Page 18
Story: Scream
As soon as we arrive in Kensington, where the Barclays usually stay when Matilda is absorbed in writing a book to get away from the usual city noises and people coming to visit, it feels like coming home. Vast fields of green everywhere, fenced in cows, goats, that type of stuff.
While it ain’t Georgia, it’s pretty fucking gorgeous. I like it better than their house in Chelsea. They also got another place in Wales, but this practical mansion is my favorite. It takes me almost two hours to run the entire grounds in the mornings. There’s a little pond and the groundskeeper, Howard and his wife, Beverly, live in a small cottage towards the back of the property. They always invite me in for tea and breakfast when I’m done.
Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Maksim still looks grim but a lot less pale now that we’re no longer in the sky, and Sabrina is tense again. I know she’s mentally preparing herself for all the questions. It’s been a while since we’ve been back, and I watch in the rearview mirror as she plays with the tips of her gloves. Maksim notices it too but doesn’t say anything, just goes back to staring out the window, only side-eying her every now and then. She’s oblivious to him in a lot of ways - mostly the way he looks at her with slight interest, probably picking apart her every move and tick.
I pull up to the wrought iron gate of the Barclay estate, type in the code, patiently wait for the gate to open, and drive through.
“How is she today?” Matilda asks when she finds me in the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge when she comes back from giving them a tour of the place. She’s got renovations going on and I can hear the construction workers going on about their business.
I lean against the fridge, uncapping the bottle, taking a long sip before answering her. What do I say to the woman who employed me to watch over her daughter after her daughter’s best friend was brutally attacked and left for dead on the safest college campus this side of the Mississippi? That even though there are times she’s slipped away from me; I’ve still been able to track her – except for theonetime she sent me out, and I went all over London trying to findmintypads,only to find out they don’t exist? And when I finally got back to Chelsea, she was being dropped off drunk as fuck and then… “She’s fine, a little tired from the flight, as can be expected.”
Matilda nods, contemplating my words. “And the… fiancé? He’s a bit dreary, isn’t he?”
I grin. “You thought the same about me when you hired me.”
“Yes, but your qualifications surpassed your gloomy appearance,” she grins. “Besides, my daughter needed the best of the best, and that’sexactlywhat you are, Savage. Never doubt my faith in you.”
It’s high praise coming from a woman like Matilda. But she’s seen the changes in Sabrina as well. Not the same as I have, but then again, a good mother knows.
Which makes me feel guilty as shit. If only she knew.
“You’ll keep an eye on her still, won’t you, Parker?”
“Yes ma’am.” At this point, I'd work for free. Between what they’ve been paying me for the last four years; it would be doable.
“Good. She needs you. And she’s going to need you. I know he isn’t a part of the Syndicate, thank whatever god there is for that small mercy, but this man… I looked into him, you know.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah?”
“My old Sabrina could handle a man like that, then leave him heartbroken and shattered to pieces, then easily walk through those pieces and onto the next.”
“And now?”
She shakes her head softly, her signature honey blonde hair moving along with every shake. “Now, I just don’t know anymore.” Her voice is sad and low as she looks out the kitchen window, then moves toward the stove with a sigh. “Tea?”
“With a dash of diabetes,” I smirk.
Matilda groans. “You are devilishly handsome, Parker. I hope you know that. If I were twenty years younger…” she trails off, flirting shamelessly like older women do, and I grin.
“If you werenow, Mrs. Barclay.” I wink, innocently flirting back. Because at the end of the day, somehow, Matilda Barclay knows I only have eyes for her daughter.
Matilda turns a bright pink and chuckles out a type of titter you only hear in schoolgirls, and I don’t mind ruffling her old, posh feathers. She clears her throat, “Now, now, Parker. You know I’mveryhappily married.”
I laugh again. “I know. Your hair’s been in disarray since you came back from Derek’s office. Kiss me if I’m right, Tildy, but is that a paperclip in your hair?”
She reaches up andsure enough, she pulls a paperclip out of her gold tresses. She leans over, I bend, and she places a kiss on my cheek. “Cheeky badger. Come, let’s get yourdreadful sweet, icedtea.”
Chapter Five
Maksim.
One bed.
Her mother chosethisweekend to renovate not one butallof the guest bedrooms, and being amodernwoman,has decided we’ll be just fine if we sleep together. I grin, grateful to simply be off the plane and on ground again. It’s unnatural to fly. Half the flight, I had to hold in my vomit, not wanting to look weak in front of that hick. The other half, I had to watch the way Parker watches Sabrina.
Maybe she doesn’t have feelings for him, but he definitely feels something for her.
Doesn’t matter. She belongs to me now.
While it ain’t Georgia, it’s pretty fucking gorgeous. I like it better than their house in Chelsea. They also got another place in Wales, but this practical mansion is my favorite. It takes me almost two hours to run the entire grounds in the mornings. There’s a little pond and the groundskeeper, Howard and his wife, Beverly, live in a small cottage towards the back of the property. They always invite me in for tea and breakfast when I’m done.
Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Maksim still looks grim but a lot less pale now that we’re no longer in the sky, and Sabrina is tense again. I know she’s mentally preparing herself for all the questions. It’s been a while since we’ve been back, and I watch in the rearview mirror as she plays with the tips of her gloves. Maksim notices it too but doesn’t say anything, just goes back to staring out the window, only side-eying her every now and then. She’s oblivious to him in a lot of ways - mostly the way he looks at her with slight interest, probably picking apart her every move and tick.
I pull up to the wrought iron gate of the Barclay estate, type in the code, patiently wait for the gate to open, and drive through.
“How is she today?” Matilda asks when she finds me in the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge when she comes back from giving them a tour of the place. She’s got renovations going on and I can hear the construction workers going on about their business.
I lean against the fridge, uncapping the bottle, taking a long sip before answering her. What do I say to the woman who employed me to watch over her daughter after her daughter’s best friend was brutally attacked and left for dead on the safest college campus this side of the Mississippi? That even though there are times she’s slipped away from me; I’ve still been able to track her – except for theonetime she sent me out, and I went all over London trying to findmintypads,only to find out they don’t exist? And when I finally got back to Chelsea, she was being dropped off drunk as fuck and then… “She’s fine, a little tired from the flight, as can be expected.”
Matilda nods, contemplating my words. “And the… fiancé? He’s a bit dreary, isn’t he?”
I grin. “You thought the same about me when you hired me.”
“Yes, but your qualifications surpassed your gloomy appearance,” she grins. “Besides, my daughter needed the best of the best, and that’sexactlywhat you are, Savage. Never doubt my faith in you.”
It’s high praise coming from a woman like Matilda. But she’s seen the changes in Sabrina as well. Not the same as I have, but then again, a good mother knows.
Which makes me feel guilty as shit. If only she knew.
“You’ll keep an eye on her still, won’t you, Parker?”
“Yes ma’am.” At this point, I'd work for free. Between what they’ve been paying me for the last four years; it would be doable.
“Good. She needs you. And she’s going to need you. I know he isn’t a part of the Syndicate, thank whatever god there is for that small mercy, but this man… I looked into him, you know.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah?”
“My old Sabrina could handle a man like that, then leave him heartbroken and shattered to pieces, then easily walk through those pieces and onto the next.”
“And now?”
She shakes her head softly, her signature honey blonde hair moving along with every shake. “Now, I just don’t know anymore.” Her voice is sad and low as she looks out the kitchen window, then moves toward the stove with a sigh. “Tea?”
“With a dash of diabetes,” I smirk.
Matilda groans. “You are devilishly handsome, Parker. I hope you know that. If I were twenty years younger…” she trails off, flirting shamelessly like older women do, and I grin.
“If you werenow, Mrs. Barclay.” I wink, innocently flirting back. Because at the end of the day, somehow, Matilda Barclay knows I only have eyes for her daughter.
Matilda turns a bright pink and chuckles out a type of titter you only hear in schoolgirls, and I don’t mind ruffling her old, posh feathers. She clears her throat, “Now, now, Parker. You know I’mveryhappily married.”
I laugh again. “I know. Your hair’s been in disarray since you came back from Derek’s office. Kiss me if I’m right, Tildy, but is that a paperclip in your hair?”
She reaches up andsure enough, she pulls a paperclip out of her gold tresses. She leans over, I bend, and she places a kiss on my cheek. “Cheeky badger. Come, let’s get yourdreadful sweet, icedtea.”
Chapter Five
Maksim.
One bed.
Her mother chosethisweekend to renovate not one butallof the guest bedrooms, and being amodernwoman,has decided we’ll be just fine if we sleep together. I grin, grateful to simply be off the plane and on ground again. It’s unnatural to fly. Half the flight, I had to hold in my vomit, not wanting to look weak in front of that hick. The other half, I had to watch the way Parker watches Sabrina.
Maybe she doesn’t have feelings for him, but he definitely feels something for her.
Doesn’t matter. She belongs to me now.
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