Buying Him, page 7
‘Smaller than here?’ Cormac cringed at the wonder in his brother’s voice. James was right to be surprised, they barely had enough room in this place as it was.
‘Yeah, a studio is just one big room with everything in it.’
‘Even the bathroom! Ew, I don’t want you to see me when I have to—’
‘The bathroom is separate,’ Cormac said, cutting off James before he got to his unnecessary point. He’d stopped wiping the kid’s backside last year and since then, his brother had been adamant on privacy. Not knowing many other parents well enough to ask, Cormac wasn’t sure if it was normal or not, but it didn’t seem to be causing any issues other than having to wait for his brother sometimes to get out of the damn tiny shower room that had been advertised as a family sized bathroom.
Cormac added the noodles and gave the pan a few flicks of his wrist. He could practically hear the wheels turning in James’ head and braced himself for the inevitable question he knew would come.
‘So, the kitchen, living room, and bedroom are all together? We’d sleep in the same room?’ he asked quietly. Cormac figured James was worried he wouldn’t be able to hide when he had an accident anymore—not that the kid could anyway.
‘Yeah, I thought we might get bunk beds.’ He knew that would distract James from whatever dark thoughts were floating through his tiny head. Cormac was sure he could probably find a set going for free or for as few slivers as possible if he really looked. Maybe he could get one of those ones with a larger bottom bunk and they could use that as a sofa to save on space.
‘Really?’ Cormac glanced over his shoulder as he heard the boy pushing away his homework, suddenly interested in the idea. The excitement in James’ eyes soothed the small ache in Cormac’s chest at once more not being good enough for his brother. ‘Could I get the top bunk?’
Cormac managed a laugh and a sure before he refocused on the meal, pushing to one side the bitter thought of how in a few years, James was going to hate the lack of privacy he’d have. After all, it was his one bugbear of their current situation. If they moved, he’d have to sneak moments of pleasure in the shower or in the backseat of his car behind the club when he could. So, what if he didn’t have a relationship for another twelve years, until James went off to university? Eighteen years alone was a small price to pay to keep them together, to keep James with him. His parents would be proud of that, right?
He kept that thought in his head as James chatted away, happily munching on the steak and trying to avoid the vegetables. If he noticed Cormac had little meat, he didn’t comment.
After they tidied away, and Cormac had done a dozen or so household jobs while James finally finished his written homework, the two retreated to the living room. James automatically switched on the PlayStation 2 and sat in front of the television. Cormac rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and settled down on the couch with another outdated textbook he’d picked up on the cheap in one of the charity shops he’d driven past that day; mathematics had been one of his choices when he’d applied to universities before their parents had been taken from them.
He cast a glance over towards the small bookshelf that housed the few books they had. Most were James’ but the thicker ones on the bottom shelf were what Cormac immersed himself in when he had the chance. Law, economics, chemistry, biology, and physics were a few that sat there, mostly collecting dust. He had hopes that if James continued to develop the way he was, one day soon he’d be picking up those tomes to have a glance through himself. Cormac dreamt of James getting selected for the Guildford University Gifted Programme, one that ran every four years for the brightest teenage minds across the nation.
That thought made Cormac smile for several reasons. One it would open so many doors for his brother. Graduates of the programme went on to be leaders of industry, ambassadors of nations, or Nobel prize winners. And two, it was all expenses paid! While all universities in Avalone were free to attend, it was living costs that killed most people’s chances. James would graduate without debt and with job offers from all over the globe… And those twelve lonely years might only turn out to be seven or eight.
Cormac made a note to speak to Miss Spencer tomorrow and see what else Cormac could do to help James’ chances of gaining consideration for the programme.
‘Corrie, why don’t we have any money?’ James asked, his voice casual as he continued playing his game. Cormac blinked at the question, surprised by its bluntness as much as its unexpectedness.
‘What makes you think we don’t have any money?’ he asked, marking his page with a bookmark before slowly closing his book.
‘Kenny in class said we should have loads of money because our parents are dead. But we live in a crappy flat in a bad part of town.’ Cormac ignored James’ use of the word crappy as he imagined himself strangling Kenny if he ever got hold of the little shit.
‘And where did Kenny get that idea from?’ He knew damn well where the kid got the idea; his parents were loaded and while they were polite to Cormac’s face whenever he came across them in the playground, they probably sneered down their nose at him the moment his back was turned. Hell, they rolled up with a new car every few months—fancying a change—when Cormac could barely scrape together the funds for much-needed car repairs.
‘He said his parents just got an—’ he paused to find the word he was looking for. ‘Kenny said an en-terrace, but it’s not a word I know.’
‘That’s because Kenny’s stupid. He means an inheritance.’
‘Oh, right. I know that word.’
Of course he did, Cormac shook his head fondly, as James nodded his enthusiastically at his own understanding. However, his young eyes stayed rigorously fixed to the screen as his character ran around whatever deserted building it featured. ‘His granddad died a few months ago and today he said that his dad said they’re going to build a pool in their back garden. And his dad said that Kenny gets some money so he can buy himself a brand-new bike. Why didn’t I get a bike when our mum and dad died?’
Cormac blinked at the rapid-fire information his brother dumped on him, trying to ignore the guilt twisting deep down in his stomach. He thought he had a few more years before he’d have to start answering these types of questions, owning up to his mistakes in handling their own small estate. How could he explain to a six-year-old their parents had left them a nice house and almost enough money to pay off the mortgage, but Cormac, in his youthful naïvety of thinking he knew the world at only eighteen, hadn’t listened to the risks of investments, and lost the lot on a couple of bad deals.
Because of his stupidity, his little brother would never know what it was like to have a proper home. At least not until he could afford one of his own.
‘Not everybody gets an inheritance, James, not everyone is that lucky.’ His voice was low and sombre, and he hoped James didn't question why. Or at least if James thought his voice was strange, that perhaps it was because he was delivering bad news rather than barefaced lies.
Cormac’s stomach turned at the thought of lying to his brother, but he promised himself that he’d tell him when the time was right… In a few years. His eyes drifted of their own volition to the small table where the bills sat, and he prayed that he'd at least get that chance, that he wouldn't lose James into the foster system.
Oh, was all James said as he carried on pressing buttons on the console’s pad, killing the bad guys he was fighting against. Cormac wished all conversations with the little guy could go that easily, that James would always readily accept everything Cormac told him, and that all his lies of things getting better, of their lives turning around, would come true.
‘So, weren’t our parents rich then?’ James asked before holding the console pad up towards the TV as his fingers danced over the buttons quickly, as if somehow the controller would work better.
‘They certainly didn't have a pool in their back garden,’ Cormac said, opening his textbook again.
‘I wish we’d got an inheritance,’ James said after a few moments of silence. ‘Then we wouldn't have to look at studios.’
The equations on the page blurred as Cormac's eyes filled with tears. The heavy feeling inside his chest twisted and rose into his throat, threatening to spew out into a sob as the innocent words that James spoke punched him in the stomach, and hurt Cormac in ways he didn’t know he could.
He brushed the tears away quickly with his thumbs and coughed to clear his throat of the ball that seemed to sit heavily within it. When he felt he could, Cormac opened his mouth to finally answer his brother, but was saved by the knock on the door and James’ instant groan.
‘Son of a—’
‘James!’ Cormac watched as he dropped the console's pad and crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the telling off he knew was coming. Cormac forwent the argument they’d end up having if he bothered—but you say it all the time—and closed his book again before heaving himself off the sofa.
He really was going to have to stop using profanity around James. He certainly didn't want to get dragged into school to talk about his baby brother’s language.
Cormac opened the front door, smile already on his face to welcome Mrs Battersea, pointing in the direction of the living room. He heard her greet his brother, and James’ reluctant hello, the TV being switched off and books being dragged out again, and bit back the laugh that wanted to bubble out.
At least for now, he could be a good guy for an hour each night in his brother’s eyes, even if one day that could all be ripped away from him.
Chapter Six
‘…then you have Malcolm on the fifteenth, Kevin on the twentieth, Jeremy on the twenty-seventh, Franklin in the afternoon of the thirty-first, Timothy that same night at…'
Victoria sighed and rubbed a hand over her face as she rested her elbows on the large ornate desk of her office.
‘Kirstie stop,’ she said quietly, cupping her face in her hands and staring forlornly at her private secretary. Kirstie looked back at her, and having worked together for so long, words didn't need to be spoken between them.
‘I'll cancel them all,’ Kirstie said, drawing thick black lines through each name as she turned the pages of the diary. ‘What's the new plan? Or do you just need time after the other night? Maybe if we speak to Mr Daven and explain what happened…’
Victoria sat back in her seat and turned around as she released another long breath from the side of her mouth. She peered out of the large floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the gardeners in the near distance, cutting and shaping the topiary into the uniform shapes she knew adorned all the gardens at every royal residence across the country. From the outside, everything had to be exactly the same, perfect in every way, just the way the King wanted it on the off-chance he’d drop by unexpectedly. Victoria prayed he continued his tradition of never visiting her and counted down the days until she gained her freedom—or became beholden to her grandfather forever.
Kirstie was still talking, but Victoria wasn’t listening. Her mind kept drifting to the file in the bottom drawer of her desk, calling to her like a siren to a sailor, luring her to her possible demise.
Marcus hadn’t taken any time in getting the report on Cormac Blake to her. It had taken only three days for him to collate everything on her rescuer, and while he was only second to her grandfather in terms of national security access, that was quick even for him.
‘Don’t give me that look,’ he’d told her when he’d dropped it off the day before. ‘That man was both the easiest and yet most difficult subject I’ve ever had to look into.’
Victoria hadn’t believed it until she’d sat down with the file and rifled through it. All the basics were there: name, address, date of birth, school attended and his grades, his employment history, tax records, family details, and so on, but there was little else. Marcus had had him staked out for those three days, trying to explain some of the information he’d come across, but the few pictures they had of him were simple, mundane things such as working out at the gym—okay she’d enjoyed those images—picking up groceries, collecting his brother, and heading off to work… and that was apparently a typical day for the twenty-four-year-old.
Victoria wasn’t the cleverest person in the world, but she saw what Marcus meant right away. Today, almost anyone could find out anything about anyone. Digital fingerprints were left all over the internet, leaving trails back to you regardless of how careful you were—it was why she used the royal phone network. But Cormac Blake had drawn a complete blank to the cyber-security arm of the Avalonian Guard. He had no social media accounts, no mobile phone contracts, no internet at home, no GPS device in his car… The team wasn’t even sure he’d ever been on a computer—although his library card did have IT User assigned to it.
‘…and if the public found out the truth…’
Victoria gnawed on her lower lip as she considered her options. Regardless of what truth Kirstie was talking about, the reality was she had to get married. She could do that either by hoping one of her dates would work out or she could take matters into her own hands as she’d considered in her pique of anger and humiliation five nights ago.
Either way, in less than twelve weeks, her future would be set. Either she found a man and married him, or she handed herself over to the King, who—and of this she was certain—would have her married off to a foreign prince before the year was out.
And as soon as she was wed, Alistair would be next. The only cousin she liked was going to hate her, no matter what she did. Although he’d probably take more pity on her if she were sold off by their grandfather.
As angry as she’d been at her father the other night, looking back, he had always offered her a way out. Every year on her birthday he’d offer to buy her an apartment, a house, an estate, even a yacht if that was what she wanted, if she’d just break away from the ties of the Royal Family and relinquish the role she’d felt obliged to undertake after her mother’s death. But she’d always said no, always resisted, holding onto the ties of the family her mother came from, as if Victoria could somehow hold on to part of her in doing so. But now, Victoria realised, there was nothing of her mother within them.
While her mother had a been a kind and wonderful woman, the Royal Family were, well, royal. They’d never embraced her. Hell, they never embraced each other, and watching her sisters at their grandfather’s birthday celebrations, being ignored by the lot—and Hattie ignoring her too—it had finally hit home why her mother had tried to escape them so many years ago.
Hindsight was a wonderful thing; if her father was here to ask her if she wanted out right now, her answer would be the opposite of every other she’d given in the past. She’d beg for a small country pile, nothing too ostentatious, something that needed no more than three or four staff members, rather than the dozens they had here at Renfrew. Somewhere she could hide away from the press and her relatives, somewhere her sisters could retreat to if they needed… Somewhere she could call home.
Perhaps this was the real reason her father had put in the stupid clause. A last-ditch attempt to get her out of the clutches of the Royal Family. She was just sorry it had taken her father’s death for her to see what she needed to do. What the four of them needed.
While the other three didn't have any royal obligations—which annoyed Alexi to no end—without their inheritance, they'd still have to rely on their royal relatives if something went wrong. Pippa and Hattie could protest all they wanted, could scream at the top of their voices that they were independent and had no obligations due to their own income, but it would only take a financial crash for both of them to be out of jobs, tied to the world’s economy as they were. Avalone's own financial economy may be tied to the gold standard still, unlike those in dollar-standard countries, but it would only take the price of gold to suddenly drop overnight for them to be wiped out.
Or a scandal. After all, everyone loved a good scandal, especially when it involved a member of royalty.
But even if the price of gold fell, it was better to have some gold than none. And if she had her father's gold, she'd have her freedom from any royal burden.
‘It's going to take too long. I don't have the time,’ Victoria said as she turned herself back around to face Kirstie. She had no idea how to approach what she wanted to suggest. Her secretary was going to think her insane. ‘Do you remember my father’s favourite saying?’ Victoria asked as she reached down to open the bottom drawer. ‘That if you can’t make it happen, pay someone else to make it happen?’ She plucked the file from the drawer and carefully placed it on the desk in front of her, her hands carefully folded over it as she prepared herself for the reaction she was going to get.
‘I think I remember him saying that once or twice,’ Kirstie said absently, as she continued to make her diary corrections.
Victoria wanted to laugh; it was what he said every time he hit a hurdle.
‘What if I hired someone to be my husband?’ Victoria held her breath as she watched Kirstie process her words. Her secretary’s pen stilled, her head lifted minutely as she raised her dark eyes to meet Victoria’s.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No, no, hear me out,’ Victoria quickly pleaded ‘We don't have time for me to meet somebody, fall in love, trust them enough to be able to tell them about the situation, and get married. And to pull it all off not only in front of my family but the world too.
‘So, what if I hired someone who knew the situation, was bound by a non-disclosure agreement, and was bought and paid for to be my husband? They’d know the situation, they'd agree to it all, and I'd have everything contractually tied up so the world would never find out. I'd get my money, they’d get a pay cheque that would change their life, and everyone goes home happy.’
Victoria sat back, a smile wide across her face.
Yes, it sounded completely insane, offering herself up to some stranger, but it was exactly the sort of plan Daddy would have come up with. And while she was sure it wasn’t what he’d planned on when he wrote that bloody awful clause in his will, she knew he’d be proud of her for finding a solution to get what she wanted.
