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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Juliette
ISITONthe deck outside Gavriil’s stateroom. Hills teeming with lavender spread out before me. I lean back in my chair, wearing nothing but a silk robe, holding a mimosa in my hand with a bright red cherry nestled in the bottom of the glass. The scenery, the delicious breakfast we just shared and the events of the past twelve hours have left me happy. Content.
I don’t know what all this means for our future. We still have fifty-one weeks left in this so-called marriage. Plenty of time to figure it out.
I glance back over my shoulder. He disappeared inside a couple minutes ago to check with the captain on our itinerary for the day. He mentioned an art museum set inside an old quarry, with projections of classic works of art on the stone walls. It sounds like a wonderful adventure to have on my honeymoon.
A honeymoon I’ve decided to fully commit to. Shortly after Gavriil left to speak with the captain, I texted my contact, Jared, to tell him to pause the investigation into Louis Paul. I need to have that conversation with Gavriil myself before I proceed any further. To give him what little I know and let him make what decisions are best for him and his company. To trust him to be the man I’ve come to know as I move on to the next phase of my career. One that I know will bring both purpose and joy to my life while giving a voice to those I’ve looked over for so long.
My phone dings a moment later. Aside from some good-natured ribbing and a detailed invoice of what I owe Jared for his time, he includes a quick summary of what he found, which is thankfully nothing.
There’s a reason for the trips to Texas. But nothing professional. It’s personal.
I’m not even tempted to follow up on that. If Jared says nothing illegal is happening, I believe him. And I have no interest in looking deeper into someone’s personal life. I just want to move on.
I sit there on the deck, breathing in deeply, savoring the feeling of peace for the first time in over two decades. I’m hopeful. I have so much hope I feel like I’m about to burst.
Footsteps sound behind me. I turn. Unease cuts through my happiness at the frown between his brows. I stand.
“Gavriil? Is everything all right?”
“Louis Paul just called.”
I frown. “And?”
“The deal is suspended.”
Something starts gnawing on the inside of my stomach, a horrible dread of what Gavriil is going to say next.
“Suspended?” I repeat softly.
“Someone has been looking into Paul’s personal life. Asking questions about Paul and his friendship with Peter Walter. About the time he spends down in Texas.”
He walks toward me, his jaw tight, his eyes more apprehensive than angry. I realize he doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know. I stare back at him, fear and hopelessness building in my chest with such strength it robs me of breath.
Then I square my shoulders and prepare myself to do the right thing. The right thing I’m terrified will snatch away something I held in my hand for mere moments.
“It was me.”
Gavriil
The sound of water trickling by, the wind stirring through the lavender on the hillside, the gentle hum of the boat’s motor, all of it fades away, replaced by a roaring in my ears that smothers it all.
I trusted her. I trusted her with everything. She knows why Drakos North America means what it does to me. Knows the kind of impact doing business with someone who has links not just to scandal, but to the selling of actual human beings could have on my company.
“You knew as soon as you saw his name on the file in Paris.”
Her single nod breaks me. Just an hour after she straddled me and held my face and told me things I had never thought I would ever hear, making me believe that she truly cared for me...
I share some of this responsibility. I was so distracted by her, so caught up in the mystery and allure of Juliette Grey, that I didn’t do my usual due diligence. Didn’t dig deep enough into Paul’s background to uncover this potential link to Peter Walters.
But Juliette knew. She read the file, and just hours later she gave herself to me. She told me that I was more than she had ever imagined. Just not enough to trust with the information that the man I was dealing with could ruin my reputation and rip my company’s status to shreds. Invite scrutiny and gossip as to whether or not Drakos North America was involved in the trafficking of innocent women.
She moves to the railing, silk draped over her body, hair flowing past her shoulders. And her face. Her beautiful face, looking like she actually regrets what she’s done, is a knife to the heart. I wonder if what I accused her of in Paris has been right all along. I have no doubt she’s supporting Dessie and moving her back into Grey House.
Yet just because someone does good things, doesn’t mean they’re a good person. Right now, I have no idea who the woman standing in front of me is. If her motivation truly faltered in Texas and died with my father, or if that was just a ruse to kick-start the next phase of her career after she didn’t have the ruins of Lucifer Drakos at her disposal anymore.