Plausible Deniability

Niall is gone when Aila wakes the following morning. She sits in the bed, staring around the room as if he will magically be sat at the piano or in the armchair. His blue eyes don’t meet hers, she doesn’t find him anywhere. Not even on the terrace.

Dressing quickly, she makes her way down the corridor and grand staircase. Staff nod and bow as she passes, and Neda ushers them to complete their tasks. It’s embarrassingly uncomfortable, Aila thinks, to watch dozens of linen-clad people cleaning while doing nothing herself. Between living with her friends and working at La Serene, Aila grew accustomed to the chores required.

She very nearly misses it.

The dining room is empty when she pokes her head through the door. She frowns and continues her search. Lilyen emerges from the kitchen, eyes widening when she sees Aila, then curtsies before scurrying away. Aila raises a brow and ducks into the kitchen.

Mera is the first to look away from where she polishes silverware. “Miss! Is there something you need?”

“Uh, no. Everything is fine.” Aila notices the confused, almost apprehensive, expressions on the staff members’ faces. “Am I not allowed in here?”

Mera exchanges a look with Orlen, the main chef, then swallows. “I suppose there are no rules against it, Miss Aila. It’s just... No one ever wants to come in here except staff.”

“May I stay?”

“If you wish, Miss, but are you certain you wouldn’t prefer the study? We could even bring you tea in the gardens.” Orlen smiles, a congenial thing, when she meets his eyes.

“I’d much rather get to know you, if you don’t mind.”

“What would you like to know, Miss?”

“Whatever you wanna tell me.”

Aila sits at the rough wooden table, reaches for a cloth and the tin of polish, and works with Mera as the others talk of themselves.

Orlen grew up only two miles from North Primden, within the East but close enough he’d heard the horror stories of Strickland’s actions. He began working in the manor when he was fifteen; he rose through the ranks as a servant, learnt the trade from the previous chef at twenty, and took over when the old woman retired fifteen years ago. He was only twenty-two.

The other members speak very little, but Aila gleans enough information to know they’d most likely be dead if the Horans hadn’t taken them on. Neda’s mother was the first to be hired after Bobby set up business in Primden. She’d been running from a civil war in her home country and stumbled onto Bobby’s operations—quite literally.

It was only pure luck he didn’t kill her immediately.

“Now Neda‘s babe will join the staff once they’re of age,” Mera announces as she closes up the polish tin. Freezing, she glances at Aila. “Please do not tell Mister Niall.”

“He’ll be angry?”

“Considering who the father is, perhaps.”

“Who is it? Mera, you can trust me,” she murmurs when the other woman hesitates.

Orlen is the one who replies, “It’s Yuri. Mister Horan has rules for intimacy amongst staff, though Mister Niall is much more lax. His anger would not be because Neda is pregnant, but because she hasn’t told him. He will be angry she’s allowing herself to continue working.”

“I... How far along?”

“Three months.”

“Excuse me, Miss Aila.”

Aila whirls around to stare with wide eyes at Robert. “Oh! Hi.”

His sharp gaze sends the others rushing back to their tasks, then he gestures toward the cloth in Aila’s hands. “You best wash up, Miss Aila, or Mister Niall will know you’ve done the jobs reserved for others.”

“I wanted to.”

“Yes, I understand. He might not. He is waiting in the study whenever you’re ready.”

Aila grimaces and scurries to the sink. The polish remains under her fingernails, but there isn’t much she can do about that. She hurries through the corridor, apologising to the staff she passes on the way. Neda barely manages to get out of the way in time.

“And where were you hiding, darling?” Niall asks when she finally steps through the door to the study a couple minutes later.

“I was in the kitchen talking to Mera, Orlen, and the others.”

His brows creep up his forehead, and he sets aside his book. “Why?”

Seriously? Aila stares unblinkingly at him for a moment. Does he consider his staff so unimportant, he’d never think someone else might not? She folds her arms over her belly, leaning against the doorway, and regards him with a cool stare.

“Because they’re human and deserve companionship,” she finally says, “even if some people think their stations too lowly.”

He pauses then groans. Carding his fingers through his hair, he grimaces. “This is the waitress situation all over again, isn’t it?”

“Server. And yes. And don’t tell me I’m not allowed in the kitchen to speak to them. I’ll just disobey.”

His lips press into a thin line. Niall stares at her without expression, elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled together. There’s no humour on his face when he asks, “If I fire them?”

“I’ll hire them right back.” She lifts her chin in defiance. “Nothing you do could stop me.”

“I’m not going to win, am I?”

“Nope.”

Despite his losing the argument, Niall grins widely, gesturing her closer. Aila curls up on his lap, head tucked beneath his chin. His heartbeat pounds steadily in his chest, and she represses a shiver as his hand slides along her bare thigh.

“I don’t mind if you talk to the staff, darling. You’re right. They all deserve respect. I’ve not been very good at showing that respect. Just don’t distract them from their duties.”

She gasps in fake outrage, pulls back to meet his eye. “Excuse me, sir, I would never.”

“Except you’ve just done,” he whispers before kissing her.

Her lips part beneath his, hand settling on his chest. He tastes of whisky already. He slips a hand up her leg, beneath her skirt. She exhales sharply at the light scratching of nails on her skin, shifting closer. Cruel as he is, Niall pulls away.

“Terrence was meant to help with the grounds.”

“Oh,” she breathes, still struggling to find steadiness with her head spinning so wildly. “Oops.”

“We should go to dinner tonight. Then the Rogue after.” He tugs her further into his body. His voice grows huskier, deeper, as he murmurs in her ear, “I wanna watch you dance, see everyone watching you but know you’re coming home with me. I want to bring you home and show you who you belong to.”

“Why wait?” she manages to groan out, and her head falls back to expose her throat. He loves leaving his mark.

“Because I want you on edge all night.” He presses a kiss to her cheek then pushes her back. “Anyway. Ashton graciously extended an approval for use of the Rogue during the length of our alliance.”

Asshole, she thinks. “His words?” At Niall’s nod, she snorts in amusement. “Pretentious fuck. But yes, dinner sounds good.”

“Then run along and get ready. I have to talk to Harry about something, and I’ll meet you when I’m done.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m Theo,” she grumbles even as she does he says. If she adds a bit more shake to her hips along the way, well, he deserves the torture.

Mera has worked her magic: On the bed are three different options of clothing. One is a strappy thing barely amounting to a handkerchief, another is a romper dotted with flowers—clearly Tania’s idea of a joke. The third, however, Aila will certainly choose.

Delicate white lace covers the entire thing, and scalloped edges line the sleeves and the skirt. Sheer material separates the top from bottom; it’s designed to show without showing her midriff. Even without putting the dress on, Aila knows it toes the line between classy and improper. She runs her fingers over the fabric, the gentle ruffles beneath the bodice. It’s perfect for both dinner and the club. She wonders if Niall chose it.

She’s just reached for the hanger when her phone rings. She frowns as she accepts the call.

“Mother?”

“Well, don’t sound so happy to hear from me,” Priscilla sighs. “Isn’t it okay for a mother to call her daughter every once in a while?”

“The last time we talked was three months ago. Remember?” Aila doesn’t wait for a response, only continues, “I hung up on you because you told me again I was being foolish. You told me again Colton cheating on me was a sign of his devotion. Or stress. Whatever.”

“Aila, dear, you have to understand. As your mother, I want the best for you. I saw you throwing away a ten-year relationship all because of one little mistake.”

“A mistake, Mother, is him ripping my favourite dress. A mistake is him burning dinner. Cheating on me for a year with one of my best friends cannot be classed as a ‘mistake’. It’s a pattern of disrespect.”

Priscilla hums, and Aila can see the eye-roll. The pinched lips and furrowed brows plucked too thin. “Well, that changes everything then.”

“Does it?” scoffs Aila, dropping to sit on the bed. “Because I distinctly remember telling you exactly how long he’d been sleeping with Aubrey as I cried my fucking heart out.”

“I didn’t call to fight, Aila.”

“Then you shouldn’t have called at all.”

“All I was saying,” her mother pushes on, speaking over Aila as if she hadn’t heard her daughter, “is it wasn’t very... respectable of you to not give him another chance. It reflected poorly on your character.”

Aila presses the heel of her palm against her forehead. How do all the calls end up like this? They always end in fighting, with Priscilla acting as if Aila is a child who can’t make her own decisions. With Aila wanting to rip her ears off her skull if only to never heard her mother’s criticisms again.

“And I’m just saying, Mother, that telling your daughter to stay with the man who broke her heart is horrible, horrible advice. Would you have stayed with Father if YaYa told you to leave him?”

“No, I wouldn’t, because mothers know best.”

“How can you know what’s best if you don’t even know me? Do you know a damn thing about me, Mother?” Aila scrubs furiously at her cheeks—she can’t let Priscilla know she’s upset. “What’s my favourite food? C’mon, Mother, YaYa made it for me every time I was ill. What was it?”

“This is ridiculous, Aila Maleigh. I will not be interrogated as if I’m some common criminal hauled in on trumped-up charges. I’m only ringing to let you know your father and I will be in Primden this weekend. We’d love to see you.”

“No!”

The word is out of Aila’s mouth before she can stop it. She hears the second it piques her mother’s interest. Priscilla knows Aila never lets her emotions get the best of her, not even in an argument. As far as Priscilla is aware, Aila is an emotionless robot who stopped expressing how she feels when she was a teenager.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, dear, but you don’t get to tell me ‘no’.”

“Well, I just did. Sorry, Mother, but I plan on spending this weekend with my fiancé and our friends.”

“You’re engaged again?” gasps Priscilla, before she hisses something to someone in the background—probably Aila’s father. “Well, now we’re definitely coming to see you.”

“I said ‘no’, and you’ll respect that. You are not coming to Primden and running off the first man who’s loved me like this. He treats me well, and he listens to me. You can just give up on your sick hopes of me running back to Colton. It’ll never happen. You won’t be seeing either me or my fiance until that ring is on my finger. Goodbye.”

Aila hangs up before her mother can respond. She even goes so far as to block the number. Once that’s done, she flops backwards to sprawl across the bed. Of course her mother would think she knows best. It’s always been Priscilla’s way: She makes the decision, and everyone else either deals with it or deals with her judgement.

Aila hates her mother for that. She knows deep down, her mother truly believes she’s doing the right things, but she refuses to admit she can be wrong. That stubbornness is going to be the death of her relationship with her daughter.

“You okay, darling?”

Aila hadn’t realised Niall had come in—or that she actually started crying. She nods shakily, and he snorts as he crosses the room to the bed. He pretends to struggle, pulling her toward him, and she lets out a watery giggle. As cruel and distant as he can be, he is proving to her now that he truly cares.

He truly wants her to be happy.

He truly loves her enough to show his silly side when she needs it.

“I’m just… I’m tired. I hate that this was a ‘good period’ with her, and it still ended in us arguing. She’s trying to make her and my father the centre of attention when I have something so amazing in my life.”

Niall gives up the act, pulling her onto his lap. “Darling, nothing she could ever say will make me change my mind about you. You can’t even change my mind about you. Well, you could, but I doubt you’d ever betray us like that.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” protests Aila. The thought alone sends a shiver down her spine. He holds her tightly. “As… As much as this life scares me, I still feel safe. Like no matter what, I have people looking out for me.”

“We will until the day we die,” he murmurs, nudging her face up to press his lips to hers. “We love you.”

Aila lets him hold her for a moment longer, then she sighs. “You’re not just marrying me because your dad says you have to, are you?”

“Absolutely not.” He sounds so scandalised to the point Aila fights back a giggle. “He pushed up the timetable, but I’m sure I would’ve asked eventually.”

She blows out a breath and accepts it as the truth. She has to. If she doesn’t, she runs the risk of realising everything she has with him is built on a lie. It would kill her to find out Niall is only spending the rest of his life with her because of an order from his father.

Before she can fall too deeply into the dark clouds, she shoos Niall from the room so she can get ready for their date. A night of good food, dancing, and being with him can only be a good thing.