Page 113 of The Grand Duel
I smile when he rolls his eyes, stands to his full height, and holds out a hand to me. “Step on my toes, and I’ll fire you.”
“I’m an awful dancer. Please don’t joke about that.”
The band plays a rendition of “Vienna” by Billy Joel, and thankfully Charles takes heed and pulls me close the moment we step onto the floor, leading me.
I place my hand in his and revel in his strong body as it towers over me, never having had him this close before.
When a huff of air fans across my nose, I peer up at him, the view of the sunsetting pink sky beyond him making my breath catch momentarily.
I stare at him, at his perfectly formed stubble and straight nose.
He knows I’m watching him and when he eventually gives in and peers down at me, I can’t help my smile.
“Nothing adds up with you,” he mutters.
“How so?”
His brows rise. “My assistant, who somehow needs two jobs, just outbid me on a boat.” He shakes his head as he watches me, perplexed. “I don’t even think she needs a boat.”
I chuckle. “I don’t. It’s yours to do with what you will.”
He doesn’t get me. I can see it with the way he’s looking at me.
“You’re very handsome, Charles. I’m not sure I’ve ever told you that.”
His cheeks redden, and so do mine, the liquid courage only doing so much. I can’t believe I just said that.
“You can’t just buy a boat for eight hundred grand and then give it away. Sell it. Get some of the money back on it.”
“Do you remember the story—about my parents getting arrested?” I ask, cutting him off. “It made it to the papers and was pulled within hours of it being published. My parents sued them.”
“I don’t remember the story. Just that there was one. I’m presuming it’s long buried because I couldn’t find anything after you mentioned it that first day.”
I nod, hating that he looked me up, but understanding. “I mean, if you were the owner of a multibillion-pound empire and a news article threatened to…well, I don’t know because it never happened.” I snigger. “Maybe they would have lost some money. Damaged the practiced, pretentious reputation they keep.” I stare at his chest. “They were accused of child neglect when I was eleven years old.” I purse my lips. “Which is messed up because we weren’t neglected. We had everything a child could want in life, and we were privileged beyond belief.”
Charles shifts on his feet, his hand growing tighter on my waist. “Then why were they arrested?”
I catch his eyes and instantly wish I kept them lowered. Because we were, in a way, neglected. It doesn’t make sense. Feels wrong to admit out loud, and I never have. It makes me feel ungrateful to even think it. Like we didn’t have a six-bedroom home on the outskirts of Hyde Park to run riot in. But somewhere between the long weekends, late evenings, forgotten meals, and broken bones, our parents failed to take care of us. That’s the reality. And on paper, in any court of law, their negligence, at the very least, should have seen us under the eye of social services.
But William and Grace Elton are billionaires.
“Billionaires don’t neglect their children, Charles,” I tell him, sadness sitting heavy on my chest. “It was amisunderstanding.”
His jaw flexes, face growing savage.
“Don’t do that,” I frown, not knowing what to do with that look.
He rolls his shoulders, dropping his head back. When he rights it again, looking down at me, I can see him fighting for control.
And that stumps me, because I’m not sure anyone has ever cared so much.
“Why are you so angry?”
“Are you serious?” His tone is full of disbelief, as if he can’t understand why I’d think it wouldn’t affect him.
My eyes dart between his. “It’s such a messed up, complex situation.” I shake my head. “Don’t try to understand it. They adore me. Oddly. Just not in the way they should have at times.”
“Then what triggered an arrest?” he asks again, and my heart sinks.