The Wild Heir(99)

But if Magnus did that, if he chose to not be a part of it, then he’s not the person I thought I married. The man I married would always do the right thing, even if it hurts.

No matter what happens to us, we lose.

I feel like my heart is being obliterated the more I stand here and think about it.

I can’t deal with this here, with him.

We won’t get anywhere.

I turn around and head upstairs to our room.

“Where are you going?” Magnus yells after me.

I don’t answer him. I grab my purse and make sure the essentials are in there and then I head back down stairs.

Einar is standing by the front door, Magnus walking toward me.

His face falls when he notices my purse.

“Where are you going?” he asks, reaching for my arm.

I rip it out of his grasp, not wanting to look at him anymore.

“Home!” I tell him. “I’m going home.”

I pass by Einar in the hallway. “When you see Jane, tell her I’ll send for her in a few days.”

He gives me an apologetic smile. “Yes, madam.”

I walk down the stairs and into a car as a driver runs out of the house after me, hurrying to the driver’s seat.

“Where to?” he asks.

“The airport,” I tell him.

I tell myself I won’t cry on the property. I won’t let my tears tinge that estate. I won’t let this bury the life that I’ve built here.

But the moment the car passes through the palace gates, I burst into tears.

I cry and I cry and I cry, as if my heart is being emptied out.

And all that’s left is the lie we built our love on.





Twenty-Two





Magnus





It was the wedding band that set me off.

Ella’s wedding band, sitting in a silver dish beside the bathroom sink.

It’s been a day since Ella left the house.

A day since Heidi appeared with the paternity test, telling us she was pregnant with our child.

A day since my entire life collapsed in ruins around me.

It’s been a hell of a day to say the least.

But I was managing it the best I could.

I think I was more in a daze than anything. Pretending that Ella went around the corner instead of who knows where she went. Pretending that Heidi was mistaken. Pretending that everything in my life didn’t drastically change forever.

But that wedding band, that did it.

I picked it up in my hand and felt the complete absence of her.

The fact that she had left me.

She left me.

The fear that she might not ever come back.

And who could fucking blame her?

I apparently have some demon spawn with Heidi and that’s something you don’t get to come back from.

So, when I saw that ring, the fact that she took it off as if she was discarding our marriage, I did what I do best when I get into these panicky situations.

I completely trashed my room.

I mean, yelling, screaming, punching the wall, kicking things over, throwing shit. It was ugly.

Just acting like a complete barbarian with a peanut brain.

And even though Ottar is used to these kinds of outbursts from me from time to time, when my temper and frustration levels and my race-car brain can’t be controlled, this time he’s barging in the room like he’s ready to wrestle me.

“Bring it on, little man,” I snarl at him as I turn around, doing my best Wolverine impression.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, looking at the mess and chaos around him. Feathers from the down pillows I kicked are floating in the air. “Don’t you have any self-control?”

“You know I don’t,” I say, still trying to catch my breath. Somehow, I don’t feel any better though, and now the room is all fucked up. “You should really know I don’t by now.”

“Sir, listen,” he says as he slowly approaches me, as if I’m going to pick him up and throw him through the window. That’s when I notice the envelope in his hands.

The paternity test.

The sight of it nearly sends me reeling again.

“Get that thing out of here,” I grind out.

He shakes it at me. “No, listen to me. I don’t think this is legit.”

That makes me pause. “What do you mean?” I can’t ignore the hope building through me and if it’s false hope I’m going to kill him. “Tell me you know something.”

He comes on over and shows it to me. It looks the same as it did before.

“Look,” he says, running his fingers over some lines at the bottom. “See the doctors that signed it?”

I squint and read the list of three names below their signatures. “Yeah, so?”

“Well I thought the name Gunnar Hamundarson sounded familiar,” he says. “So I Googled him.”

“Yeah. And?”

“Well he’s a famous Viking from Iceland. From the tenth century.”

I stare at him.

“So then,” he continues, “I Googled the rest of the names. They’re all dead Vikings. Magnus, these doctors don’t exist. The thing is a forgery.”

“Are you sure?” I ask carefully. “Please be sure about this.”