Page 21 of Stick to the Deal
“Never speak that name. He is a cad and you are not to associate with him.”
A cad? First, who uses that word anymore? Second, Bancroft? Reginald Bancroft? The same man who ignored a thirsty flight attendant? The one who was so outraged on my behalf by a thoughtless hostess? We can’t be talking about the same Bancroft.
That’s it.
“It was unfortunate Montague was there, but I assure you, I was only there for Reginald. I told you I met someone, it was Reginald.”
“No. We’ll find you a more appropriate match.”
More appropriate? What does that mean? Then it hits me. She doesn’t think I’m worthy of him. All these years she’s pushed for me to marry someone of good social standing. Some part of me thought it was out of misguided concern for me, but that wasn’t it at all. Oh no, she doesn’t want to be embarrassed by me marrying low, but she doesn’t think I’m good enough to be a countess.
“I’m not interested in another match. Reginald has asked me to marry him and I’ve agreed.”
“End it.”
My heart drops to my stomach like a stone. I gave Reginald my word. My father always said a person of honor sticks to a promise once made. I’ve let this woman take everything from me. My home, my style, my freedom—and yet it’s not enough, she wants to take my honor, too.
“No, a deal is a deal. Reginald meets all my requirements for a husband. He satisfies all the provisions you set for my trust. We will wed before my birthday.”
“So it’s all about the money. I guess you are a perfect match, then, if that’s all you care about.”
My foot falls heavily on the step below as I falter, her words striking a physical blow. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. “I care about integrity. We made a deal, and I will hold up my end.”
“The Devil doesn’t bargain, Nicolette. You’ll regret this, and I won’t be here to save you when you do.” Her threat still echoes through the foyer as she sweeps off to her bedroom.
A loud crack shakes me. I’m not entirely sure if it’s her door or my heart, but I know something is irrevocably broken.
I need to get out of here.
My stilettos carry me to my room. I throw my suitcase on the bed. One hand pulls up the car service app while the other wildly struggles with the bag zipper as I rush to open it. Drawers squeak and hangers squeal as I blindly grab clothes to pack.
“Letty, stop.” My childhood nickname brings me to a halt. Soft hand cups my arm, turning me towards Gloria. “Shh. Hush now, love. It’ll be ok.” Her fingers caress my cheek, tears glistening on the tips. When did I start crying? I never cry.
“I don’t think it will this time,” I whisper.
Her eyes hold so much emotion as I slip past the older woman into the bathroom. Bottles clack against the marble sink as I sweep products into a waiting bag. Shoving my usual clothes in my smallest case, I leave the glittering silks and chiffon dresses scattered across the room. A nauseating cloud of pastels that reminds me I don’t fit the mold here. “I’m sorry about the mess, Glo.”
She pulls me in for a hug. I might not be able to rest my head on her ample chest anymore, but the gesture is still comforting. “Don’t worry about it. Let me know where you are and I’ll send you whatever’s left behind.”
Her soft cheek tickles my lips as I give her a kiss before leaving in silence. The black car is already waiting in the circular drive as I walk down the stairs. I collapse onto the back seat, my camera bag beside me. The driver’s eyebrow lifts in the mirror. He probably rarely sees women in rhinestone stilettos carrying backpacks.
Time has been blowing up my phone asking me to come back to New York for another shoot. I’ll stay at the Savoy tonight and fly out tomorrow. Suddenly, the thought of a night alone in a hotel doesn’t excite me. It’s not like that hasn’t been my norm for years.
Tonight, though, I don’t want to be alone. Debating for only a second, I text Reginald and then update my destination in the app.
We pull up in front of a modern apartment building in a trendy part of town. The doorman rushes to grab my bag, but I wave him off, making my own way to the elevator and up to Reginald’s unit. The door opens as I raise my hand to knock.
“Nic? I was heading down to meet you. Come on in.” He grabs the suitcase handle from me and wheels it further into the space, allowing me to look my fill.
The residence is sparse but well-furnished in dark woods and leather. The London skyline glitters through the floor-length windows. I lower my camera bag to the sofa as I admire the view.
“Drink?” Reginald gestures towards the kitchen-dining combo. He’s still dressed for the ballet, minus the jacket. A loosened tie and unbuttoned collar expose the planes of his throat. His bare feet softly pad across the polished floor. A sexy, strangely intimate look on the man.
He really is handsome. A girl could do a lot worse in a husband.
Two crystal glasses and a decanter appear on the dining table as I approach. He places one before an empty chair, sinking into the space beside it with his own amber liquid. I grip the cold glass, but remain standing, fitfully running my finger across the raised design.
For once, I’m out of things to say. It was my idea to come here, but now I don’t know what I want.
