Page 27 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

A large hand gathers my hair, holding it back from my face. “What’s wrong, Wifey?”

I turn my head to meet Lucas’s piercing blue eyes. He looks concerned.

“You’re home? I thought you weren’t here. The Jag’s not in the drive.”

“Had car trouble. Took another one. Doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head.

“What are you doing in my room?” I ask as the nausea abates, and I slump back against the wall, spent. The bed seems so far away now.

“What happened to you? Are you ill?” he asks, brow furrowed, two small lines appearing between his eyes.

“What are you doing in my room?” I repeat.

“I heard you come in, wanted to talk about what happened yesterday. Your door was open.” He says the words in an annoyed tone. “I wasn’t stalking you if that’s what you’re implying.”

I struggle to my feet, catching sight of myself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, smeared mascara, hair a wild tangle around my pale face. I look as wretched as I feel.

And Lucas is here to witness me in this state. Lovely.

I try to finger-comb the worst snarls from my hair, attempting to make myself look somewhat human. I ignore his presence as I splash water on my face and brush my teeth.

Why should I care what he thinks of me? I shouldn’t care. Damn it all.

I grip the sink as another wave of queasiness hits, and I inhale, trying to steady myself.

“You need the toilet again?” Lucas asks, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back.

I shake my head. “No, I think I’m done. I just want to sleep.”

He nods and, without warning, sweeps me up into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I squeak, voice pitched embarrassingly high.

“Making sure you get to the bed in one piece. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Too weak to protest, I allow my head to drop against his broad chest, breathing in his masculine scent. For one moment, I want to stay like this, cradled in his warmth, safe.

Then I remember who he is.

He sets me on the bed and strides to the walk-in closet. “Where do you keep your pajamas?” He opens drawer after drawer.

My eyes go wide. “Don’t go rifling through my things!”

“Then tell me where they are.” He continues his search, undeterred.

“Top left,” I direct him through gritted teeth, and he pulls out a set of pale cotton pajamas. I was sure he’d choose some skimpy silk negligee.

“Here, change into these.”

“I’m not undressing in front of you,” I splutter.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem stripping down in the middle of breakfast the other day, so it shouldn’t be an issue now.” His mouth thins to a grim line.

Well, he has me there. But I was angry then, trying to mess with his head. Now I’m wretched and embarrassed. “Turn around.”

I brace myself for an argument, but to my surprise, he turns his back. I shimmy out of my work clothes and pull on the soft t-shirt and shorts as fast as my leaden limbs allow. “Done.”

Lucas turns back around, and I burrow under the covers. He takes my discarded clothes and folds them, setting them on the dresser.

“I’m not a baby,” I grumble.

“A simple thank you would suffice.” He pins me with a look.

I hold his gaze for a long beat, the air between us crackling. “Thank you,” I whisper.

His face softens a fraction. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Stomach flu or something, I guess. I just want to curl up and rest until it passes. Please don’t pick a fight with me right now.”

“I wasn’t going to fight with you. I’m not a monster. I only want to help. Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I just need to sleep it off.”

“Are you pregnant?” He narrows his eyes.

“What?” My mouth drops open. “No! Of course not. ”

“If you’re pregnant, I need to know. We only just got married. We’d need to figure out how to spin it,” he says in a flat tone, but a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“I’m not pregnant.”

“How can you be sure? Maybe I should send Hugo out for a test?—”

“No!” I lurch up, my hand wrapping around his forearm. “No tests.” And certainly not with poor Hugo as the errand boy. I’d never be able to look the man in the eye again. “I’m not pregnant.”

Lucas cocks his head, a question in his eyes.

“I can’t be pregnant because in order to get pregnant, one needs to have sex. Or so they tell me. And I haven’t had sex in...” I trail off, cheeks flaming. “A very long time. Ages. It’s just a stomach bug or something.”

His expression shifts, surprise flickering across his face, but he chooses not to comment. “I’ll fetch you some tea.” He leaves the room, and I slump back against the pillows, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

Lucas returns a few minutes later with a steaming mug and a plate of dry toast. “Drink. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

I close my eyes again, so tired. “Later.”

“Ava. You need fluids. Now.” His tone brooks no argument.

I crack one eye open, meeting his gaze. He looks worried. Huh. “Why do you care?”

He shrugs. “You’re sick. It’s what you do for someone who’s ill.”

“No one’s ever taken care of me when I was sick before. I’m used to fending for myself. You don’t need to stay. ”

“Your dad never looked after you? Surely when you were small?—”

I shake my head. “No. When I was very young, I had nannies. From about age ten on, I took care of myself. Father was always too busy, and he didn’t want me anyway. I was a burden. I learned not to bother him when I was ill. He’d only get angry if he had to miss work.”

Lucas goes still. “A burden? You’re his daughter.”

I scoff. “He wanted a son. Got me instead. And not only that, I killed his wife. My mother died giving birth to me.” My voice breaks on the words, a familiar ache pulsing in my chest.

Lucas is perched on the edge of the bed, looming over me, eyes intent on my face. I can feel the heat of him, the intensity.

“You did not kill your mother. There’s no way it could be the fault of an unborn baby.

You didn’t ask to be born. That was their choice to have a child.

Yes, it’s a tragedy that she died. Of course, he grieved.

But you...you’re all that’s left of her.

He should cherish that.” His voice is low but fierce.

I think the fact that I look so much like her only makes it worse. “He’d rather I had died and she lived.”

The words slip out, more breath than sound. I’ve never dared voice it, that creeping certainty. But it’s the truth, and we both know it.

“He never wanted me. Every time he looks at me, he sees her, and he remembers he lost her because of me.” My voice cracks, and I swipe at the hot tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“Jesus, Ava. I’m so fucking sorry.” Lucas looks stricken. He takes my hand in his much larger one. “Your sperm donor is a shit excuse for a father. No child deserves that. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

I stare down at our joined hands, fingers intertwined.

It feels nice. Safe. And isn’t that just the biggest cosmic joke? I’m so starved for basic human contact, basic decency, that even my blackmailing, supervillain husband’s touch is a balm.

Ridiculous . I’m being ridiculous.

I extract my hand from his and burrow deeper under the covers. “I think I’d like to rest now.”

“All right. I can stay until you fall asleep.”

He sounds almost hesitant. Unsure. It startles me enough that I peek up at him from my blanket cocoon.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Let me? Please?”

Oh .

I search his face, looking for the catch, the angle, but see only concern. Concern and an awkward sort of sincerity.

Maybe he’s not a complete monster after all.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

He nods—a jerky dip of his chin and retreats to the armchair in the corner.

I turn onto my side, hugging a pillow to my stomach as my eyes drift shut. I’m so exhausted. Wrung out in every way.

Lucas is silent as I hover on the cusp of sleep. The only evidence of his presence is the occasional rustle of clothing and the heavy cadence of his breathing.

It should feel bizarre, having him here in this space that has become my sanctuary. My escape from him and the sham that is our marriage .

But it doesn’t. If I’m honest, it’s almost…comforting. Knowing he’s watching over me. That I’m not alone for once.

I let the thought slip away as exhaustion drags me under, too bone-weary to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling in my chest.

Still, even as I surrender to sleep’s sweet oblivion, one stark truth follows me down.

Everything I thought I knew, every secret, every sin...

It’s all turned to ash and dust.

Father is crooked. Has been for years, maybe my entire life. All his railing against Valeur, all his tales of their treachery wrecking us.

What if it was all a lie? What if he’s the poison, the serpent in the garden and not Valeur?

And what will Lucas do if he discovers this?

A shudder wracks me, and I curl into a tighter ball.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

But one thing is becoming crystal clear.

The man sitting vigil at my bedside?

He may be the only ally I have left.