Page 73 of Wretched Heart
She frowns at him. “Is that a real name?”
“Rebecca!” Hugo barks as he appears in the foyer. I note there had been no echo of footsteps. He’d crept up on us to eavesdrop. Figures.
The little girl flinches at the sound of her father’s voice, and I feel Maddie’s thumb brush the back of my hand. It’s her turn to soothe the tension rippling through my body. I want to rip Hugo’s head off.
Becks backs away just as Hugo’s wife arrives. “I’m so sorry, Hugo,” she says, tugging at a woolen cardigan that’s too warm for such a sunny day. I wonder what bruises it hides. “It’s not Rebecca’s fault. I should have been watching her more carefully.”
Ash remains crouched, his arms resting on his thighs as he assesses the family dynamics. Now he gets it.
Hugo simply glares at his wife. I doubt whatever he intends to do or say to her, won’t be played out in front of guests. My jaw aches as I grind my teeth.
Jen’s head remains bowed as she takes her daughter’s hand. She doesn’t acknowledge our presence.
Hugo flicks a hand towards her. “Take her away.”
Maddie takes a faltering step as the mother and child are about to disappear from view. “Hey, Jen,” she calls out.
Her sister-in-law keeps moving, but Becks looks over at us. There’s a slight hesitance in her steps when she spies Maddie, followed by a flash of anxiety that doesn’t belong on the face of a young child. In an instant, Becks snaps her gaze away, as if simply looking at her aunt was a punishable offense.
“My wife’s name is Jennifer,” Hugo snarls. He’s looking at Maddie, correcting her for daring to use a shortened version of his wife’s name.
“Hello, Hugo,” I say to force his eyes off my wife. “That nose is taking time to heal.”
Hugo gestures towards the housekeeper to dismiss her, and she practically bolts out of the foyer. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Hunter.”
“I’m sure it is,” I reply.
Hugo takes a step closer to our group, his eyes darting towards the one Griffin he hasn’t met yet. Ash has remained crouching. He waits. And he waits some more until Hugo is less than three feet away. My brother is an expert at making the most of his imposing frame, and when he draws up to his full height, he’s intimidating as hell.
“We need to talk business,” he says without introduction. “Do you have a room where we could sit and talk?”
“There’s the drawing room,” Maddie suggests, slipping her hand from mine.
I shadow my wife as she steps in front of Ash to lead the way. Her pumps don’t make a sound on the marble floor, and will be perfect for flitting in and out of rooms. Mace’s rubber heels have the same effect, but he’s had more practice than most at moving around undetected.
“This isn’t your home anymore, Maddison,” Hugo says.
“The codicil, Hugo,” she reminds him. “You might own the house, but I have a right of access.”
He makes the mistake of stepping towards her, and it’s just the excuse I need. I’m there in two strides and my arm snaps out to grab his shirt collar. “Go any nearer my wife, and your housekeeper will be cleaning up blood stains for a week,” I growl.
Hugo reaches instinctively for my hand, but he makes the right decision not to complete the move. “Please, I meant no disrespect. We’re family now.”
I twist the collar, tightening it around his neck. “I suspect family means something different to you than it does to me.”
When I let him go, Hugo stumbles back. I don’t wait as I follow Maddie and Ash towards the drawing room. Ash disappears inside, but Maddie waits on the threshold whereI position myself in front of her, shielding her from Hugo as he follows Ash.
“I’m just going up to my room to collect some things,” Maddie announces.
“Take Mace with you,” I say as I exchange a final look with Maddie.Don’t take any chances.
Before Hugo can object, I close the door so it’s just the three of us. The drawing room is light and airy, filled with elegant dressers and overstuffed chairs. Ash takes a folded document from his inside pocket and drops it onto a low table. He places a pen on top then takes a seat on one of the couches, legs spread wide as he relaxes back against the cushions.
“Sit, Hugo,” he says, pointing to the couch opposite. “And tell me why you haven’t signed the contract. I don’t like time-wasters.”
“Your brother forced me to agree to the sale under duress,” Hugo replies. He’s trying his best to assume a commanding tone, but his voice dries up too soon. His last words are more of a squeak when he runs out of breath.
While I watch Hugo perch on the edge of his seat, I remain on my feet, standing between the two couches. I keep my arms crossed and my fists curled.
