Page 94 of Misrule
“Creighton’s willing to send you fifty thousand dollars if you get out of Duke’s life. Give up all claims to him. Agree to a new birth certificate. Duke is dating good people now and he doesn’t want garbage floating to the surface that will humiliate him.”
“Joyner, the only reason I didn’t hang up on your ass was because you brought up calling Knox. I know the fucking games you motherfuckers play.”
“We’re adults. We don’t have time for games.”
“Good, because I’m telling you to fuck off. There’s no fucking way I’m allowing Creighton’s crooked ass to falsify a birth certificate and give my son a new momma.”
“It wasn’t Creighton’s idea. It was Duke’s.”
Tears rushing to her eyes, Roxy pressed down on her lips to hold in her sob. She stiffened her shoulders and swiped at a tear. “Tell him, fuck no. I gave birth to him and I’m not hiding that or allowing him to.”
“So high and mighty since you’ve gotten with that young, rich boy. What are you going to say when Knox Harrington throws you ass over for a woman his age, who has more class and more education? Your own son despises you. You can’t really believe a sought-after bachelor from one of the country’s wealthiest families wants you for more than anything but a good fuck? That’s about all you’re good for.”
“Joyner, don’t fucking call my number anymore. If you do, you might just fucking disappear.” Before he responded, she disconnected the call, her happiness crashing and burning.
“Look who I brought for you,” Mortician said.
Rushing back to the refrigerator to get her bearings, Roxy made herself focus. She grabbed butter and milk, drew herself up, closed the door, and turned, pasting a smile on her face.
Knox met her eyes and his grin faded. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Mortician narrowed his eyes. “You been crying!”
She set the milk and the butter next to the other items. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed,” she said in truth.
“What this motherfucker did?” Mortician demanded.
“Oh, I like that,” Knox snapped. “I was the one who noticed something was wrong with her. If I was the cause for her distress, do you think I would’ve called attention to it?”
“Maybe,” Mortician retorted. “You kind of a stupid motherfucker. Think your balls bigger than they actually are.”
“The size of my testes are just fine,” Knox told him.
Roxy and Mortician frowned at him, but the bickering allowed her to reassemble her thoughts and shove aside the call from Joyner Amfinger. He was, and always would be, a fucking asshole.
“Thank you, Tottingham,” Knox said, accepting a glass of rare whisky from the owner of Tottingham’s Haberdashery.
“Harold has given me your measurements. We will set to work on the tuxedoes immediately,” Tottingham said. He was about Knox’s age and had inherited the shop from his late father. “When can we expect the others in the wedding party, sir?”
Knox sipped his drink. “They are being fitted elsewhere. Only my father and I will utilize your skills.”
His father walked into the private room, followed by the shop’s general manager, Harold Rubens. He was an older man with a bald spot in the middle of his head. His white hair gave him a distinguished look.
“Speak of the devil,” Knox said with a smile as his father sat in the chair across from him. “Would you like a drink, Dad?”
“Of course, son.”
“Mr. Harrington, Mr. Knox informs me that there will be no others for fittings,” Tottingham said, handing his father a glass.”
An unhappy look crossed his father’s face. “That’s correct.”
“Not even the young sir?”
“Not even Grant,” Knox confirmed.
“Tottie, can you give me a moment with my son?”
“Of course, Mr. Harrington, sir. Come, Harold.”
