Page 85 of Two Wrongs
‘She’s my wife,’ I grate out again, like this excuses or explains my behaviour and her tear-streaked face. Christ knows why I keep saying it—she wants a divorce, but it’s the only thing Icanfind to say.
‘Aye, well, see the wee lassie on the right? She’s the love of my life and, as of today, my fiancée. But between Ivy and Nat, they hid her away; I didn’t see hide nor hair of her for months—fucking months! If those women think you’re here to harm, you’ve got no chance, pal.’
I stare at the backs of the three women, including the one called Nat. She doesn’t look like a gnat. She’s more like a brightly coloured butterfly. Or a horsefly.Yeah, more appropriate; a big fucker with a nasty bite.
‘They can’t keep me from her.’
‘Aye, you’d think,’ he says pleasantly enough, ‘but you’d be wrong.’ He shrugs, rubbing a thumb along his jaw, which makes me want to do the same.This fucking beard; I’m so sick of it. ‘But between them, and Ivy’s brother, and me and mine.’ His expression hardens, serious now. ‘You make Ivy cry like that again, and you’ve a chance not to get off this island, y’ken.’
‘Which part of wife did you not get?’
‘Oh, I get it all right.’ Jekyll and Hyde, he’s instantly back to agreeable again. ‘I’ll alsonotbe gettin’ it if Ivy’s upset.’ As clear as his words are, I don’t understand. I guess that’s evident from my expression as he carries on. ‘I just proposed.’
‘Congratulations. To you both.’
‘Thanks,’ he responds with a grin he understandably can’t hide. ‘But I had other plans for today, beginning with this.’ He lifts the bottle, glasses gripped tight between two fingers and the malt itself. ‘And ending in a pretty fucking special room up there.’ Tipping his head in the direction of the hotel, I finally understand.
‘Gotcha.’ My expression twists. His problems are no concern of mine, yet he’s here with me. Is he here as a distraction, or are these words of advice meant to help?
‘Aye, exactly.’ He sighs, his face still harbouring the remains of his smile. ‘But there’s time yet.’
Maybe to conceal? ‘Time for them to take Ivy off the island—time to hide her, you mean?’
He laughs off my dark words. ‘No one’s going anywhere. No’ for hours. The tide’s gone out. Rory,’ he then announces, holding out his hand.
‘Dylan.’ We shake, though my eyes are scanning the windows of the building in front.Where will she be? How will I find her next?
‘Away inside for now, at least until she’s calmed down. We can have a wee a dram to christen my news—and yours? The debrief will take a while, I imagine,’ he says, now following the path of my gaze. ‘I should like to be doing just the same.’ The last he almost he mutters to himself.
I snort involuntarily. Rory laughs, and despite how shite I feel, I find myself chuckling, too.
‘So long as my briefs stay on my ass, I’m up for a drink.’
‘You’re safe with me.’ His reply is accompanied by a rumbling laugh. ‘Can’t say the same for my brother, though.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ivy
‘You’re supposedto give whisky for shock, aren’t you?’
My eyelids feel like they’ve been glued together with porridge as I attempt to peel them open, Nat’s hushed tones disturbing my slumber from the other side of the bedroom door. Although I’m not sureslumberquite covers a cried-my-body-weight-in-water coma, I realise, as my heart hits the floor once more.
He hates you.
Nothing to be done about it,I try to tell myself.The cards have been dealt or, rather, chucked at your head. You just have to get on with it now.
Christ, my mouth feels like the bottom of a bird cage. One a pterodactyl lives in.
Rolling onto my back, I shield my eyes from the slice of late afternoon sun blinding me through a gap in the drawn drapes. I’m lying on top of the plush cover in nothing more than a tank top and my underwear, though someone has covered me with a light blanket at some point.
‘It’s tea with lots of sugar,’ Fin scolds quietly through the bedroom door. I’m relieved they’re still here with me, even if it’s on the other side of the door. Not that they’re standing in the hallway as Rory had insisted on booking each of us into a suite. Mine has a small sitting room plus a bedroom with en suite. ‘Because, contrary to local custom, a glass of whisky doesnotcure all ills,’ Fin continues.
‘It makes you feel better, at any rate.’
‘She can’t have whisky—not in her condition!’ Fin whisper-hisses back.
‘I was talkin’ about for me, not her!’ Ah, regular service has been resumed, at least with regards to volume.
