Just when I thought nothing else could stun me, he says that? ‘He wanted to pick me up. I was with you! And I should listen? Like I should have listened to him when he was telling me continuously to walk away from you?’
Miller’s eyes turn vicious and flick to William across the room. ‘Never listen when he tells you that,’ he seethes.
My head falls back and I look to the heavens for help, wondering who and what I should be listening to. ‘Why do you think Sophia would kidnap me?’ I can’t believe the questions falling from my mouth. I know I need sass to survive Miller Hart, but not a black belt or . . . I gasp, realisation sucker- punching me. ‘Self-defence.’
‘It’s a necessity.’
‘In case one of your jealous whores tries to abduct me?!’
‘Olivia!’ Miller yells, enraged, making my mouth snap shut, startled.
Gregory is suddenly in my line of sight, and I focus on him for a moment, finding his mouth agape, his eyes full of alarm. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing,’ he splutters. ‘Are we on the set of The Godfather?’
I close my eyes and shift to the sofa, letting my backside fall in exhaustion to the squidgy cushion. ‘But she didn’t hold me against my will.’ I inhale, searching for sensible questions in a mind awash with craziness. ‘Getting caught up with me will be your demise.’ I look up at him. ‘That’s what she said.’ And while I previously appreciated the absurdity of the warning, Miller’s straight face and telling eyes now make me appreciate the reality. I sit up and swallow hard, not wanting to ask the question tickling the end of my tongue. ‘Was she . . . did she . . . is it tr . . .’ I pause and collect the words together in my mind and let them tumble out on an apprehensive whisper. ‘Is she right?’
Miller nods, blowing my already crumbling world apart. The fear that was lost to shock and anger resurfaces and immobilises me. My stomach turns. I hear Gregory gasp. I feel Miller stiffen. And I sense William’s . . . sadness.
Sophia knows the consequences if Miller quits? He’s shackled, and not just by the women relishing in his sick web of hedonism. I feel ill. His demise? Who are these people?
The sound of a mobile phone pierces the heavy atmosphere and William wastes no time answering it. He looks regretful as he speaks quietly to the caller, and his refined, grey-suited body is shifting uncomfortably on the spot. ‘Two minutes,’ he says tightly before hanging up and penetrating me with his silver gaze. It’s full of sorrow. My stomach turns. ‘Take her and go,’ he murmurs as he watches me. ‘Now.’
My brow wrinkles in confusion, and I stand, throwing my eyes to Miller. He’s nodding in understanding. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask, not knowing how much more I can take.
Miller approaches me and slides his palm around my neck, resorting to his tactics of calmly massaging my nape. I’d shrug him off, but I can’t possibly move. He turns to William. ‘Do you have the package?’
William reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a brown envelope. He’s thoughtful for a few seconds before he hands it to Miller, who shoves it under his arm and reaches in, pulling out two passports and a pile of paperwork. He uses his mouth to open one of the burgundy books to the photo page and runs his eyes over it. It’s me. I choke on nothing, unable to speak as I watch him check the next, seeing a shot of him this time.
‘You’d better go,’ William presses, glancing down at his watch.
‘Watch her.’ Miller releases me and jogs off towards his bedroom, leaving me to continue choking on my panicked breaths. I’m suffocating, a cruel world closing in on me and sending my life into mayhem.
‘What’s going on?’ I finally ask, my voice matching my body in the shakes department.
‘You’re leaving,’ William answers simply and swiftly, now detached, all emotion long gone.
‘I don’t have a passport.’
‘You do now.’
‘It’s fake? Why would you have a fake passport for me?’ And where would he get one? I almost laugh to myself, but a lack of energy prevents it. This is William Anderson. There’s no limit to his capabilities. I should know that.
He approaches me carefully, one hand resting in his pocket, the other holding his tumbler of Scotch. ‘Because, Olivia, from the moment I discovered your involvement with Miller Hart, I knew this would be the end result. I didn’t intervene to be difficult.’
‘What would be the end result? What’s happening?’ Why are people talking in code?
William seems to consider something for a moment before he looks down at me with sympathy filling his wonderful greys. He knows everything about Miller’s darkness. Restraints and a bad temper aren’t the only reasons William has been so persistent in his endeavours to keep me away from Miller. It’s all so clear. He knows the consequences of our relationship, too. He smiles a little, taking my cheek in his palm and smoothing the pad of his thumb across my cold flesh. ‘Maybe I should have done this with Gracie,’ he says quietly, almost to himself, reminiscence rife on his distinguished face. ‘Maybe I should have taken her away from the horrors. Taken her away from this.’
I stare at a remorseful face, but I don’t ask the obvious question, which would be to ask what this is. ‘Do you regret it?’
‘Every day of my wicked life.’
Concern makes way for sadness. William Anderson – the man who loved my mother with a passion – lives with daily regret. It’s potent and alive. It cripples him. I can think of no words to ease his pain, so I do the only other thing that feels right. I reach up to the powerful beast of a man and cuddle him. It’s a silly attempt to lessen his lifelong pain, but when he laughs a little at my action and accepts my embrace, holding me tightly with his free arm, I think I might have at least made a minute’s difference.