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Chapter twenty-six

Hunter's Residence, London

Isabella

The fallout from Hunter’s niece’s disappearance has been somewhat amusing to watch. For a man who is so in control and aware, being outsmarted by a twenty-something woman has bruised his ego.

The elusive Greyson, sent to track her down, had eventually managed to find her stowed away at a student party in the Scottish Highlands. But as always, nothing goes to plan, and they ran into some trouble with our Russian “friends.” From what I understand now, Tilly is in a hotel room in Edinburgh awaiting transport back to London.

With everything going on, our romance of Christmas has been subdued the last few days. Hunter tells me little things as we go about our day. His willingness to confide in me makes my heart ache. For so many years, he has carried all the responsibility on his shoulders, and even though he’s comfortably poured his soul onto paper, the reality of telling me face to face what’s going on is unsettling for him.

His guard is up. It’s a part of him I haven’t been subjected to since our recent reconciliation. He has always been so willing to talk to me, to be honest about his feelings. Since he burst into my Zumba class, his heart has been wide open. This situation has presented details he doesn’t want to disclose.

Hunter must have left early this morning, rising and getting dressed silently. It wasn’t until I woke up that I realized he was gone. Now, I’m lying in bed, staring up the ceiling deciding how to start the day. There are plenty of things I could do, days of content to create. Being so wrapped up in our whirlwind romance has left me behind, but I don’t regret it. It’s been fulfilling living our fairytale of love reincarnated.

Eventually accepting I need to get up when my alarm sounds at nine o’clock, I force myself out of bed. The house is warm even though the winter temperatures are plummeting outside. My feet hit the floor, my toes curling into the deep rug at my feet, an addition Hunter agreed to when I moaned about the cold floor.

I’m shrugging into my robe when the door slowly opens. It creaks like it does every time; I need to find some lubricant to fix that, or at least ask someone else to do it.

“Morning,” Hunter says as he strolls in. Already dressed in his statement black suit and white shirt, he looks ready for a high-level business meeting. “Did you enjoy catching some extra Zs this morning?”

“I needed it,” I mutter, standing up to join him as he crosses the room to greet me. His hands take my own, and he wraps my arms around his waist simultaneously dropping a kiss on my lips.

“I’ve been working you hard,” he whispers with a small smile. “Are my sexual demands too much for a fitness influencer?”

“The best way to improve your skills is to practice.” He likes my reply, and I’m treated to another kiss. “Perhaps I need more endurance training.” Greedy fingers drop to my ass and squeeze.

“I would be delighted to be your personal trainer in that department.”

“Offer accepted.” This time, I pull him down to me, sliding my fingers into his perfectly set hair, tied up out of the way. “Speaking of personal training, I’m planning to go to a Zumba class today. I haven’t been for weeks, and well, my trainer is refusing to return after your little…” I trail off, unsure how to describe the insane moment he threatened to kill the man helping me stretch in the middle of the living room.

“Since I protected my wife from dirty, unwelcome hands?” he suggests.

“If it makes you feel better, we can go with that excuse.”

“Can I come watch you at your dance class?” he asks, his eyes shimmering a little. “I would love to see this ass jiggle. It is the most jiggly ass I’ve ever known. Though I can’t promise I will control myself.”

“It’s women only.”

“Shame. Maybe you can give me a private performance later?”

“If you’re a good boy, that could be arranged.”

As I step through the doors of the dance studio, it hits me that I haven’t been here since my altercation with Hunter two months ago. How quickly life can change when you least expect it to. The realization is both exciting and unsettling. I am proud of myself for having the ability to adapt, but also nervous that I am treading off the course to a new life I so carefully planned.

The familiar Latino beat of the music fills the air, and I feel my feet quicken in its direction. My body is desperate to blow off some steam the only way I know how, by throwing myself into dance and losing myself in song.

Rows of ladies in neon Lycra fill the studio; I toss my matching jacket next to my water bottle and take my position. Surprisingly, no one has stolen my space. Classes such as these are strange places, each person having their dedicated zone on the floor. There’s an unspoken rule not to move out of your area.

I’m acknowledged with a few curt nods and smiles, but no one makes a move to greet me. It shouldn’t really be a shock; I don’t have any friends here. Lots of the women socialize together, but most wear two faces with pride. I can’t trust anyone.

Eventually, Zara plays the opening song, the one that’s used to signal the beginning of each class. The murmurs of conversations that were taking place die away, and we follow her moves religiously. This time, however, Zumba doesn’t provide the escapism it normally does. My mind races with the plans I had, and the life I am living now.

In two months, I’ve all but given up my dream of leaving London. I’m living with the man who I ran from, and he’s actively wanting to start a family. Our arrangement of my compliance as his wife in exchange for his signature on the divorce papers seems to fade away more each day. It’s the perfect contradiction to what I was originally looking for.

Asking Hunter for a divorce was me asserting my independence once and for all. However, I’ve found that having someone to rely on is more fulfilling than being on my own. But my love for him doesn’t change my ambition to be myself.

I continue to dance, my arms and legs moving without much thought. Even after so much time away from the studio, I naturally remember the moves. My body is here in this class, but my mind is much further away, caught somewhere between my old plans and my new hope. It’s like a tug of war within my own psyche. I want the safety net of love without losing the excitement of my own independence I’ve been slowly finding these past few years.

Hunter offers me everything I once thought I could never have. Consistent affection, a partner, someone to rely on until one of us doesn’t walk this earth. He offers a future full of promise that, three months ago, I never risked dreaming was possible. But there’s still that small whisper warning me not to rely on someone else for my own happiness. Not to give up on my dreams because I’ve found comfort. Is that not just settling? Something I promised myself I would never do?

The music ends. Zara catches my eye, her mouth twisting into an amused smile before skipping to the next track. I find myself scowling back at her—she’s probably surprised I showed up at all today. No doubt, my monthly fees had become the gold of a fitness establishment, someone who spends but never attends.

As the beat begins once again, I stop to catch my breath, scolding myself for the drop in my fitness levels that not being focused on my goals these past weeks has created. Not wanting to be out done by the women around me, I straighten my shoulders, close my eyes, and will my feet to move to the music. This track is one of my favorites, and I am damn sure I’ll enjoy every last step.

Eventually, after sweating the last of the water from my body, the class comes to an end. We all head through to the changing area to gather our belongings, a gaggle of women attempting to push through the narrow doorway as one. Gossip spills from each person’s lips, and I silently listen on, smiling to myself at the mundane things they find interesting. I’m not sure I could hold a conversation long enough regarding someone’s choice of garden fountain to fake caring. To my ears, most of it is mindless drivel.

After snaking through the bodies, not in any hurry to go anywhere, I step outside into the cold winter air. London is beautiful in the festive season, filled with sparkling lights and Christmas songs. Ronan is waiting patiently for me at the entrance of the studio. He smiles and nods, but we’ve lost the sense of familiarity that used to be there. My relationship with Ronan is one thing that has suffered since Hunter’s re-entry into my life, and it is a loss I feel deeply.

“Good morning, Miss,” he says, passing me my phone. “Mr. Devane called. He asked you phone him immediately.”

“What for?” Ronan shrugs, obviously not having been privy to that information. So, resigned to going in blind, I dial Hunter’s number.

“Hello, Bella,” he answers, his voice silk.

“What is so urgent I had to call you? I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

“Ah, I like that. Home. That word, so simple but means so much. You think of this as your home with me. That is music to my ears”

“Sappy idiot,” I mutter, and he laughs. The man who has been brooding and concerned these past few days receding for the moment. “What do you want?”

“It isn’t what I want, but more so what I need. I’m in need of your womanly ways. Tilly is on her way here, and I’m not her favorite person, I would imagine. Would you be able to spend some time with her?”

That request was not what I was expecting, but it’s one I’m certainly willing to accept. I have heard a lot about the feisty Tilly Devane these past few days. I’m keen to put a face to the name and press her a little as to why she ran. After coming from the same style of family, I can understand how having your life mapped out can grate on your need for independence. I have a feeling I’ll be meeting a younger version of myself later today.

“Of course,” I tell Hunter. “I would be delighted to meet her.”

Ronan draws up in front of the house, and I have to hold myself back from dashing out of the door and up the stairs to meet Tilly. On the ride home, my curiosity had got the better of me, and I went from intrigued to being filled with anticipation. I wonder what version of myself will be required. Supportive? Tough? Honest? Will this young woman be looking for a shoulder to cry on?

As I enter the living room, the tension is palpable even before anyone speaks. Hunter sits on the sofa sipping at a crystal glass of whiskey. The staff in the mansion are quiet, each person I passed on my way to the rendezvous moving with no sound. It’s a sign that Hunter is on edge. Perhaps emotions are running high, and he has upset his niece.

It takes me a moment to find her, but she isn’t what I expect. She’s tall and blonde, standing looking out of the window, and completely ignoring her uncle. On hearing my footsteps, she turns around and treats me to a scowl only teenagers and seasoned criminals can pull off. She straightens her shoulders, and the tight black designer dress stretches with the movement. Fierce blue eyes fix on me, and her lips purse as if spotting something nasty.

“So, you must be the wife,” she says. “Didn’t think you’d look so…” She pauses, smirking as if considering how to form the best insult she can. “Yoga mum.”

I blink, momentarily taken aback with her open hostility. With my hand outstretched, I walk over to her and take her fingers in greeting.

“And I didn’t think you’d be such a brat, but here we are.”

Her lower jaw drops open, as her eyes pop wide in shock. I bite my lip in an effort not to laugh.

One point to me. Getting to know Tilly could be fun.