Page 75 of Save Me
QUENTIN
EscortingVogue to class the next day, I take her hand and give it a quick kiss. She is nervous about the TA thing, but I know she will slay it, just like she slays everything else.
“I don’t know why I needed to interview for it,” she mutters. “Dad said he’d sort it out.”
“Formality,” I say shortly but not out of any other reason than my own nerves are pinging like crazy.
“Yeah.” She turns to me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. I rub my hand over my head and sigh. “No. I’m going to see the Duke after this. I think it’s time we really put this to bed.”
“Oh, which way are you swinging on that?” She chews her lip tentatively.
“Family first, right? Isn’t that what’s drummed into us from the day we understand words?”
“Not really sure, but I guess so.” She smiles softly, cupping my face. “You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”
I consider her words carefully. “That’s the thing, though. Idowant to. It’s time I moved past it. It wasn’t entirely his fault, you know.”
“I know. And your mum?”
He chuckles. “Oh, Mum and I are fine. She was laid out, cut half open and unconscious when I was taken. None of that is even remotely her fault. Dad is the one with the power.”
“I know. I’m glad you and your mum are okay. I guess, I need to meet her, if that’s okay with you and Cal?”
“More than. She’s away right now in Dubai, but when she gets back, for sure.”
She smiles. “And here’s me worrying about a formality interview for a position that I could do with my eyes closed. Go, you need to sort your own shit out.” She stands on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around my neck. I brush my lips against hers. “I love you,” I murmur, feeling like an idiot.
She grins. “I love you too. All of you.”
Vogue steps back and waves before heading into the Admin building. I watch her go inside and then turn grimly, not looking forward to the reconciliation with Dad the Duke one bit.
Striding across to my car, I can’t shake the feeling of apprehension twisting in my gut. It’s like a damn snake slithering through my insides, reminding me that family business is never just business. It’s blood, it’s history, it’s every fucking choice we’ve ever made coming back to haunt us.
I slide into the driver’s seat and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The leather creaks under the strain, but I don’t give a shit. This meeting with the old man is long overdue, and it’s about time I faced him head-on. No more running, no more dodging. Today, I decide where Quentin Ravenscroft stands. As a Wakefield, a Woodhurst or just by a single name because Ravenscroft, the pretentious as fuck name my abduction family gave me, needs to go.
I fire up the engine, the sound roaring like a beast waking from slumber. It fits my mood—dark and ready to pounce. AsI pull away from the curb, I allow myself one last glance at the Admin building where Vogue disappeared minutes ago.
She’s a force to be reckoned with, that woman. She’s been through hell and back and came out of it stronger than anyone I know—except maybe for myself. We’re cut from the same cloth, Vogue and I. Survivors. Fighters. She is my entire existence wrapped up in one, and I love her more than anything. Glancing at the phone on the holder on the dash, I click it open to bring up the GPS tracker from the microchip in her neck. Breathing a sigh of relief as she is where she is meant to be, I grimace, knowing this isn’t because we don’t trust her. It’s just so we know exactly where she is if she ever needs us.
The drive to Dad’s place feels shorter than usual—probably because I’m speeding like a fucking maniac. Not that I care about tickets or cops right now; they wouldn’t dare touch me once they know who I am, who I work for, and, yeah, who my fucking Dad is.
When I pull up to the Duke’s stately home, I take a deep breath before killing the engine. The sprawling estate never fails to remind me of what this family represents: power, wealth, and a shitload of skeletons tucked neatly in every lavish closet. The grandeur does jack for me. It’s the man inside these walls that I’ve got to deal with, not his gilded trappings.
Stepping out of the car, I slam the door harder than necessary. My footsteps echo against the bricked driveway as I approach the heavy oak entrance. The door swings open before I can even knock, the butler letting me in with a gentle nod.
Inside, the atmosphere is quiet, too damn quiet, like it’s bracing itself for the storm coming. I don’t bother with formalities or niceties as I make my way to my father’s study. It’s dark and smells of old leather and scotch—appropriate for a meeting that will likely end us one way or another.
He’s sitting behind his mahogany desk, glaring at paperwork spread out before him. His gaze meets mine, steady and unflinching. “Quentin,” he acknowledges, his voice gravelly.
“Let’s cut through the bullshit,” I say, taking a seat opposite him without waiting to be offered one. “You know why I’m here.”
He nods slowly. “You have come to a decision about what we discussed.”
“Yeah,” I confirm, my voice hard as nails. “I need to know where we stand—where I stand with you. Not as the son you lost and who you want to make shit up to for appearances and for the fucking legacy, but toyou.”
The Duke leans back in his chair; there’s only the slightest hint of weariness around his eyes, betraying any emotion. “I love you.”
