Page 50 of The Devil’s Lair

A man who rapes his brother’s wife is a very bad man. I don’t say that, though. It’s not Alice’s fault she fell in love with a monster, and I like her. She’s motherly. My own mother could learn a thing or two from a woman like her.

“We love who we love,” I say quietly, thinking of Marcus. Although, now I’m away from his violent control, I’m beginning to wonder if I ever truly loved him. Was it because he seemed so worldly wise? Sophisticated. Everything I wasn’t. At eighteen, can we truly know our own minds?

“Yes, we do.” Alice picks up the tray of cupcakes and holds it toward me. “I made them myself. They’re delicious.”

Although I’m not hungry, I take a lemon one. Isla’s finished hers and has got chocolate smudges up her cheek. I set my cake on the table, then dig a pack of tissues out of my pocket. After I’ve cleaned her up, I settle back on the couch and take a bite of cake. Flavor explodes on my tongue.

“Goodness, Alice, these are delicious. You should open a bakery.”

“Oh no. I love to bake. Not enough to make a business of it, but I like to keep busy, that’s all. Takes my mind off everything.”

A surge of empathy for this sad woman rushes to the surface. I lean forward and briefly squeeze her hand. “It can’t be easy for you.”

She gives me a watery smile. “No, it isn’t. But I’m lucky in lots of ways. Charles could’ve tossed me off the property, yet he didn’t. He’s taken pains to reassure me I’m family and always will be.”

Yet more evidence of how the De Vils rally around those they care about. Whatever George has done, it isn’t Alice’s fault.

She steers the conversation away from George, and I get the impression talking about him is both painful and a comfort. Something she loves to do, but only in short bursts. We finish our tea, and I devour the cake.

“We should go,” I say, standing. “Vicky will probably be wondering where we are.”

“I’ll get my coat and car keys.”

It takes ten minutes to drive to the front of Oakleigh—a lot faster than I’d have managed on foot. As I reach for the door handle, Alice puts her hand on my forearm.

“Would you visit me again? I’d love the company. Maybe next time, Isla could help me bake.”

“She’d love that. Of course, we’ll visit.”

As I enter Oakleigh, my steps are light. I feel as though I made two friends today: Vicky and Alice. Maybe, just maybe, this could become the home I’ve always craved after all.

Chapter Sixteen

REBECCA

A few days ago, while exploring Oakleigh’s many rooms, I came across a vast library stuffed with books way above my level of literacy intelligence. But the smell of the place, with the real fire throwing out much-needed warmth and the comfy couches with scatter cushions and snuggly blankets, and it fast became my favorite room in the house.

Usually it calms me. Today, I’m restless. Tobias returned to Oakleigh the day after I spent time with Alice. Before I could talk to him about how bored I am, though, he rushed off again to somewhere overseas. Even the wives are occupied with their work, Imogen as an architect, Vicky running her own interior design business, and apparently Grace is starting up a music school for underprivileged kids. I envy how certain they are of their careers, how clever and educated, and how driven to succeed they seem.

To make matters worse, I’m still in limbo on the custody case, and it’s driving me mad. I want it done, dealt with, over. I’m in no position to demand anything from these people who owe me nothing yet are going out of their way to help. Instead, I’m left rudderless, at the mercy of courts and lawyers and things out of my control.

I stare at the pages of the book I’m pretending to read while Isla plays at my feet. It’s a biography of someone important. I’m on page twelve, and I couldn’t repeat a single word I’ve read. The words blur together, meaningless, my mind elsewhere.

Isla hums out of tune as she stacks blocks, her small fingers precise and deliberate, a tiny frown on her forehead from intense concentration. She’s built a tower nearly as tall as she is. I should be marveling at it, praising her, but all I can think is what am I doing?

It’s been weeks since we arrived at Oakleigh. Weeks of safety, of not flinching at every sound, of watching Isla slowly unfurl like a flower that’s finally getting water and sunlight. I should be grateful. Dammit, I am grateful.

I’m also going stir crazy.

“You’re not reading that book.”

I startle. The book slips from my hands, and I save it from falling to the floor at the last minute. Tobias stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, a lopsided grin on his face.

“You’re back. How was your trip?”

“Long.” He jerks his chin at the book. “No good?”

“No, it’s great.”