Page 56 of The Love Destroyers

“You said you wanted to be independent. Don’t you have a trust fund?” he asks after a moment of silence stretches between us. “Your brother does.”

I can hear what he doesn’t add—Little Rich Girl.

“Are you asking for it?”

He shakes his head and laughs. “You think I’m going to pull a con on you? No. I’m not a con artist. Never have been.”

So what were you? What did you do that you don’t want to talk about? What made Nicole so suspicious of you?

But I don’t ask. Maybe I don’t really want to know. Maybe a part of me already does know and doesn’t want to think about it too hard.

“Yes, but I gave a lot of it away,” I tell him. “You know how my father treated my brother. I didn’t want to rely on him.”

His head bobs. “And what did he do to you? You didn’t tell me the other day, but there was a story there. I sensed it.”

“Hardly. I barely existed for him,” I say, bitterness seeping into my voice. “He only cared about me looking pretty and put together. I can’t recall having a single conversation with him. Anthony had to jump through all these hoops to claim his trustfund, but my father gave me mine. He didn’t expect anything from me. He didn’t want anything.”

“He underestimated you.”

“I was only nine when he died.”

“He underestimated you. So did Jeffrey. Your father might be past the ability to feel regret, but he’s not.”

“Lucky for us,” I say. “What were your parents like? I know you lost them a long time ago. I’m sorry for that.”

“Thank you,” he says, tapping his fingers against the arm of the couch. “They were nice. Probably too nice for their own good. Everyone always told me that I was more like my uncle Rory, and Declan took after our dad.”

“Uncle Rory, the gangster.”

He laughs, as if the word is funny, but it’s no exaggeration. I’ve done some research on Rory O’Malley, up here in this room, closed away, where no one had to know. “Yeah, lucky me, am I right?”

“I doubt Uncle Rory puked when he kneecapped someone,” I say, arching my eyebrows.

“You’re assuming he did any of his own dirty work. But, sure, the man had a solid stomach, I’ll give you that.”

“Doyou?” I ask, walking over to my bureau and pulling the flask out from my underwear drawer. Seeing it earns a snort from Seamus. I watch him over the top of it as I open it and take a sip.

“This is Midori,” I say, “and you only have yourself to blame.”

He shakes his head sternly, the gesture belied by the sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t believe it. You don’t drink Midori.”

“Not usually, but you’ve forced me to it.”

Possibly because you were on another lunch date.

He sets the little kitten down and stalks over to me—my pulse thumping faster, harder, with each step he takes—and takes the flask from my hand and lifts it to his mouth.

Then he hands it back, shaking his head but grinning at me. “Goddamn, you really did it.”

“I know, and it’s a disappointment to both of us. Why’d you give it back to me? I’m surprised you didn’t take the opportunity to run off with it.” I pause. “I’d give it back to you, you know. The lighter too.”

I’ve enjoyed the game, but it’s possible I’ve been projecting and he hasn’t.

He shakes his head. “Nah. You hold on to them. I’m not supposed to drink for a few days. You’re keeping me honest.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, out of nowhere, because suddenly it’s pressing on me. Having him here in my space. Having him next to me, nearly touching me. He’s not close enough for me to feel him, but I feel the space he takes up. I smell his spicy aftershave and a whiff of smoke that suggests the lack of a lighter hasn’t stopped him from indulging.

“I wanted to see you and Shadow and thank you for sending food over. Besides, I figured you might need some company.”

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