But for now, escaping Darius would have to do.
Five
Darius passed through the iron gate surrounding the Wellses’ Gold Coast mansion and climbed the steps to the front door. The limestone masterpiece had been in their family for 120 years, harkening back to a time when more than the small immediate family lived under its sloped-and-turreted slate roof. As he twisted his key in the lock and pushed the heavy front door open, he considered himself blessed to be counted among that family. Not by blood, but by choice and love.
After entering the home, he bypassed the formal living and dining areas, and moved toward the rear of the home, the multihued glow from the stained-glass skylight guiding his way. This time of day, a little after five o’clock, Baron should have arrived home from the office. Since his heart attack, he’d cut his work days shorter. Helena and Gabriella should also be home, since they served dinner at six o’clock sharp every evening. In the chaotic turns Darius’s life had suffered, this routine and the surety of family tradition had been—and still was—a reassurance, one strong, steady stone in a battered foundation.
But tonight, with the news he had to deliver, he hated potentially being the one taking a hammer to them.
“Darius,” Helena greeted, rising from the feminine couch that had been her domain as long as he could remember. The other members of the family could occupy the armchairs or the other sofa, but the small, antique couch was all hers, like a queen with her throne. “There you are.”
She crossed the room, clasping his hands in hers and rising on her toes. Obediently, he lowered his head so she could press her lips to one cheek and then the other. Her floral perfume drifted to his nose and wrapped him in the familiarity of home. “I have to admit we’ve all been discussing you, wondering what it is you have to talk to us about. You’re being so mysterious.”
She smiled at him, and her expression only increased the unease sitting in his gut. He’d called to give them a heads-up without relaying the reason. This kind of information—about his impending marriage—required a face-to-face conversation.
“Hi, son.” Baron came forward and patted him on the shoulder, enfolding Darius’s hand in his. Warmth swirled in his chest, as it did every time the man he admired claimed him. “Sit and please tell us your news. Helena and Gabriella have been driving me crazy with their guessing. Do us all a favor and put them out of their gossipy misery.”
“Oh, it’s just been us, hmm?” Gabriella teased, arching an eyebrow at her father. She turned to Darius and handed him a glass of the Remy Martin cognac he preferred. “He wasn’t exactly tuning out over the gossip about the blackout. It seems several people have leveled suits against Richard Dent, the tech billionaire who owns the mansion, for emotional distress. Apparently his apology for trapping people in overnight wasn’t enough.” She shook her head. “I didn’t see him, but I even hear Gideon Knight was there. Can you imagine being caught in the dark withhim?”
“I’ve met the man,” Darius said, referring to the financial genius who’d launched a wildly successful start-up a couple of years ago. “He’s reserved, but not as formidable as people claim.”
He accepted the drink, bending to brush a kiss across Gabriella’s cheek. She clasped his other hand in hers, squeezing it before releasing him to sit on a chair adjacent to her mother. He sank onto one across from her, while, with a sigh, Baron lowered to the largest armchair in the small circle.
Darius shot him a glance. “How’re you feeling, Baron?”
“Fine, fine.” He waved off the concerned question. “I’m just old,” he grumbled.
After studying him for another few seconds, Darius finally nodded, but his worry over causing Baron more stress with his announcement doubled. Even so, he had to tell them, rather than have them discover the truth from another source.
“You already know Isobel Hughes has returned to Chicago.”
All warmth disappeared from Helena’s face, her gaze freezing into emerald chips of ice, her lips thinning. Gabriella wore a similar expression, but Baron’s differed from the women in his family. Instead of furious, he appeared...tired.
“Yes,” Helena hissed. “Gabriella told us Isobel showed up at the gala. How dare she?” she continued. “I would’ve had her arrested immediately.”
“Attending a social event isn’t a punishable offense, honey,” Baron said, his tone weary.
His wife aimed a narrow-eyed glare in his direction, while Gabriella shook her head. “She’s lucky the blackout occurred. Criminal or not, I would’ve had her escorted from the premises.”
Leaning forward and propping his elbows on his spread knees, Darius sighed. “I have an announcement, and it concerns Isobel...and her son. I’ve asked her to marry me, and I’ll become Aiden’s stepfather.”
A heavy silence plummeted into the room. They gaped at him, or at least Helena and Gabriella did. Again, Baron’s reaction didn’t coincide with his wife’s or daughter’s. He didn’t glare at Darius, just studied him with a measured contemplation, his fingers templed beneath his chin.
“Are you insane?” Gabriella rasped. She jolted from the chair as if propelled from a cannon. Fury snapped in her eyes. But underneath, Darius caught the shivering note of hurt and betrayal. “Darius, what are you thinking?”
“You saw for yourself what she did to Gage, how she destroyed him. How could you even contemplate tying yourself to that woman?” Helena demanded, her voice trembling.
Pain radiated from his chest, pulsing and hot, with the knowledge that he was hurting the two women he loved most in the world. “I—”
“He’s doing it for us,” Baron declared, his low baritone quieting Helena’s and Gabriella’s agonized tirades. “He’s marrying her so we can have a relationship with the boy.”
“Is this true?” Helena demanded. Darius nodded, and she spread her bejeweled hands wide, shaking her head. “But why? He’s not even our grandson.”
“He is,” Darius stated, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ve seen him,” he added, softening his tone. “He’s definitely Gage’s son.”
Gabriella snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ll forgive us if we don’t trust her lying, cheating words.”
“Then trust mine.”
