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)
No worrying, Victor. My Little One’s all right in the company of her father. He’s her blood, for goodness’ sake.
And Silas is yours.
“Daddy.” Victoria tugs on my arm as I escort her around tables decorated with more flowers and favors. “Where are the lobs—”
“Lobsters.” I snort. Someone told her they were expensive, I bet. I point into the conservatory, where a pyramid of freshly steamed crustaceans stands before an award-winning chef. “There. At your request.”
“And the cav . . . cav . . .”
“Caviar?” I shake my head again, pointing to another portion of the feast. At first, I’d not considered Victoria’s list—written at the top was the bloody sunflower tiara. But when I looked closer, I got the shock of my life. “I’ll have you know, Victoria, your requirements put my and your mum’s wedding to shame. Caviar, really? Who bloody told you about these things?”
“Grandmummy Mary.”
“Figures.”
“The food is sooo pretty, Daddy.”
“Is it, now?” As stars shimmer in the sky above us, I squeeze my daughter in my arms. “Half of the food you’ll scrunch your nose at. No, all of it. All but the sandwiches.”
“Give me all of the sandwiches!” A salted breeze carries Graham’s exaggerated tone. He strolls along the path from the kitchen entrance, and Victoria discards me as she races toward him.
My gander flickers over him. “This is a black-tie affair. Most surely you brought a woman to mooch off me?”
“This is my lady for the evening.” He chuckles, blowing raspberry kisses on Victoria’s cheek.
While my daughter breaks out in obnoxious laughter, I snort. No, you’ve learned your lesson, little brother. So far, the lady Graham brought to dinner all those years ago hasn’t spoken a peep about Madeline Elliott’s death. And while I was never much of a praying man, I have uttered a few entreats that no more of my past comes back to haunt my family.
I attend church on Sundays, board meetings once per month, ballet weekly—and I’ll never admit that no other father can produce a plié as spry as mine.
An hour later, the soft clink of silverware against plates ceases as Luxury and her father wander into the conservatory. I lift Victoria from my lap and tell her to be mindful of her macaroni and cheese sandwich.
I haven’t eaten, opting to wait on my wife. I look her over, and she mouths, “Stop that,” while grinning.
“You’ve not visited the bloke in ages,” I mouth.
Once my lengthy strides have caught up with her, Luxury melts into my arms as I hold her tightly. My thumb follows the path of her lush mouth, and she pulls back just before I can claim her in a sordid kiss. “Vic, I’d like to introduce you to my father.”
“Alright.” My spine straightens but loosens a second later. I stand over a foot taller than the bloke. On second thought, I undo the clasp of my bowtie. Hopefully, this is less intimidating. No, you daft wanka, you’re wearing a tiara.
So, there’s that.
“I’d like to get to know you, Victor,” Jonah mumbles humbly as I shake his hand.
“I as well, sir.”
We speak for a moment before Luxury strolls to the table, introducing him to everyone. She even says, “You know, Uncle Charles.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, waiting to intervene in a fight that never comes. Luxury is moving toward Victoria, and I catch a glimpse of my child’s face.
I rush to our daughter, muttering under my breath, “Oh, you little chit.”
“Vicky, she’s hungry.” Grandmother Sarah, seated the closest to us, takes a linen napkin to my daughter’s cheesy cheeks and hands.
“Open the flower, Daddy. I’m ready now,” Victoria groans, eyes glazed over in preparation for a food coma.
“I’ve not the capital to do so. Ahem, I’m referring to money, sweetheart.”
“Oh, yes, you do.”
Luxury has finally finished introductions and stops at our daughter. “Dad,” she says to Jonah, “I’d like you to meet the most important—”
“Mommy, Daddy won’t open the flower.”
“You sneaky, little informant,” I growl, fingers ready to attack her with vicious tickles. But Luxury zips past me and picks our daughter up from the chair.
“While your father brags that he can do anything,” Luxury gives me a pointed look, “this is out of his hands. Victoria, Mommy’s helpless too. The flower should bloom soon.”
Our little girl curls into Luxury’s arms. “But I’m sleepy, Mommy. I didn’t see the Queen of the Night last year. I wanna see it now.”
“You were there for the blooming,” I correct, pushing a tendril of hair behind Victoria’s ear. I plant a kiss on her furiously scrunched nose. “Listen, we’re having this grand event, but the truth of the matter is, the Queen of the Night will open tonight at some time or another. If you fall asleep, Mummy and Daddy will wake you. But before you do,” I pause, offering Luxury the buffer necessary to redirect the conversation.