I was whisking eggs when his phone, left on the counter the night before, buzzed loudly, followed by a ding.
Then it rang out again.
And again.
At first, I ignored it. Lucas fielded works calls and messages at all hours, so the fact that his phone was going off early wasn’t particularly surprising. But as the ringing continued, I started to worry it would wake him. God knew he didn’t sleep enough as it was.
I moved to silence the phone, but as I picked up the device, the screen lit up with a preview of the messages, all of them from Winnifred Lyons.
Daniel is refusing to do what’s needed. He keeps talking about his little chef.
My hands began to shake as I stared at the screen. More messages appeared in quick succession, each one driving the knife deeper into my chest.
Have you taken care of the problem?
Is she in love with you yet?
If not, maybe it’s just better to leave her there.
Just set her up with a job in London or Paris or wherever the little urchin wants to work.
MY SON CANNOT BE IN LOVE WITH THE COOK.
Tell me where you are. We need you to fix this ASAP.
The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the marble counter with an echo through the sudden silence. I stared at the dark screen, my mind struggling to process what I’d just read.
Have you taken care of the problem?
Is she in love with you yet?
The problem. That’s what I was to them. A problem to be managed, handled, and disposed of like an inconvenient business complication. And Lucas—Lucas had been sent—or maybe he’d sent himself—to “take care” of me. To make me fall in love with him so I’d forget about Daniel. Render me too confused and heartbroken to pursue the son they’d already deemed too good for me.
Every tender moment from the night before replayed in my mind with sickening new clarity. Lucas’s gentleness, his praise, the way he’d looked at me like I was the key to the entire world he’d always wanted. All of it calculated. All of it a performance designed to manipulate my feelings, to use my inexperience and loneliness against me.
You are the one I want to do this. If you’ll have me. If I’m safe with you.
Had I actually said that? Had I looked into his eyes and whispered those words while he was hovering above me, right on the precipice.
I had. And he’d answered,You areonlysafe with me.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting back the nausea that rose in my throat. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have believed that someone like Lucas Lyons could actually want someone like me without an ulterior motive? I’d bounced from one brother to another like some pathetic, desperate girl, completely oblivious of the games at play with an older man.
Oblivious that it had all been a lie.
My son cannot be in love with a cook.
Well, at least Winnifred Lyons wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.
Moving on autopilot, I set the whisk aside. My hands were steady now, which surprised me. Inside, I felt like I was splitting into pieces, but my body seemed to understand what my mindcouldn’t yet fully accept: I needed to get away from here. Away from him. Away from everything about him.
I crept back down the hallway, past the bedroom where Lucas still lay sleeping, one arm flung across the space where I’d been. His dark hair was mussed from my fingers and sleep, and there was still a faint red mark on his neck I didn’t even remember leaving but was clearly in the shape of my mouth.
The sight of it made my stomach churn.
It also made my next actions that much clearer.
I closed the door, went across the hall to dress quickly in a pair of jeans and a cardigan, then shoved everything else in my bag before grabbing my purse to make sure I had my essentials.
