Sully's Fantasy
“I’ve never been diving.” I couldn’t tear my eyes off Sully as he ran his fingers through his unruly dark hair, the ends once again sun-bleached from swimming in salt and living in sunshine.
How was that creature mine? How was his huge diamond on my finger and his marriage vows locked around my heart, binding us for eternity?
It honestly didn’t seem possible. Especially considering I was sprawled, relaxed and happy, on the very same couch where Sully had sat and commanded I sit on his two fingers after force-feeding me libido-brutalising elixir when we first met.
Sully suddenly sat up, clicking the mouse and skimming something on his computer screen. Pika squawked and spied his opportunity to rip off a laptop key and toss it to the ground.
Sully looked up, catching my gaze. “Tell them we won’t be here next week.”
I sat up, interrupting Skittle’s snooze. She yawned and fluffed up her feathers, tickling my neck. “Wait. Why?”
“What is it? What’s going on?” Jess asked.
“Apparently, we won’t be here next week,” I said, still looking at Sully for more information.
He cocked his head, a half-smile on his face. The fact that he was smiling hinted the reason we weren’t going to be here was a good thing. At least nothing urgent or unfortunate was dragging us away from our sanctuary.
“I’ll call you later and fill you in.” I stood from the couch and made my way to Sully’s side.
Pika flew to my shoulder to head bump Skittles while Sully looped his arm around my hips, pulling me into him and typing one-handed with the other.
“Okay, be safe, you two.” Jess blew kisses down the phone. “Speak to you soon.”
“Can I speak to Sinclair super quick?” Cal asked, once again commandeering the phone from his wife. “Just so I don’t have to worry about his ass?”
“Sure.” Passing the phone to Sully, I mouthed, “It’s Cal.”
Sully rolled his eyes, taking the cell. “Yes, we’re leaving. Yes, everything is fine. Yes, we’ll be back in a few days. And no, there’s nothing to panic about.”
Cal muttered something that I couldn’t hear, making Sully chuckle. “All you need to concern yourself with is keeping Jessica happy. Which for you might be hard, seeing as you’re so disagreeable and all.”
Cal’s voice rose, but I still couldn’t catch the male banter. Ever since Sully allowed the lines to blur from long-time employee and sometimes confidant to partners and best friends, he and Cal entered word wars that sometimes lasted for months with quips and slurs.
Jess and I stayed out of it.
After all, male bickering was a sport I had no business in understanding, just like Sully and Cal would never appreciate the silent looks Jess and I indulged in that could hold entire conversations and normally ended in knowing nods or conspiratorial giggles.
“We’re going to England,” Sully said, “to visit a friend.”
Cal’s questions fired back, and Sully answered good-naturedly, “I’m taking my wife and going to a ball, if you must know. A masquerade.”
While Sully nodded and listened to whatever Cal regaled, I skimmed the email on his screen.
To: [email protected]
From [email protected]
Subject: An invitation
Hello, Sullivan,
My wife and I are hosting a masquerade this weekend and would like to extend an invitation. I’m aware it’s short notice, and I’m also aware this is not your scene. However, I’m still waiting to meet the new Mrs Sinclair, and I think it’s high time we catch up in person instead of online, don’t you?
Nila already has a gown in mind that would be perfect for Eleanor, and you are welcome to stay in any of our guest suites at Hawksridge Hall for however long you see fit.
Be a pleasure to host you.
Think about it.
The masquerade starts at 19:00 on Saturday.
Jethro
Sully laughed. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll stay in touch. See ya.” He hung up and squeezed me close. “So? Fancy going to a dance?”
“Where?”
“In an ancient castle where a bunch of scandalous events and history happened.”
I smiled as Pika and Skittles fluttered from my shoulder to the bird feeder outside, chasing away the flock of resident sparrows and a cheeky squirrel. “Is it haunted?”
“Quite possibly.” He nipped the side of my breast, pressing a kiss over the sting of his teeth. “But don’t worry, I’ll be there to protect you.”
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. “My hero.”
“Been called many things, but never that.” Sully grinned, showing the fine lines of happiness around his eyes and the etching of handsome weathering that only made him more distinguished. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you two. This way, we go, we play, we stay the night, and then we fly home.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“You sure?” His blue eyes searched mine.
“Sounds fun.”
“Okay then.” Unwinding his arm from around my hips, he ducked to pluck the letter L from the floor where Pika had torn it off and clipped it back onto the keyboard. With swift, strong fingers, he confirmed our attendance.
We agreed to travel to England for a masquerade, hosted in a stuffy ancient castle in a drizzly cold country that was as far from our open-air island existence as possible.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to dance with my tuxedoed husband and enjoy meeting one of his oldest friends, but...I would miss Goddess Isles. I’d miss Pika and Skittles. I’d miss our utopia.
My gaze fell on the apothecary cabinet, and an idea sprang to mind.
And suddenly, I didn’t feel quite so homesick.
Because I had a plan.
An extra little something that I would pack in my suitcase to ensure we had a way to escape if we needed to.
Chapter Four
“WHAT DO I CALL him?” Eleanor asked, her voice pitched with nerves. “Do I bow? What about his wife? Do I curtsy?”
“They aren’t royalty, Jinx.” I watched the English countryside streak past as we drove from the airport to Buckinghamshire. “At least, I don’t think they are.”
I’d never actually checked.
When I received that first email from a resident psychiatrist at an English hospital we donated to, claiming to have a teenage boy with behavioural issues that were amplified depending on who was in the room with him, I’d agreed to personally find a mix of drugs to help.
Originally, I’d wondered if he was schizophrenic, but after professional curiosity led to me phoning the teenager in question and ending up having a conversation that made my scientific brain race with a quest to understand, I realised Jethro’s condition was far more interesting than schizophrenia.
I hadn’t long been in charge of Sinclair and Sinclair Group—barely out of my teens myself—so I took a personal interest in Jethro’s case, purely because beneath his shields and snarls, I heard what I saw in all trapped animals: the cry for help and the broken faith not to believe in hope.
When we’d spoken, he’d originally been stiff and aristocratically cold, yet the more we talked, the more he relaxed to the point he was analysing himself, just as I was, instead of having his hackles up about his ‘disease’.