Page 11

Chapter eleven

Halcyon Restaurant, Covent Garden

Isabella

I sit, staring at the man I was so desperate to marry two decades ago as he tells me how he retrieved my childhood teddy bear from my mother’s grasp. Oso had been in our family for generations, passed down from mother to daughter when the next child was born. He had been a huge source of comfort to me as a youngster, but when I packed him to take with me as I became a married woman, my mother refused to allow him to leave the house.

She was as attached to the old bear as I was. He probably offered her the same sanctuary as he did me, growing up in a male-dominated environment where women are meant to be seen but not heard. She demanded I remove him from my case and assured me that when I bore a child, I would see him again. That day never came, and I thought Oso was lost to me forever until I saw him sitting on my new bed.

“A few months after our wedding,” Hunter says casually, as if the whole event wasn’t an absolute shit show, “I was summoned to your father’s home in Spain to discuss the predicament we found ourselves in.”

“Predicament? You mean me?”

“Your words, not mine, Bella.” He flashes me a smile before continuing his story, and my stomach flips. “Your father wanted to press you for our marriage to begin as agreed. I told him you weren’t a woman who responded well to heavy-handedness, so we should leave things to settle.”

“And how did that work out for you?” I say, my tone sharp. He cocks his head to one side, his dark eyes roam over my face. His attention causes goosebumps to scatter over my forearms. I cross my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair.

He doesn’t speak immediately. Just watches me intently as he is no doubt considering his response.

“I’m a patient man, Bella,” he says at last. “And you’re here with me. Perhaps it will have paid off.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Always, when it comes to you. After you rejected my attempts at reconciliation in our first year of marriage, I knew the best husband I could be was one that cared from afar.”

My mind automatically wanders back to his attempts at reconciliation over our first twelve months of marriage. He would send flowers and cards. Handwritten notes with his heart and soul poured out, asking for a second chance. I never replied—I couldn’t. He assumed full responsibility for what happened, but I didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about blaming him. It was about the memories he stood for. A happily ever after forever ruined by our families. I wasn’t ready to move forward from that night.

Although we were estranged, Hunter took his duty as my husband seriously. His first task was to seek appropriate medical care and treatment for the endometriosis that had ruined my teenage years and our wedding night. Medical help that I was never allowed to access under my father’s watchful eye suddenly became available.

The morning after we married, he appointed a private doctor to be my direct contact. Over the years, there were lots of tests, trialed medications, and eventually surgery to bring my symptoms under control. It was genuinely life-changing.

Even today, my doctor monitors my progress to ensure the endometriosis lesions are not growing back. So far, I have been able to live normally since we controlled my illness. I beat it, for now. For that, I am forever grateful. Hunter ensured my treatment was paid for, and my doctor would call me to schedule check-ups. In the background, he has been constantly monitoring my well-being.

“Isabella.” His voice interrupts my tumbling thoughts as the reality of what he has done for me over the years sets in. Hunter has provided me with a home, pushed to help me improve my health, and stepped back when I asked him to. All of a sudden, I feel guilty, and I don’t like it. “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“What?” I mumble, completely distracted.

“The story about Oso and how I saved him.”

I can’t help it. A laugh escapes with the idea that he rescued a stuffed bear from a kidnapping situation. Hunter is framing himself as a hero.

“Yes,” I say, glancing up from my hands in my lap.

The manager appears with a bottle of champagne, two flutes, and an ice bucket. He sets it up meticulously beside our table, then throws a white serviette over his arm before pouring our drinks. We stare at one another across the perfectly laid table. A candle flickers in a silver stand at the center as we wait for our attendant to leave. A sense of impatience is growing, and the need to communicate is becoming more necessary by the second. The waiter has merely turned away when Hunter starts to speak.

“Well,” he says, “your father and I were discussing how the terms of our arrangement would proceed in his office.”

“What do you mean terms?” He waves my question away. “Hunter, if we’re going to play this game for a year, I won’t stand for you holding secrets over me. What terms did my father want?”

His focus flits from me toward the buzzing restaurant on the other side of the vines that shield us. A piano is being played; the soft lilt of classical music mixes with the excited chatter of the other customers. When he returns to meet my gaze, his mouth twists in amusement. He takes a breath, his enormous chest expanding and contracting beneath his tuxedo.

“You’re not going to let this go, Bella?” I shake my head. “There was a small payment made and assurance that I would maintain you until you asked that I don’t.”

“You paid him?” I squeal.

“He threatened to request an annulment. I couldn’t bear the thought of you returning to Spain, so I intervened. I gave him a group of small businesses I had. It was nothing, but he seemed happy with it.”

“How did your father agree…” My voice trails off as the penny drops. He isn’t talking about his family businesses; he’s talking about his own. The ones he set up as a teenager in the background to build and grow as a backup plan if life should get difficult. He told me about them in his letters—a corner shop, a café, and a garage from memory. There may have been more, but they slip my mind.

“It wasn’t my father’s choice,” he says simply. “You were more important. I’ve done all right without them anyway.”

“But they were yours. You shouldn’t have.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really, Bella? As your husband, I should have allowed your father to obliterate us and drag you back to Spain, only for you to be married off to the next suitable candidate?”

“No, but…”

“There is no but. I was not allowing that to happen after knowing how desperate you were to move to London and live here.” He sighs softly, his hand lifting to his bowtie nervously. “This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

“Tell me the story of Oso then,” I encourage, sensing his uncertainty in telling me the truth of how he has cared for me over the years. In my mind, Hunter maintaining my safety and lifestyle had been something he was required to do. Now, I see it was a choice he made, which wasn’t dependent on our reconciliation.

His demeanor brightens immediately as I push the uncomfortable subject to the side, creating room for him to tell his tale. He rubs his hands together, and I lift my glass to my lips to drink.

“We were in his office, and one of his security staff had come to alert him to a disturbance at the rear entrance. Someone was demanding to speak with him.” He chuckles. “Greyson did a fantastic job creating a distraction. He was only a boy then, but was always effective in his work.”

“It was a setup?”

“Of course, when all your belongings arrived at the house, I immediately realized the bear was missing. When I asked after it, your father rebuked my request. That day, Oso was coming home with me.” I laugh out loud in complete disbelief at what he’s telling me. The manager appearing beside us interrupts the story. Hunter acknowledges him with a nod as he stands silently beside us.

“Would you like to order, Sir?” he asks.

“We don’t have menus,” Hunter says, his tone icy. The man lifts one of the leather-bound menus from the table, and we glance at one another. “Apologies, I was too captivated by my wife to notice them being laid on the table. Please give us a few minutes.”

“No problem, Sir,” he responds, but I don’t miss the sarcasm in the tone. I am sure he enjoyed pointing out my husband’s oversight. Hunter passes me a menu and then collects his own.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he mutters, scanning the options.

“Keep talking,” I prompt, unable to concentrate on anything other than his tale.

“Yes, so while your father was attempting to placate a situation outside, I took it upon myself to go on a little treasure hunt. Oso was sitting pride of place on your old bed waiting for you. I threw him out the window and collected him on the way out.”

“No fucking way!”

The exclamation comes out louder than planned, and our waiter pops his head around a flower arrangement to check on us. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at being so crass in such a beautiful place. My companion doesn’t seem to care; his pupils dance as he watches my reaction.

“Bring us whatever you recommend,” Hunter tells him. “I have no interest in wasting time picking a meal. I want to continue the conversation with my wife.”

The words my wife sound too good on his lips. My heart aches with what could have been.

Our meal passes with course after course of delicious dishes accompanied by matching wines. Each one is more delightful than the last. We chat around various topics, mainly reminiscing about a time when none of this had happened. Every so often, he catches my eye, and that boy I fell in love with is there, each part of him clear and soft.

We are spooning delicious lemon souffles into our mouths when his driver appears at our side. Hunter looks up and glares at the intrusion. The stoic man leans down and whispers something in his boss’s ear. Hunter grimaces, unhappy with whatever has been said.

“It slipped my mind,” he says almost to himself, then glances at his watch. I stare at him, looking for him to explain what’s happening. He must feel my focus on him; he looks up, and sadness has come over his previously bright expression. “I’m sorry, Bella. I need to go. You finish, and my driver here will take you home.”

“Where are you going?” I snap as he dabs at his lips with his napkin.

“Out.” He places the cloth on the table and pushes himself up to stand. “I have business to attend to.”

“Hunter, you will not leave me here to walk out of this restaurant alone. Where are you going?” His eyes bug slightly as we stare at one another. “Walk out that door, and I’ll pack my stuff and leave tonight.”

“Is this what having a live-in wife feels like?” he asks his driver. The man attempts to remain impassive, but his face betrays him. “I have a business to attend to, my love.”

“Is it a woman?” The question rolls off my tongue naturally, surprising both him and me.

“Would it bother you if it was?” he asks, his eyes dancing with amusement at the idea I could be jealous.

“No, of course not!” I spit back, knowing that I had played my cards too soon and that he knew it. “But it’s rude to leave a lady in a restaurant alone. Whatever it is, I am coming with you. I’ll gather my things.”

He watches me stand and collect my bag. I signal to the nearest staff member for our coats. As I shrug into my wrap, Hunter rounds the table and comes to my side. His warm palm lands on my hip, and he leans down, his lips dangerously close to mine.

“Bella,” he whispers, his breath tickling my skin. “There has never been another woman.”

He takes my hand without further explanation, and leads me out of the restaurant.

***

Titan MMA Gym, London

“It’s midnight,” I say as Hunter escorts me from the car to the entrance of his gym. The streets are deserted. The only sounds are distant traffic and the odd fox raiding a trash can.

“I’m aware of that, Bella.”

“What are we doing here?”

He doesn’t respond, merely pushing open the door leading to a staircase heading downward. The further we move down the steps, the more voices can be heard. There seem to be many of them, and the general atmosphere is high. A second door blocks our path. As it opens, I am hit with excitement and noise well above the recommended decibel level.

The open industrial space is crammed full of men dressed in smart shirts waving beer cans in the air. At the rear of the room is a long bar with people three deep shouting at the pretty girls behind it for a drink.

Hunter tightens his grip on my fingers as we weave through the melee. Men on every side acknowledge his presence as we pass. Their eyes fall on me but immediately snap away.

In the far corner of the space is a giant metal cage. The door hangs open as two security guards help a beat-up man out of the enclosure. Another fighter stands in the center of the ring, surrounded by the framework; he raises his arms high with fists clenched and screams, not that he can be heard over the spectators.

As we reach the side of the arena, Hunter stops at a table with two seated men in suits. They blatantly count money and take bets, the odds for the upcoming matches scribbled on a chalkboard behind them.

“Where’s Harrison?” Hunter barks. The larger man looks up and shrugs.

“Violet has him under house arrest,” the other man tells him. He’s almost identical to his companion but smaller. “Hormones.” Hunter rolls his eyes as both men focus on me. They stand and extend a hand each.

“Isabella,” Hunter says formally. “This is Russell and Connor Chase, my…” He pauses before categorizing who they are. “Friends.”

“Nice to meet you both.” I shake each of the offered hands, and they both nod. Looking at them, I would say they are highly educated, and money isn't an object by the cut of their suits. As I go to ask how they know Hunter, a bubbly blonde dressed in a denim mini-skirt and glittery top places two pints of beer on the table.

“Thanks, Trouble,” the Chase brothers say in unison. She leans across and kisses each of them on the cheek before turning to Hunter.

“Do you want one?” she asks bluntly. Her tone tells me she knows him, and his status doesn’t bother her one iota.

“No thanks. How are you enjoying being a ring-girl?” Hunter asks her. Before she can reply, the men opposite do.

“It won't be happening again,” Russell says. “Too many bastards are imagining her in their bed. She’s ours.”

The woman skips around the table and slips between the brothers. She wraps an arm around each of their necks and they both turn to face her. Her eyes dance between them, bright red lips pulled wide.

“Are my boys jealous?” she purrs, and suddenly I realize what the fuck is going on.

“Always, Trouble,” Connor mutters. “Now, go do what you need to before we drag you home and tie you to the bed.”

“Don’t make promises you won't keep,” she teases, and Russell grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap.

“We always keep our promises, Trouble.” His lips lock onto her mouth, and she pulls at his hair with bright red nails. After he’s satisfied, he releases her, and she stumbles to her feet. Connor grabs her waist, thick fingers steadying her uneasy frame. She turns back to Hunter and catches sight of me. Her eyes widen with interest.

“You must be Isabella,” she says, leaning over the table and extending her hand. I take it, and she shakes it with the grip of a man. Fuck, she’s confident. “I’m Samantha. Would you like a beer?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

I watch as she weaves through the crowd in search of our drinks, one long slender leg crossing the other, captivating every man who catches her eye.

“She’ll be the fucking death of us,” Russell says to his brother, and they grin like idiots. “But we’ll die fucking happy.”

Samantha returns with two beers but immediately leaves again. Hunter doesn’t point out the fact he said no to a drink as she hands one to him. The next time I see her, she’s strutting around the stage with a sign announcing the next match.

A familiar face enters the ring: Damon. I met him briefly at Hunter’s house. His opponent is bigger but leaner, and within minutes, the two men are swinging at one another in the cage.

Damon is knocked to the floor but staggers back to his feet. The four of us drink our beers and holler for his success. Nobody sees the young blonde woman throwing open the door to the cage and marching inside. She’s tall and curvy, dressed in a tracksuit with her hair tied in a ponytail. She taps Damon on the shoulder, and he turns to face her, his jaw dropping spectacularly.

“Oh fuck,” Hunter says. “Emma’s here.”