Page 12 of Graciously His

“Courier the documents to the airport within the hour, Watson. I’ll text you the gate number once I know it. And line up a celebrant in Dunedin and two witnesses. For today.” Another hesitation and I lose my patience. “Spit it out, Watson, I have a plane to catch.”

“As we have discussed previously, Mr Hadley, marrying a woman under anything except open and legal terms will not hold up in the future. She would have recourse to have you charged with fraud—at the very least. And that’s only the criminal side! Should she wish to, this woman could potentially come after half your wealth. If I could draw up a prenuptial agreement—”

“No prenup,” I interrupt, my voice lowering to a growl. “Grace will marry me, and she’ll stay married to me. Get those documents prepared, Watson, and stand by for that gate number.”

I hang up and jump in the shower. Two minutes later, I’m scrolling to my next call while I towel my hair one-handed. My PI answers on the fourth ring.

“How close are we to nailing the bitch?” I ask. I hired the guy two years ago, and I know he’s getting close.

“Depends,” Graves says, his deep voice nothing more than a mutter. “For an interesting conversation, one hundred percent. For prompting an investigation, about ninety percent.”

I consider that, slipping on a fresh shirt as I think things through. I need to get Constance Reid dead to rights.

“Can you get us to one hundred for a potential criminal investigation today, Graves?”

I hear the man suck his teeth, and I know he’s calculating exactly how much he’s going to charge me to get this done.

“Whatever price you’re about to give me, double it. Then double it again. The cops have the bitch now, and I’ve already told them she’s got a history of abusing Grace. I want proof beyond abuse: I want assault, bodily harm, and attempted fucking murder, if you can swing it. Proof on my phone by five, and you can charge me quadruple.”

I hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “Done deal, Hadley.”

“Email everything when you’ve got it. Hard copies to my lawyer.”

We ring off, and I pack a few necessities into a carry-on bag before locking up. I’m walking to my car, about to confirm my booking on the phone, when fifty kilos of dog crashes into me. My cane corso nearly overbalances me with a shoulder block, making me drop everything. Then the black brindle beast wedges himself against the car, his back to the door.

“Come off it,” I mutter, trying to nudge him out of the way. “I’ll be back later tonight, boy. Sooner I go the sooner I’m back.”

If anything, he leans even harder against the car, sealing it shut.

“Mihi will be by to feed you later, okay? Look, I’ll text her right now, right in front of you.” I type on my phone, sending my neighbour a quick note to look after Shep this evening. “You love Mihi, right? Let me go, and you get to see Mihi.”

Shep loves women almost to the point of uselessness, and I know he recognises her name. But the damn dog still regards me unhappily, his wrinkly forehead furrowing as he looks from my suitcase to my eyes. He hates being left for any length of time, especially when he has to stay outside to do the job I got him for: to patrol the grounds as an extra security measure. If Shep had his way, he’d spend his days in front of the wood burner being cuddled by a woman between meals of venison heart.

I crouch down in front of him. Shep’s trainer insists that talking to him like a person will help us bond better, and I feel like a fucking moron every time, but I do it.

“I’ve got to get to the airport, boy. I’ll have a new woman for you to worship when I get back. Can you be good so I can leave?”

He chuffs, a clear negative.

“What’s it gonna take, eh?” I sigh. He’s sitting stubbornly between me and the airport, between me and Grace.

Grace, who’s a widow now, asking for me because the better twin is dead. The thought sends a shooting pain through my chest. Shep leans forward to give me a sloppy kiss. I wrap an arm around the dog and he hooks his big head over my shoulder, finally shifting his weight off the door.

“Yeah, that’s what you wanted.” I give him a final squeeze then pull back to look into his eyes, which regard me knowingly. “Can I go now?”

He moves, tail wagging as he walks towards his spot in front of the house, at the centre of the horseshoe. I know he’ll be right here when I get back—with Grace.

Chapter 8

Grace

The day devolves into a series of disconnected breaths and depthless grief. The older officer takes me to the station; Mother, he says, will follow with his partner. I’m escorted to a quiet room off the main office. The cop gets me a cup of weak coffee and asks if I need some medication. He indicates my purse, which is slung across the back of my chair. I stare at it. I can’t remember if I went through the motions of grabbing my purse before leaving the house. Or did he grab it for me?

“I need Nate,” I whisper, unsure of why I keep asserting the same thing.

“He’ll be here soon. Did you want to tell me more about your mother, Grace? You mentioned some… disturbing details earlier.”

I stare at the grey-haired man whose name I can’t remember. My mind is a sieve. Everything I said about Mother has trickled out. Obviously, it was alarming enough for the police to separate us, but all I can think of right now is Nick’s face—and Nate’s.