Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(103)

I look into his face and I know he is telling the truth. ‘It could have happened to anyone,’ I say quietly.

‘It didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to you.’

‘I don’t think he will be in any fit state to come back after last night, will he?’

‘I protect what’s mine, Lily.’ No remorse. His face is icy calm.

I sigh. My head is throbbing and I simply don’t have the energy to fight with him. ‘OK, OK, let’s talk about it when I’m better.’

‘Want some breakfast?’

‘Yeah, I do. I want some ice cream.’

‘For breakfast?’

‘I was always allowed to eat ice cream when I was feeling poorly,’ I say without thinking and realize what I have said.

In the morning light his eyes are suddenly sparkling emeralds. Impenetrable. But what comes out of his mouth is mild and friendly. ‘What flavor?’

‘I like pistachio and vanilla, but I’ll have whatever is in your freezer.’

He only has cookies and cream so I have a bowl of that. He watches me eat and then he has to leave. ‘I’ll be back at lunchtime,’ he says, and kisses me lightly on the cheek that is not swollen and throbbing.

When I hear the door shut I slowly get out of bed and limp into the spare bedroom where I know my things will have been put temporarily. I see my guitar propped up against a cupboard. I fetch it and sitting on the bed I strum it. I’m a mess inside. I’ve got all kinds of crazy emotions. Maybe I am still in shock about what happened to me yesterday, but I feel totally numb. No emotions at all. All I can remember is Jake, blood splattered with helpless tears pouring down his face. I think of the last time I cried and cried and could not stop. My fingers start moving on the strings. My mouth opens and words come out.

Strumming my pain with his fingers.

Always the same song. Always the same sadness.

Killing me softly with his song. Killing me softly.

I forget my surroundings and go back into that place where everything is right in the world. My parents have gone to the movies. I can hear my brother downstairs eating jam sandwiches and making a mess of the kitchen. It is raining outside and I am lying on my bed, my palms folded under my head, looking at the lightning flashes in the sky.

I finish the song and there is a noise at the door. I turn around too quickly, pain jars in my ribs. Jake is standing there staring at me. He seems pale under his tan.

‘Why are you home?’ My voice sounds accusing. I did not mean it to be so.

‘I don’t know why I came back,’ he says. He walks up to me and kneels in front of me. ‘I didn’t know you could play the guitar so well.’

I shrug. It hurts to. ‘Now you know.’

He slides his finger down my unhurt cheek following the path of my tear. ‘Who were you crying for, Lil?’

I freeze. ‘No one. I wasn’t crying for anyone.’

‘Do you come with instructions, Lily Hart?’ he asks gently, but his eyes are searching and concerned. Who knows how much longer he will be so patient with me?



Three days later I sit on the toilet seat and watch him immerse himself beneath the bubbles. When he pops up again he is wearing a hat of foam. He wipes the suds from his eyelids. So endearing it makes my heart beat faster. When he opens his eyes I am startled anew by how beautiful they are. I try not to stare at the taut muscles of his shoulders.

‘My mother wants to meet you.’

My eyes widen.

‘You’ll like her.’

‘It’s a bit early.’

A shadow passes his eyes. ‘It’s not too early, Lil. We are a very close family.’


‘I’m not ready, Jake. Anyway, look at the state of me. I can’t meet your mother like this.’

‘OK, I’ll take you when all your bruises have faded.’

I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Jake.’





SEVENTEEN


Mara Eden

My firstborn comes to visit me, and the instant he walks through my door I know: there is a new woman in his life. It is there for all to see. The sparkle in his eyes, the faint flush on his cheekbones. And I am ecstatically happy. I am forty-nine and I want to see my first grandchild.

I never tell anyone, but my Jake is my private sorrow. From the time he was fifteen he has known nothing but responsibility and brutality. At fifteen he was held down and made to watch his father cut from ear to ear and given the choice by the men his gambler father had borrowed money from: work for us and pay off your father’s debts or watch your entire family die in the same way.

When he came home that day, the Jake I knew was already dead. There were no tears. No mourning. He set to work immediately and relentlessly. He would work all night, sleep for three hours and go back to work. It took him two years to pay off his father’s debts. I know he had to do a lot of bad things, but he did it for us, for me, Dominic, Shane, and for our little’un, Layla.

In time he made a lot of money, he bought me this beautiful house, the car I have, pays for my holidays, and he gives me a monthly allowance that I never seem to be able to spend all of. He himself lives in a mansion with a swimming pool, wears fancy clothes, owns fancy cars and has too many fancy women, but until yesterday I have never seen him happy.

‘Is she one of us?’ I ask.