He and Gabriella engaged in a visual standoff for several seconds before she spun on her heel and stalked across the room, toward the small bar.
“Gabriella’s right,” Helena said. “Sentimentality could be coloring your opinion, have you seeing a resemblance to Gage because you want there to be one.” She paused, her pale fingers fluttering to her throat. “That she refused to have a DNA test done after his birth solidified that he wasn’t Gage’s son, for me. If he was, she wouldn’t have been afraid to have one performed. No.” She shook her head. “She’s caused too much harm to this family,” Helena continued. “I can’t forget how she isolated Gage from us, so he had to sneak away just to see us. She destroyed him. I’ll never forgive her. Ever.”
“And no one asked you to be our sacrificial lamb,” Gabriella interjected. “What about your life, marrying someone you love?” she rasped. Clearing her throat, she crossed the room and handed her mother a glass of wine before returning to the chair she’d vacated. “There’s a very reasonable solution, and it doesn’t require you shackling yourself to a woman who’s proven she can’t be trusted. If by some miracle the child is really Gage’s, then we can fight for custody. We would probably be more fit guardians thanheranyway.”
“Take a small boy away from the only parent he’s ever known? Regardless of our opinion concerning her moral values, I’ve seen her with him. She adores him, and she’s his world. It would devastate Aiden to be removed from her.” And it would kill Isobel. Of that, Darius had zero doubt. “Isobel wouldn’t give up custody without a hard battle, which would be taxing on all of you, too. No, this is the best solution for everyone.” He met each of their eyes. “And it’s done.”
Several minutes passed, and Darius didn’t try to fill the silence, allowing them the time to accept what he understood was hard news. But they didn’t have a choice. None of them did.
“Thank you, Darius,” Baron murmured. “I know this wasn’t an easy decision, and we appreciate it, support you in it. Bringing the boy into his family—it’s what Gage would’ve wanted. And we will respect Isobel as his mother...and your wife.”
Helena emitted a strangled sound, but she didn’t contradict her husband. Gabriella didn’t either. But she stood once more and rushed from the room.
“Just be careful, Darius. I’ve lost one son to Isobel Hughes. I don’t think I could bear it if I lost another,” Helena pleaded, the pain in her softly spoken words like jagged spikes stabbing his heart. Rising, she cradled his cheek before following Gabriella.
“They’ll be fine, son,” Baron assured him.
Darius nodded, but apprehension settled in his chest, an albatross he couldn’t shake off. His intentions were to unite this family, return some of Helena and Baron’s joy by reconciling them with their son’s child.
But staring at the entrance where Helena and Gabriella had disappeared, he prayed all his efforts wouldn’t end up destroying what he desired to build.
Six
Isobel leaned over Aiden, gently sweeping her hand down his dark curls. After the excitement of moving into a new home and new room jammed with new toys and a race car bed he adored, Aiden had finally exhausted himself. She’d managed to get him fed, bathed and settled in for the night, and all while avoiding Darius.
It’d been a week since she’d agreed to the devil’s bargain, and now, fully ensconced in his house, she could no longer use Aiden as an excuse to hide away. With a sigh, she ensured the night-light was on and exited the bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind her. She quietly descended the staircase and headed toward the back of the home, where the kitchen was. She would’ve preferred not to come downstairs at all, but her stomach rumbled.
The room followed what appeared to be the theme of the home—huge, with windows. Top-of-the-line appliances gleamed under the bright light of a crystal chandelier, and a butcher block and marble island dominated the middle of the vast space. A breakfast nook with a round table and four chairs added a sense of warmth and intimacy to the room. Isobel shook her head as she approached one of the two double-door refrigerators.
She should be grateful. But even now, standing in a kitchen her mother would surrender one of her beloved children to have, she couldn’t escape the phantom noose slowly tugging tighter, strangling her. Powerlessness. Purposelessness. Futile anger. The emotions eddied and churned within her like a storm-tossed sea, pitching her, drowning her.
She’d promised herself two years ago that she’d never be at the mercy of another man. Yet if she didn’t find some way to protect herself, maintain the identity of the woman she’d come to be, she would end up in a prison worthy ofArchitectural Digest.
Minutes later, she had the makings of a ham-and-cheese sandwich on the island. Real ham—none of that convenience-store deli ham for Darius King—and some kind of gourmet cheese that she could barely pronounce but that tasted like heaven.
“Isobel.”
She glanced up from layering lettuce and tomatoes onto her bread to find Darius in the entrance. Her fingers froze, as did the rest of her body. Would this deep, acute awareness occur every time she saw him? It zipped through her body like an electrical current, lighting every nerve ending.
“Darius,” she replied, bowing her head back over her dinner.
Though she’d removed her gaze from him, the image of his powerful body seemed emblazoned on her mind’s eye. Broad shoulders encased in a thin but soft wool sweater, the V-neck offering her a view of his strong, golden throat, collarbone and the barest hint of his upper chest. Jeans draped low on his hips and clung to the thick strength of his thighs. And his feet...bare.
This was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him, and that he’d allow her to glimpse him this way...it created an intimacy between them she resented and, God, foolishly craved. Because as silly as the presumption might be, she had a feeling he didn’t unarm himself like this around many people.
Remember why you’re here, her subconscious sniped.Blackmail and coercion, not because you belong.
“Did you want a sandwich?” she offered, the reminder shoring up any chinks in her guard.
“Thank you. It looks good.” He moved farther into the room and withdrew one of the stools lining the island. Sitting down across from her, he nabbed the bread bin—because what else would one store freshly baked bread in?—and cut two thick slices while she returned to the refrigerator for more meat and cheese. “I’m sorry I had to leave earlier. I didn’t want to miss Aiden’s first night in the house. There was a bit of an emergency at the office.”
“On a Saturday?” she asked, glancing at him.
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking in a rueful smile. “When you’re the CEO and president of the company, there’s no such thing as a Saturday. Every day is a workday.”
“If you let it be,” she said. But then again, she understood the need to work when it called. As a single mom with more bills than funds, she hadn’t been able to turn down a shift at the supermarket or tell her mom she would skip helping her clean a house.
“True,” he agreed, accepting the ham she handed him. “But then I’ve never had a reason to dial back on the work. I do now,” he murmured.
