Page 25 of Stick to the Deal
Front door’s open, just come in.
I shake my head. What is she thinking, leaving the door unlocked while staying there all alone? Though, I will admit there are no other houses as far as the eye can see and the cab hasn’t passed another car for miles.
The air outside sends a chill through me. I shrug deeper into my coat, happy I’d thought to pull my winter jacket from storage.
This week has been brutal. My mother has summoned me every day. When lectures didn’t change my mind, she tried tears, and then a parade of young women at various luncheons, teas, and dinners. I haven’t had a single meal in peace since Nic left.
My heart skips a beat as I climb the porch steps. I don’t want to admit how much I’ve been looking forward to this holiday together. Not only because I want to bury myself between her thighs again—which I most certainly do—but because I can’t forget the sadness in her that night. She’d slipped out the nextmorning before I woke. I was half convinced it was all a dream until I found her heels and dress in my closet.
I still don’t know what happened that drove her into my arms that night. We’ve texted, but between her photoshoot and my mother’s hysterics, it’s been stilted. She’s hiding something from me. Then again, I haven’t been fully upfront with her either.
Nic doesn’t know I agreed to marry her for the money.
That’s not quite right. I agreed to marry Nic because I genuinely like her. My father is letting me marry her specifically for the money.
This weekend alone will be the perfect opportunity to talk without interruptions or distractions. I’ll lay it all on the table. She’ll understand, I know it. Then we can have a nice dinner. I’ll surprise her with the ring, and then we can announce the proposal publicly.
What if she’s offended?
Maybe, I’ll soften her up with the ring first. It’ll all be fine.
Chapter 15
Two Truths and a Lie
The occasional pop of the fire is the only sound as I lounge on the couch with my book. After two weeks in the city, the silence almost makes me think I’m going deaf. The auction had listed this place as a villa, but it’s more like a cabin. Not that it isn’t completely charming.
The A-frame house is fully surrounded by a wooden porch and set up on stilts in a small glen. A coal stove provides needed warmth against the chill northern air. Blond wood planks on the floors, walls, and ceiling complete the rustic look. Large glass windows with delightful green trim and gorgeous fabric sashes offset any ruggedness and give a very fairy tale ambiance. A modest but well-stocked kitchen shares the first floor with a narrow dining table and the built-in couch I’m currently lying on. Above sits a loft, divided into two bedrooms which look out over the living space. The only closing door is the postage stamp sized bathroom. Everywhere, lanterns and strings of fairy lights are sprinkled, providing low mood light.
Headlights flash, sending shadows dancing across the wall. He’s here. Footsteps echo off the wooden steps moments before the doorknob turns. Reginald walks in, dropping a leather duffle and shrugging out of a thick peacoat. I place my bookmark and tuck my feet under my ass to make room for him.
He sinks into the cushion with a slight sigh, his head falling back.
“Long flight?”
“More like a long week.”
His gray cable-knit sweater hugs his torso and highlights his coloring. This might be the most informal I’ve seen my husband-to-be. He toes off his loafers and props his argyle covered feet on the coffee table. My lips quirk at the pattern and the dress slacks. So much for casual. How the man can stand to fly in those restricting clothes, I can’t understand.
“Business or family drama?” I ask.
Reginald’s hand scrubs down his face before his elbow falls to the arm of the couch. He braces his temple on his upturned fist and turns tired eyes in my direction. Smudges darken the skin under those steely eyes. His straight lips look extra firm.
I find myself wishing I could do something to lighten his load. Which is a very off-brand thought.
This world doesn’t value softness or kindness. It is not designed to reward the timid. Nice is seen as weak. No one will go out of their way for you. Everyone is out only for themselves. They may seem to be your friend, but only as long as your goals are aligned. As soon as it’s you or them, they’ll choose them every time.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d do anything for Bree or Anna. Kidney, liver—just not the whole heart. Even from them there are pieces of myself I keep locked away and safe. If they needed something, they only need to ask. Even that damn leprechaun and lumbering marine they’ve decided to marry. A shock reverberates through me at the realization that Reginald has joined that list of people I’d go to war for. And in only a month of knowing each other.
“The business is going fine, at least for now. My mother, however...” He lets out another sigh.
Creases form at the sides of his eyes. There’s something he doesn’t want to say. The unspoken truth hangs like a weight in the air.
Anna once asked me how I pick apart people. I don’t actually know how to explain it. There’s this current around people which shifts with their mood. I guess the mystics would call it your aura. It’s not literal colors radiating around a person, more a vibe or resonance. Something felt rather than seen—like the wind. It can tell you a lot about a person’s motivations, their character in general, but by watching for the shifts, you can tell if someone is holding back or full-out lying. I sort through the strings until I find the right one to tug.
Why would his mother be unhappy? Is it the business? There’s this double standard in our circles about working. Men are expected to continue growing thefamily’s wealth for future generations, but not with their own hands. They’re supposed to delegate, invest, sponsor. Then use their leisure time, sprinkling their time and money on the less fortunate like benevolent figures. It’s supposed to show how generous they are, but unquestionably it’s about proving how rich they are. They have so much they can give swaths of it away, no problem.
Something tells me it’s not the business though. I would bet Countess Silverbrook doesn’t even know about it. Which is its own tantalizing puzzle to pick apart. So if it’s not Reginald’s work, that only leaves…
