Page 32 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Bryce

I drop my keys in a small Bizen-yaki bowl in the foyer and stride into the living room. The lights come on automatically as the system detects my movements.

No sign of Fiona. She hasn’t called, either. It’s already after ten. Where is she? When is she going to contact me? Or is she doing this on purpose to be passive-aggressive? Should I make the first move and reach out to her?

A rattling sound comes from one of the windows facing the backyard.

Bang, bang, bang .

Not rattling this time, knocks. Who the hell managed to get past security?

I reach for a Glock just in case, but a figure presses itself on the glass from the other side of the window. I blink to make sure I’m not imagining things. Limp hair covers most of the face, but I could recognize Fiona even if she hid her face in a paper bag.

She wasn’t in the best mood when she walked out. I hoped she’d had time to calm down and think things through, but her wild look makes me lose that hope.

Well, tears, screams, it doesn’t matter. I can do this . I open the French door to the backyard and step outside. “What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you come inside?”

She pushes the hair out of her face and squints at me. “Seriously?” She snorts. “Apparently, I’m not supposed to be inside your house. That’s what the guy who let me pass through the gates said. So I told him I’d wait out in the backyard until you got back from work or wherever.”

“You should’ve come inside anyway.”

“And get arrested? Your housekeeper apparently set the security system.”

“I would’ve bailed you out.”

She shoots me a skeptical look. Guess I deserve that, based on our interactions since I crashed the wedding. If this had been when she first barged into my office, I would’ve relished seeing her squirming behind bars. But now, such pettiness seems low—

Whoa . The abrupt thought leaves me dazed for a moment. When did the sharp edge of my anger start to dull? I always told myself I’d never let it go. It wasn’t just a matter of being vindictive, but self-preservation. Only idiots repeat the same mistake.

I refortify my emotional and mental shield, stiffen my spine and gesture at her to come in. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Stilettos dangling from her hooked index finger, she walks past me.

The scent of freshly cut grass wafts from her.

I resist an absurd urge to hug her and take a moment to be glad that she’s okay—and she’s back.

Part of me says she’d better be back to pay off the two million.

But another part is just relieved she doesn’t seem harmed.

Fiona sniffs. “You smell like cigars and alcohol. Did you go out after work?”

Her eyebrows pinch in irritation, and the tight vise that’s been around my skull all afternoon and evening eases.

I almost laugh with relief. It’s good that her spirit hasn’t been broken after her encountering Mom’s psychotic behavior.

I can deal with an angry Fiona. I just can’t with a Fiona who is sad and lost.

“Yeah.” I close the French door and gesture toward a couch, which she promptly takes. I sit next to her, facing her with one knee bent and on the couch. “What about it?” I keep my tone nonchalant and casual .

“Wow. You weren’t even worried about what happened this morning. But of course it wasn’t you Zoe threatened, just me and possibly some other women.”

The reminder makes me scowl. “Trust me. I’m definitely on her radar.

Both of us are.” I take a moment to gather the thoughts and the arguments I made in the morning to convince her that a quick marriage is the best way to get Mom off our backs.

Given the state of panic Fiona was in, I’m not sure how much of it stuck.

For all I know, she might’ve dumped all my words along with her stomach contents.

She scrutinizes me skeptically. “Did she send you a picture of a severed finger, too? Because I don’t think she did. If she had, you wouldn’t be so calm.”

“What?” The vise around my head retightens. “Show me.”

She unlocks her phone and pushes it in my face, her hand slightly shaky.

I study the picture, my heart thudding heavily.

It looks like a photo to hang on a wall for a low-budget Halloween party.

The lighting’s third rate, and the background is just a concrete floor.

The finger is feminine, with a long nail.

I stare at it for a while. No way to tell if it’s from last night’s redhead.

I didn’t pay attention to her hands. But Harvey’s warning is genuine.

Mom’s had twenty-two years to strategize and prepare.

I recall her determined expression when she tried to kidnap me and my brothers.

The proud conviction that she was doing the right thing, no matter what anyone else said.

She no longer just wants the family back.

No, she wants the power her father wields—since it’s the only thing that kept her under control.

The condition that forbids her from approaching us is over.

Vincent is old and sick. Nothing can stop her now.

“I can’t tell if it’s real,” Fiona adds in a small, subdued voice.

For a nanosecond, I debate lying, but opt for the truth. Fiona deserves that much. “Mom wouldn’t send a fake photo. It’d make her look weak if we found out.”

Fiona pales so fast that I ready myself to catch her. She sways a little, but rallies without my help. “What am I going to do?” she mutters, pressing the heels of her trembling hands against her temples .

“I’ve already given you the solution. We can get married.”

“That’s not a solution. That’s the worst thing out of your mouth. We don’t even like each other. How is a marriage supposed to work?”

Fiona isn’t saying anything I haven’t thought of—but when she says it, it sounds so much worse.

Like she’s declaring how much she hates me because I was falling in love with her until I discovered her in bed with Jude.

I already know she doesn’t respect or care for me—you don’t cheat on someone you respect and care about.

But hearing it still hurts, salt on an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

With the pain comes a spark of anger. She shouldn’t get to scratch at the old wound, even if my own damn mother is pushing us into an impossible situation. I’m trying to be the good guy here and save both our asses. She should demonstrate some appreciation, not scoff.

“And your mom hates me now.” Fiona gets to her feet and starts pacing. “She’s pissed that I’m not the one she sent you.”

My mouth dries. “How does she know?” Did Red spill the beans? Given how terrified she seemed of my mother, I thought she’d keep her mouth shut and pretend everything went according to plan.

“Aaron talked. There’s nobody he wouldn’t throw under the bus to save his own butt.”

Motherfucker . I never liked him. What little respect I had for him dropped to nothing when Fiona revealed that he expected her to fix his financial mess. Now I outright despise him.

Fiona continues: “She wants a baby. There’s no way I’m getting pregnant with your child, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to have a baby with me either. So how is a piece of paper going to fix our problem?”

“We don’t have to have a baby to fix the problem,” I state flatly as my mind lays out all the facts in a logical sequence.

“Oh, really? Because Mommy dearest sure seemed set on one when she was holding that corkscrew to my eye!”

I raise a placating hand. “If you’re family, she can’t touch you.”

“Not convinced.” Fiona stops pacing and glares at me. “I’m not even thirty, Bryce. I can’t risk dying in the next few months because I happened to displease your mother.” She rips at her hair. “Why is my life like a bad soap opera? ”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Because you got tangled up with people with a bad soap opera life?”

She gives me a look. “Oh, please. You?”

I nod. “Mom probably didn’t tell you this, but she tried to kidnap me and my brothers when we were little. Josh and I were eight, and Ares was ten. She fed us cookies with something that made us lethargic and malleable, and she caught Ares. Josh and I escaped.”

My voice gets rough as I relive the moment. The terror and helplessness that should have faded still feel fresh and vivid in my mind. The old guilt lingers.

Fiona’s face betrays confusion and disbelief. Guess it wasn’t something that could happen even in her wildest “bad soap opera” scenario.

“She did it out of ‘love.’ To avoid divorce. She thought if she could keep us, she’d keep the perfect family.

It didn’t matter what she had to do or who she had to hurt as long as she could keep the family whole.

I don’t know how she felt after she lost me and grabbed Ares instead.

I was her ‘good boy’—the one she loved the most.” My mouth twists with bitterness.

“To her, I was probably the one who should’ve understood the best, gone along with her plan.

To this date she calls me her good boy.” Red called me the same thing, and remembering causes a wave of revulsion to wash through me.

I clench my hands to hide the reaction. Need to lay out the relevant facts…

Horror ripples over Fiona’s expression. A hand covers her mouth as she stares at me.

“Ares escaped. He always was strong. Still is. Mom eventually got caught, but didn’t suffer any real consequences.

No jail time. No condemnation. Not because my family forgave her.

My grandmother would’ve flayed her alive, but Vincent—my mom’s father—was simply too powerful a crime lord for the family to cross. ”

Fiona’s eyes widen. Probably never guessed a family as respected as the Huxleys would be tied to the mob through marriage.