Page 37 of The Stipulation
I can’t help the flutter in my chest as I sneak glances at Axel, at the new closeness between us, at the unspoken understanding between us. There’s a lot I don’t know about him, a lot I’m probably not supposed to know yet, but for this moment, we are a team. And beneath the strategic, methodical conversation about forgery and theft, the air between us hums with something else. Something unspoken. Something dangerous. And I won’t lie. I like it.
Chapter
Eighteen
JO
The conservatory is quiet, the buffet mostly eaten, although the faint smell of barbecued meat and blue cheese still lingers in the air. Axel leans back in his wicker chair, arms folded over his chest, staring out at the gardens like he’s considering something far larger than our painting investigation. I take a bite out of my chocolate tart and grin, the tension of the past hour easing slightly.
“Well,” I say. “We’ve managed to have a civil conversation for at least half an hour without bickering or nearly coming to blows.”
He glances at me, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Yeah. Maybe you’re not all bad,” he says casually, but there’s a small softness in the edges of his mouth that makes me feel like I’ve just scored a minor victory.
Emboldened by the new civility, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“You know,” I start, “I’ve got to ask. Why do you hate me so much?”
He looks at me seriously, his eyes locking on mine, the intensity immediately grounding me.
“You want the truth?” he asks me, his voice steady and unyielding.
I nod, daring him to continue.
“It’s because of that email,” he says, his voice almost a growl, but with an anger beneath it that catches me off guard. “The email you sent your father when you were about to turn eighteen. Right when he was about to contact you.”
I frown, confused. “What? I … What email?”
Axel’s gaze hardens, and he exhales slowly. “That email when you coldly informed him that you had no interest in ever knowing him. And if he ever tried to contact you, you said you would ruin him.” His eyes flare, a sudden flash of anger mixed with grief. “That email broke him, Jo. It was the only time I ever saw him cry.” His hands clench as he looks away from me. As if he can’t bear to look at me.
“I loved Joseph like the father I never had. I had to work so hard for his approval and love. And you - you had him in the palm of your hand, and what did you do? You treated him like dirt. You never wanted to know the man, but here you are, the cold fortune hunter wanting a share of his money.”
I feel my chest tighten. Hearing this, I guess it kind of makes sense why he hated me so much before he’d even exchanged a word with me.
“Axel, I swear to you, I never sent that email,” I whisper, my voice breaking slightly. “I … I never knew who my father was. My mother never told me who he was. She told me she got pregnant during a one-night stand. I spent my whole life wishing I knew him, and I didn’t come here for money. I actually had no idea who he was. I came because Gavin phoned me and told me myfather was barely alive and asking for me. I thought I finally had a chance to get to know him.”
He blinks, a look of surprise crossing his features.
I continue, the tears pricking behind my eyes, the weight of the realization heavy in my chest. “She … she must have sent it. My mum. She … she sent it to keep me from meeting him.”
My voice catches as I speak the words aloud, and I wipe my cheeks as tears run down them. The thought, the lost opportunity, hits me like a punch. I almost met my father, almost knew him, back when I was eighteen. He was going to get in touch with me. We could have had eight years of being in each other’s lives. All these years wasted because my mum couldn’t bear the thought of sharing me with my father.
Axel’s stance softens slightly. He leans forward, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter now, concern breaking through the edges of his usual steel. “Are you ok?”
I wipe my eyes once more and try to regain some composure. “I … Yes, I think so. I’m not really sure how I feel yet. It’s a lot to process.” I take a shaky breath. “But, Axel, I’m not here for the money. I came expecting my father to be alive, and I stayed because I couldn’t resist working on such a fine art collection. That’s why I’m here.”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes flicking over my face as if trying to assess whether or not I’m lying. I meet his gaze steadily, holding my ground, and finally he nods once, sharply.
“Alright,” he says. “I believe you.”
“And?” I say, more to cover my relief than anything.
“And what?”
“And you’re sorry for being a massive dick to me,” I say.
“Don’t push it,” he says, but he smiles at me, that genuine smile I saw him give the gardener’s son that day in the grounds. For me, it’s as good as an apology. The tightness in my chest eases slightly.
“What was he like?” I ask after a moment, my voice quieter, tentative. “Joseph. My father. Can you tell me about him?”
