Page 67 of Saving Ian Pope

“Pass.” I plucked my phone from the charger and scrolled through my email. “I might just check out that exhibit at the British Museum you mentioned.”

He gave me a thumbs-up. “That’s a great idea. Explore on your own.”

“I see what you’re doing.” I narrowed my eyes. “It’s a big museum. I’m sure there are many visits in our future.”

“Great.” He grabbed his shoes. “Did you call Chloe?”

“Not yet. It’s about one in the morning for her. I’ll give it another nine or ten hours.”

He sat on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes and cranked his head over his shoulder. “You know, I selfishly never thought about it, but you must be a little homesick.”

Flicking back the covers, I crawled toward him and balanced my chin on his shoulder. “Wherever you are is home to me—even in this God-awful townhouse.”

“I mean, if you want to invite Chloe out here for a visit and your friend Diego, that’s cool. I’ll pay for their airfare, and they can even stay in this...” He waved his arm around the luxuriously appointed bedroom with views of the Thames “...God-awful place.”

“That’s sweet.” I kissed him on the side of his neck. “I’ll ask them.”

“No, you won’t. I’d have better luck calling Chloe myself and inviting her.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You never take anything from me, not even a coat, which you definitely need for our weather, and you wouldn’t be in our weather if it weren’t for me.”

His words hit like darts to the chest, and I fell back against the pillows. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue taking money from him...or his record company. Maybe he wouldn’t care if I told him. He didn’t seem all that thrilled with his label, Vivant, anyway. I tickled his back with my toes. “My coat’s fine, and I’ll ask Chloe and Diego if they want to visit. Maybethey’llcome to the British Museum with me.”

“Brilliant idea.”

He kissed me goodbye, making a fuss over how I’d get to and from the museum and where, how, and when I’d get breakfast. He left me his credit card on the dresser with instructions to use it for everything. As if I needed to buy anything at the British Museum.

After he left in a flurry, I stood frozen in the middle of the cavernous sitting room, wearing his T-shirt, staring out the window at the gray expanse of sky. I had to tell him the truth. He deserved that.

The payments had shut Matt down. He wasn’t threatening me or Ian anymore, but if I admitted everything to Ian, Matt would have nothing to hold over me. Ian would tell me to hit the road, and Matt could do his worst.

How hard would it be to spend fifteen years in federal prison for bank fraud? I’d get a lot of writing done there. Pretty sure they had a gym, library, maybe even a frozen yogurt machine.

Any scandal Ian faced from his association with me would fade away after a month or two. Hell, it might even increase sales for him. And all it would cost me was...everything.

I spun around and stomped to the bedroom, pulling Ian’s T-shirt from my head. Maybe I could wait until the first single dropped. Everyone would be so hyped about Ian’s new music, they wouldn’t notice that his girlfriend...ex-girlfriend was a felon. Of course, it might leak that his record company was paying that girlfriend to...sleep with him.Oh, that would be bad.

I showered and changed into the clothes I brought with me. Ian had left his credit card next to my jewelry on the dresser. I ignored it as I put on a couple of rings, including my mom’s engagement ring she’d left behind when she bailed on us. When I reached for my gold hoop earring, I knocked it from the dresser, and it flew into the air.

After scouring the floor with no luck, I dropped to my hands and knees to get a closer look. I peeked under the dresser and then crawled to the bed. The duvet had slipped down on this side, and I flipped it up to peer beneath the bed.

The earring had landed next to a bit of clothing, and I snagged it with my finger. I dragged the item from under the bed and held it up in the air. Screaming, I dropped the pair of silky black women’s underwear.

***

Silk road, silk panties. I stared at the decorative sheath and dagger from ancient Korea inside the glass, and violent thoughts gamboled across my brain. I’d never asked him about the champagne in the fridge. He told me he drank whiskey. Who had drunk the champagne? The owner of the thong?

“No way.”

“Excuse me, luv?” The old woman standing next to me eyed me up and down from behind her giant glasses.

I gestured at the dagger. “Just hard to believe somebody would use something as beautiful as this to slit someone’s throat. That would have to be a really special murder.”

The woman’s eyes widened, almost bug-like behind her glasses, as she sidled away from the crazy Yank.

Ian was not the cheatin’ kind. Despite his overall gorgeousness and the nearly naked underwear ad I discovered he’d done a few years back, I had never felt one ounce of jealousy or suspicion about him with other women. We had phenomenal sex. Nobody cheated on that.

---