserved the best. Something else he and Søren agreed on.

God, he missed hating that man.

Wesley left Laila sleeping in her bed. He didn’t want to be the weirdo creeper caught staring at an unconscious girl. Especially not by Søren, who would probably kill him as Laila had warned last night.

After eating his low-carb and no-taste breakfast, Wesley went in search of Søren. He needed updates, information, any news anyone had about Nora. He didn’t find Søren anywhere downstairs. But in the library he found Kingsley sitting behind a big desk, a book across his stomach, his eyes closed.

“Any news?” Wesley asked without preamble.

Kingsley slowly opened his eyes.

“Shall I get you the Sunday Times?”

“About Nora.”

“Non.” Kingsley sat up in the chair and faced Wesley over the desk. “No news.”

“You went there last night. What happened?”

He shook his head.

“Rien.”

“Please. English.”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“You went there and what? Had a picnic?”

“Oui, I had a picnic. Then I broke into the house, hid in the servants’ halls, listened to your fiancée speaking—”

“You heard her?” Wesley’s heart leaped with hope.

“And saw her.”

“She’s alive. Oh...thank God.” He collapsed into the chair in front of the desk, his head in his hands. “Was she okay?”

“Okay is a relative term. She was alive, she looked uninjured. Her clothes were on and, although soiled, did not appear torn.”

Wesley breathed through his hands.

“Then what? You saw her. You couldn’t get her out.”

“Not without shooting my own sister in the back.”

Kingsley stared at him full in the face. A hard, cold stare that Kingsley wielded like a weapon. Wesley stared back and didn’t look away. Kingsley seemed to be challenging him, daring him to question his choices.

“I couldn’t do that, either,” Wesley finally said. “Kill someone. Not in the back, anyway. Self-defense, maybe, but no, not in cold blood.”

Kingsley narrowed his eyes as if not trusting Wesley’s words.

“I left her there in the house. I couldn’t get her out.”

“So what’s next, then? What’s the plan? You say there are people there with your sister. People can be bought, bribed.”

“Would you like to go to the house now and write them a check?”

“If I thought it would work, I would. Jesus, we can’t just sit here and wait. We have to do something.”

“I am doing something. I’ve made some calls. I have some help coming. When they get here, we’ll try again. Don’t worry. We’ll get your fiancée back and you two can get married. Please don’t forget to invite me to the divorce.”

“Are you ever going to explain to me why you hate me so much?”

“You’re not interesting enough to hate.”

Wesley shook his head in disgust.

“God, I thought Søren was bad. Could Nora have worse taste in men?”

“I believe you’re the answer to that question.”

Wesley leaned forward in his chair.

“Tell me. Why do you hate me? I want to know.”

Kingsley slammed the book in front of him shut and stood up. He came around the desk and sat on the edge.

“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why, mon petit prince. You have never suffered. And don’t tell me you have. I have shoes that have suffered worse tortures than you.”

“You’re right,” Wesley agreed readily. “I haven’t suffered. I’ll be the first to admit I won some kind of cosmic lottery with my family.”

“You have. And yet you think you deserve someone like her. And worse, you think she’s better off with someone like you. You are a child. You are the child who wakes up from a nightmare and stumbles into his parents’ bedroom and sees Daddy on top of Mommy and thinks, ‘Why is he hurting her?’ That’s what you are. An ignorant child who has not lived, has not struggled, has not suffered, has not hurt, and yet presumes to tell his parents that what they’re doing is wrong.”

“And that’s why you hate me so much? Because I’m not kinky?”

“I couldn’t care less if you’re kinky or not. You might as well ask me if I care what sort of car you drive, Ponyboy.”