Marcus found himself in the unusual position of having a whole weekend off. It was ridiculously rare. But then, his new employers were a rare breed themselves.
Marcus had spent years working as the personal bodyguard to kings, queens, ministers, and the like, and doing whatever espionage work that was too sensitive to give to anyone else. He was good at his job, and he knew it. So did his first wife, Stelladora. She had gotten him the gig in Bulgaria because the pay was good, and at the time, he had sorely needed it because his second wife was busy not just spending every little bit Marcus made, but now they had four children to support. The first time had been an accident, and it had produced twin boys. The second time, she had promised him she was taking the proper potion to prevent such business, and she had lied. So, then came their third—their only girl. Marcus had decided to take the potion himself, figuring he couldn’t trust her, only to find out that she had switched his potion and managed to produce yet one more Belby heir. Another son.
He had been outraged. Not at the children, but rather at the deceit about how they’d come about. He had no intention of telling the children that. Evelyn had intended children to be the ties that bound him eternally to her. She knew nothing of love. She also apparently knew nothing of Marcus. He didn't play those games with human lives. Not his own, and not his children. He only ever told them they were conceived in much love and that they had been loved straight from the outset. For his part, it was true. For Evelyn’s, not so much.
She had had the kids, spent every cent Marcus made, and then buggered off with some Hungarian playboy to continue her selfishness spree. Marcus had come home to find his children, small at the time, unfed, unclothed, unbathed, unsupervised. She had just gone and left them behind. He was somewhere beyond outrage. He had taken the children to his parents in their state of emergency and they had been there since. Marcus had closed all his joint bank accounts with Evelyn, sold their home, and had cut Evelyn loose to go do whatever it was she did. They were married still in name only. He had no interest in her anymore, and, so far as he knew, she had no contact with the children and hadn't, in years. He doubted she knew he had taken legal steps to forbid her from seeing them anymore, ever. The very thought of Evelyn brought out the hidden bitterness Marcus still held for her for how criminally she had treated four tiny children.
She was a compulsive lover of all things impulsive and selfish. Early on in their marriage, she had mistaken Marcus for one of her own kind. It was true he could look that way on the surface. He liked women, alcohol, gambling, smoking, the whole bit. The difference was that there was depth to Marcus. The selfishness was only skin deep. It wasn’t the whole of him. The vices were only self medicating. They were only what he did to numb his own personal frustrations.
Still, underneath, Marcus was a relentlessly driven man, committed, loyal, a fierce warrior for the things he believed in. He had burned out with the potbellied, middle aged Bulgarians that he had found to be rather primitive behind closed doors. So, when Stelladora had again entered his life and had put him onto a new job lead that placed him back in England, he had taken it.
It put him closer to his children, and he wanted that. And second, his client was a lady. Not an imitation. And that was irresistible. She was smart, tough, skilled, and he thought she was dazzlingly beautiful. It also helped that she played an outstanding chess game. And right now, she really did need him. Her life was in danger. He hadn’t taken time off because, frankly, he didn’t trust her safety to anyone else but himself.
Her husband had chosen to take a weekend with her before the upcoming birth of their seventh child. Marcus believed it might well actually turn out to be seventh and eighth simultaneously, but he wasn’t speaking out on that. Some things were better left unsaid. Still, it gave him a weekend off. He had sent an owl to his father, Jonathan, and had asked to see the kids. Jonathan had said that the older boys were on a skiing holiday with schoolmates. Marcus was glad they could go. His youngest son, evidently, had bronchitis and was home ill. Marcus had sent the boy a “care package” to brighten his spirits. Jonathan had said that Brooke wanted to come, though. Marcus was delighted. He had never had a whole weekend alone with his daughter. He had taken the opportunity, before going to meet Brooke, to check into a luxurious hotel suite for them in London.
He was a good father. He provided lavishly for them, and, while he didn’t see them often, he had great quality time with them when he did see them. They loved him, and he loved them. He had told them he was a bodyguard for royalty. They knew that. But his kids had inherited his intelligence. He strongly suspected that they knew that, in all truth, he was a highly paid, highly skilled intelligence agent. He could never admit it to them, but he believed they knew.
This morning, he found himself in gray slacks, with a white v necked cashmere sweater, and a black wool peacoat, his hands in his coat pockets, waiting in the lobby of the Victoria and Albert Museum, and feeling comfortably patient as he waited for the strikingly tall figure of his father bringing Brooke. A weekend just with her. He was definitely looking forward to it.
by 
