Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Victor dips his head into a slow, pensive nod. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” Burt refills both of their drinks. “You’ll need younger staff. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty to create a list of possible replacements.”
“I forbid you from retiring, Burt. You’ve one living aunt. You’ve simply invested too much time into my family to just . . . just . . . go survive at some bloody retirement home no matter the worth.” Victor scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You’re family. Build yourself a grandfather house if you prefer it.”
I have a sinking feeling. “Is it because of me, Burt?” Because you lied about Madeline?
“No and yes,” he replies quickly. “You all need someone young to—”
“Alright,” Victor grabs the bottle. “To my mate, ready to sew your wild oats, are ya?”
“Something like that.” Burt bobs his head in appreciation of Victor’s refreshing his glass. “I won’t leave until we’ve completed one final mission.”
“I’m bloody retired, too, Burt the Butler. I can visit the Church of England without fear of being stricken down over thinking of my next murder. I’ve no one to bloody murder!” Victor laughs softly, leaning back in his seat until his massive chest catches my attention. I’d rather lay my head there than fall in line.
But Burt’s clearing his throat, and now, the cordial smile on my man’s face falls dead.
I murmur, “We got ourselves a little problem still, Vic.”
Intense emotion slams into me. All the titanium walls resurrected between us at the Delacroix Hotel on our first dinner date come back.
I’d called Victor Tudor an it.
It had shifted in its chair.
Cold.
Calculating.
Callous.
I had dined with a monster, intent on claiming a piece of me. That monster is back.
“What problem?” he asks, curious gaze watching Burt, who slowly rises to leave. Once his old butler has disappeared, Victor scoops me into his arms. “I bloody fucking loathe being unaware, Luxury. What problem?”
“Madeline . . .” I murmur, straddling him.
“What about that cunt, Maddy?”
Although he’s added an extremely derogatory adjective, the nickname hurts. That whore is his Maddy.
Between us, I wrench my fingers together. Victor runs his hands over my hips. My morose gander finds his. “Madeline sold me out, Victor.”
“She wouldn’t . . . she would.” A sharp huff rides over his abdomen. “Stop me if I’m bloody wrong, chit. You underwent a traumatic experience. The night before said travesty, you were taken. You saw Mad . . . Mad . . .”
The steely hands at my waist tremble.
My eyelids haven’t completed a blink when he’s placed me down and starts calling for Burt.
“Stop!” I shout.
“No. I have a cunt to murder, Luxury. Apparently, I lied to you last night. I must leave now.” He stalks back over. “Or would you rather accompany me?”
“I don’t—”
“Alright, then you stay here, and I’ll have my answers—”
“My answers!” I shout. “You don’t get to kill Madeline Elliott. Or call her Maddy. I do.”
29
Victor
One month later
The gates to Somerhaven Estate part as Luxury and I sit in the backseat of a Rolls-Royce. The fortress before me was once a palace of horrors where my father’s fists divided monarchs. Meaning he beat me, and my mother shunned me. To think, decades later, and we still haven’t meshed with the Queen’s orders, save for my mother. To be brutally fucking honest, if my woman weren't here with me, I wouldn’t have come back.
Perhaps, I’d send in a drone and not pardon anyone’s sins. But the question is, who has transgressed against me.
Luxury's tiny hand rests engulfed within mine, and she lays her head on my shoulder.
I contemplate how the last thirty days transpired. Luxury actively hired staff for Urban Gardens Manhattan location.
The other evening, we strolled in Central Park.
We’re progressing.
And all that stands between my beautiful soon-to-be bride and me is Madeline’s trespasses.
“I know you were angry with Sarah agreeing to help us.” Luxury reaches up and kisses me on the lips.
“Grandmother Sarah has a bottle of champagne a day, Lux. Her pretending to have a heart attack to coerce my family’s arrival leaves me with a thousand reservations. Her bloody lifestyle . . .”
Luxury’s soft, brown eyes find mine. “Makes you concerned something could happen.”
“Precisely. Besides Sarah, I care for Graham, Burt, and now you. I may have a wealth of people bearing my name, but they do not hold an equal place in my heart.”
“I know what you mean. Uncle Red is more of a father to me than Jonah. Sarah will be fine as surely as Uncle Red will beat you again during Jeopardy.” She chuckles.
“Do not remind me.”
“Since we’re ripping off the band-aid this weekend, my uncle and I wanted to ask . . .” Luxury’s palm slides anxiously over her forearm as fresh tears dampen her eyes. “I could tell Uncle Red still had the same question, but I didn’t want to ruin you guy’s first real gathering with Momma’s murder.”