Lucky Stars (Ghosts and Reincarnation #5)(29)

The debacle with Belle at The Point had made the papers. How, Jack didn’t know. But considering the number of people who saw Miles prominently displaying Belle on his arm at the party then the next morning all the shouting and finally they watched Belle fleeing the castle, it could be anyone.

Including Miles, a manoeuvre which, if his brother arranged it, backfired.

For an entire month, the media was in fits of glee. They picked every possibility of the Bennett Brothers’ love triangle with an adopted national treasure apart and, Jack had to admit, they did a splendid job of it.

The Bennett Brothers rivalry wasn’t a secret and many people who only remotely knew Jack or Miles were more than happy to discuss it.

Jack and Miles had been depicted as lascivious libertines, targeting a media darling as the spoils of a heinous contest, playing with her affections and using her body for their immoral pleasure.

Belle had been depicted as a fragile, not entirely clever, lamb at the slaughter who fell headlong in love with Miles then Jack or both of them at the same time, depending on the story.

At first, it had been a feeding frenzy, all three of them caught in it. No matter where they went, there were cameras, microphones and prying, insulting questions hurled in their direction.

Jack, Belle and Miles had all kept silent. Jack, because if he let himself react, he’d likely do bodily harm. Belle, because she never spoke to the press. Miles, because he’d drawn the short straw. The press, latching onto his loss in the “competition” for Belle, rubbed his face in it constantly, something he detested.

Miles had finally lost his patience and disappeared not telling anyone, not even Joy, where he’d gone.

Belle, Jack noted with vague concern he would not allow to form fully, seemed to get paler and thinner by the day and she too eventually disappeared which was a mistake as that led to a week of the media speculating that she was with Miles.

Jack didn’t change his behaviour in any way.

Miles had returned six weeks ago when the story was well and truly dead.

Belle, Jack noted distantly (but the press noted it far more assertively), emerged two weeks ago looking paler, thinner and far more fragile.

Jack would not allow himself to care.

Whatever romantic idiocy that had him in its clutches and led him to behave like a besotted fool at her merest smile, her softest giggle, the depth he’d convinced himself was in her eyes, was gone.

Completely.

Time, distance, absence and Belle herself had swept it away.

If his mind turned to his behaviour that night or her unshakable belief that he would abuse her so monstrously, especially after what he thought they’d shared, or her refusal to allow him to explain, or the memory of her walking away from him without even glancing back, the fury would begin.

But he’d learned to control it like everything else in his life.

And he did control it. To the point where he barely thought of her anymore unless she was thrust into his consciousness.

Like now.

He arrived at his outer office, his gaze slicing to his secretary, Gillie, who stared at him wide eyed and opened her mouth to speak.

Jack cut her off before she could utter a word. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want me to call security?” Gillie asked as Jack strode to the door of his office.

“No. This is not going to make the papers. Leave it,” Jack ordered and pushed open the door.

Two women were in his office. One he could imagine was Belle’s mother. The other looked more like her older sister.

The elder woman was dressed all in dove grey, a flowing, light, ankle length skirt, silk woven tunic and stylish flats. Her hair was a shining mixture of both blonde and white, as if the white that would declare her age to the world was trying to win but the blonde of her youth refused to let go.

She had very unhappy, stormy grey eyes.

The other one was also blonde, with Belle’s thick, long hair, untethered and falling in a wild mass of waves down her back. She also had grey eyes, which, turned to him, weren’t stormy but surprised and a little curious. She was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, so much silver at her fingers, wrists, neck and all along the curves of her ears it was a minor miracle she could hold herself upright and a purple t-shirt that asked, bizarrely “Mummy, where’s Fluffy?” across the chest in glittery, green script.

Jack closed the door behind him, put his shoulders to it, crossed his arms on his chest and regarded both women.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he announced.

Lila, who he assumed was the older one unless Belle did have a sister which could well be as Jack knew her about as far as he could throw her, said with grave affront, “Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”

“Mom…” the younger one mumbled softly, her voice, Jack noted even on that one word, was the same as Belle’s, sweet and musical.

At the sound of it, Jack clenched his teeth.

“Ladies, I’m busy,” he told them. “You’re losing time.”

Lila’s back straightened, her eyes shot daggers at him and she opened her mouth to speak but Rachel got there before her.

“We agreed I’d do the talking,” Rachel said to Lila.

Lila turned her murderous glare to her daughter and announced, “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Mom, seriously, let me do the talking.”