Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“Do you know who he is?”
“Are you seriously asking if I know who the man I married is?”
“Do you know about his reputation?” His expression looks troubled. I am such a hypocrite, but I won’t share the origin story of my marriage with him.
“I don’t care about his reputation. Anything I need to know, he told me himself.”
“The Lavender I know is no one’s fool. She wouldn’t take his word for it.”
“I know it all, Whit. I know about the clubs and the casinos, the legitimate and otherwise. I was at one of his parties. I know. Do you hear what I’m saying? He hasn’t hidden anything from me.”
“Right.” His face is harder now. “So tell me. These numbers… do they have anything to do with him?”
“Yeah, I suppose they are.”
“Right.” He sits straight, and his jaw flexes as he reaches for his laptop again. “Explain,” he demands, snatching it open.
“All right, control freak.” I frown. What does he take me for?
“Lavender, come on. This is serious.”
“Fine, so, there was this dinner we held a few weeks ago, and I met some of Raif’s friends. Maybe some were just associates.” I give a tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Anyway, one of them was called Turkey Teef Keef,” I say, laying on a thick East London accent.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath as he begins to stab at his keyboard.
“What did he buy?”
“Nothing.”
Whit glares at me from over his laptop. “Nothing?”
I give my head a quick shake. Idiot. As if I’d be stupid enough to get caught up in something illegal.
“I never saw him after that.”
“Right.” He stabs the keyboard again—in the same place—deleting something. “Okay, which of his associates bought something from you?”
“The Right Honorable Amelia St. John Smythe.”
“The politician?”
“Yes. She’s also Europe’s largest landowner’s daughter. Did you know that?”
“Yeah, of course I do.”
“She and her husband, John? They’re lovely people. Posh but lovely. They’re building a house for their Siberian huskies and bought a couple of paintings for the place.”
“They bought paintings for their dog kennel?”
“No, not a fucking dog kennel. They’re building the dogs a four-bedroom house,” I say as though I find this completely normal. “One bedroom for each dog and one for guests. For doggy sleepovers. They’re also considering a few other pieces for their place in Saint Tropez. John was very complimentary when they visited the gallery but said their UK home is full of stuff they inherited.” I expect they’re classic period pieces. Old masters and Roman-Greco statuary. “Apparently, they live in a castle.”
“Who else?”
“From dinner? No one.”
“No one?”
“Not to my knowledge. All I know is Tod’s exhibition went great. I think it’s probably word of mouth,” I say, using my husband’s lame excuse. Hopefully, Whit believes it more than I did. I know the gallery’s recent run of success has something to do with Raif. I just haven’t worked out exactly how, but I also know there can’t be anything illegal about it.
“You’re right. The Lavender you know isn’t a fool. I wouldn’t put the gallery at risk. I’ve worked too bloody hard to throw it all away.”
“Excuse me, guys.” I turn to the deep sound of Raif’s voice. “Don’t let me disturb you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my head. “You all good?”
I nod, and he straightens, but his hand remains on my shoulder. “You sure?” he asks, his eyes on mine.
“Of course. We’re just talking shop.”
“Okay.” He nods, but he looks unconvinced. “I’ll just grab juice boxes for the kids. If you need me…”
“I know.” My heart. There it goes swelling again. I have a heart-on for this man and his kindness.
“Can I get you a refill?” He directs his offer Whit’s way.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” he says, straightening in his seat.
“I can get you more water.”
I don’t really need it, but I nod anyway and watch as he makes his way into the kitchen. Broad shoulders. Straight back. Regal, almost. I turn to my brother again, keeping my voice even. Like a grown-up. I don’t want to embarrass myself or the men in my life who love me.
“I know you put up the money to open the gallery, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that, but I’m the one who has sweated blood and tears. I’m the one who worked seven days a week up until recently.”
“I get that, but—”
“I don’t think you do get it. I know you want your investment back—”
“You’re right, I don’t care about the gallery like you do, but fuck the investment. It’s you I care about. This is about you. I want to be sure you’re safe and fucking happy. You deserve that as a bare minimum, and it’s my job to make sure that happens.”
“With all due respect, Whit.” We both turn to Raif’s voice. “I think you’ll find that’s my responsibility now.”