Chapter 25
OLIVER
“I’ve got to find my phone,” Eve says as her friend disappears. Yet she doesn’t move, and neither do I, enjoying the weight of her head against my sternum and the whisper of her hair under my chin.
“Maybe we should buy you a tracker.” I frown slightly at my use of the plural.
“What about my glasses? I don’t understand how I now have two pairs of them.”
Four pairs. She has four pairs, all the same. She just doesn’t know that Andrew set his assistant the task of discovering which London optician held her prescription. None, as it turned out. They had to be ordered from the United States from somewhere called Warby Parker. Once the extra pairs were delivered, it was just a case of planting them around the suite to prevent her from spending large parts of her days looking for them.
“One of life’s mysteries,” I offer as my free hand slips over the curve of her hip. “But not a very interesting one, unlike like this spot right here.” My fingers trail over the tiny indent below her hip bone that seems to have been created for my thumb, before I explore the gentle curve of her stomach. Nature’s sweet slide into another wonderland.
“Hey!” She squirms, twisting away.
“You’re ticklish.” I happily slot the knowledge away.
“What’s Change of Heart doing here?” Nora appears around the hedge, her voice particularly strident for someone of her advanced years. “Come to ruin another suit, have you?”
“Nora, you know his name is Oliver,” Eve laughingly returns. A pleasurable pang resounds in my chest as she slips her hand into mine. “And no, you can’t rope him in to help today. He’s here as my ride.”
If only.
“Done already?” Nora asks, unimpressed.
“Yep, all finished. Yara already left for the clinic.”
The older woman sniffs. “She won’t get her treat, then. Here, this is yours,” she says, pulling a white paper bag out of her battered leather purse. A number of envelopes flutter to the ground.
“These look important.” Eve gathers up the mail before taking the proffered bag. “This one is from the council,” she asserts, sorting through them. “This one, I’m not sure. Want me to open it to see what it’s about?”
“Nah, chuck ’em on the pile. I’ll read them later. Take this.” From the pocket of her green pants, she pulls out Eve’s cell phone. “You left it on the hedge again.”
“Oh! So that’s where it was.”
“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on tight,” Nora adds.
“Probably, but it would turn up soon enough. Don’t leave these too long,” she adds, brandishing the envelopes. “You might have a long-lost relative that’s kicked the bucket and left you millions.”
“Doubt it,” the old woman grumbles. Her eyes then narrow, as though just remembering something. “Although we did have a windfall late last month.”
“Oh?” Eve’s surprise isn’t feigned.
“Some company in the city paid off the outstanding vet bills.” She sniffs. “Apparently, we get a year’s free meds and stuff on top of that.”
“Well, that’s great!” Eve is the picture of enthusiasm, her expression one of puzzlement as she turns to me. I paint on an air of boredom. It was just a partial payment. Nothing to lose her mind over.
“I reckon someone somewhere is paying the piper,” Nora says dourly.
“Don’t be such a party pooper—the universe just filled your well!” Eve says happily as she eyes me suspiciously. No change there, then.
“My well’s got a hole in it,” Nora grumbles. “Things never last. You get nothing for nothing in this life, girl.”
The words of a sage. Eve knows it, too, but she throws up her hands anyway. “Who cares where it came from?”
“Or who?” Nora sends a suspicious glare my way. “Here, I suppose you can have this. It was for Yara,” she mutters, almost begrudgingly placing one of the bags into my hands, whether I want it or not. I murmur my thanks.
“Hell’s bells and buggeration, my knees are killing me,” she complains, leaning her weight against the pen’s fence. “Reckon the clinic would let me book in for new knees with that money?”
“Even if they said yes, you wouldn’t use it,” Eve scoffs. She leans in as I part the paper bag with my forefinger, her voice lowering to an amused purr. “Remember every woman’s favorite c-word?”
“What was that?” the old woman demands.
“I was just telling Oliver these are your favorites,” Eve replies.
“Hark at her!” Nora pulls a face. “I’m not deaf, you know. Or dead. In fact, I used to like a bit of c-word myself, back in the day.”
“Cake, Nora! I was talking about cake!”
“At your age, joy shouldn’t be limited to a bit of sugar, unless we’re using it as a euphemism for a bit of the other.” She gives a ribald laugh. “Enjoy plenty while it’s available. Use it before you lose it, I say!”
Eve tips back her head, muttering something to the clouds. Seeking divine intervention, perhaps.
“And you?” The older woman scowls in my direction. “You eat that Hairy Mary.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Go on, get your laughing gear around it.”
“I ...” Have no idea what the answer is. That I’d love to, morning, noon, and night, if it were up to me? Should I point out we’re no longer living in the 1970s, that Eve’s preference is for deforestation? The truth is, I’d spend days between her thighs regardless of the pruning situation. But that’s none of Nora’s business.
“Oh, my gawd, look at his face!” The old woman cackles.
“Oh my gosh,” Eve repeats, though not with the same level of amusement as her gaze dips to the paper bag in my hand. “I do not want to know where your mind just went, but Nora was talking about that.” She points to the bag. “The cake is called a Hairy Mary .” She enunciates the name very carefully. “A supposed London delicacy.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” I peer dubiously into the bag at something that resembles baked goods. While delicacy suggests something dainty, this feels more like a brick. Puff pastry, icing, and a sprinkling of desiccated coconut. I suppose the latter is the connection to its name.
“You thought I was talking about that other other c-word, didn’t you?” Nora says, using the back of her hand to wipe away tears of mirth. “You’ve got yourself a proper dirty bird, my girl!”
“I think that was a compliment,” Eve says to no one in particular.
I know which I’d rather eat.
“I’m just pleased someone remembers what a Hairy Mary looks like these days.” Nora sighs. “Make the most of it, son, because when you get to my age, it all falls out.”
“Nora!” Eve spins on her heel and tugs on my hand. “Really? You had to go there?”
The old woman’s laughter follows us almost the whole way out.
EVIE
“Hey, Ted. Sorry I’m covered in dog hair.” I shift uncomfortably in the back of Oliver’s pristine Bentley, brushing at my black jeans.
“That’s all right, miss,” the driver replies jovially. Other than the occasional nod, it’s the first time he’s spoken to me. “It’s nothing that won’t vacuum.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Yara.
Oh. My. GOD! Your new Romeo is giving me such hot daddy vibes.
Oh my God. She is delusional.
“Everything all right?” Oliver asks, but my eyes are glued to my phone.
Go get some, girl! Who needs a hot girl summer when you can have a slutty one!
“Yeah, it’s just Yara.” I turn it over. “She just forgot to tell me something.”
Something: go be a big ole ho bag!
“You’re sure that isn’t coconut?” He leans and swipes his hand over my thigh.
I bite my lip as blood rushes to the surface of my skin. “I won’t be able to look at one of those again without laughing.” Or dying of embarrassment.
“Such an unfortunate name,” Oliver ponders.
“What’s unfortunate is where your mind went.”
“It was a natural jump, considering the direction Nora seemed to be taking things. We are talking about the woman who brought up BDSM the first time we met.”
“I only just realized something,” I say, turning to him. “Neither of you have any shame. You just open your mouths and say what you like.”
“And there the resemblance ends.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re also both ruthless in your own way. Tyrannical.”
He hitches a brow.
“Despotic, autocratic, know-it-all.” Playfully narrowing my gaze, I ask, “You’re sure you’re not related?”
“That is a horrifying thought.”
I glance out the window as I say, “You can also be nice, when the moment takes you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says stiffly.
“Fine. Lie to me.” My eyes skate over him. “Tell me you didn’t settle Nora’s vet fees.”
“It was merely an accounting decision.”
“Whatever the reason, thank you. It came at a good time.”
“The balance—”
I hold up my hand. “I get it. Nora gets it when you get it. The house, I mean.”
“Precisely.”
I turn back to the window and realize we’re not heading in the direction of the hotel. “Where are we going?”
“Just to Mayfair.”
Mayfair. Another of London’s fancy boroughs. “Want to tell me why?”
“We have an appointment.”
“ We do?” I ask, half-amused. “Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Huh.” I flop back against the buttery leather, suddenly disconcerted. “Just pointing out the obvious here—I’m kind of a mess.” Messy bun, messy black jeans and T-shirt, and a cardigan covered in dog hair.
“Hmm.” Oliver’s eyes run over me critically. “Actually, it might be a problem. You seem to be dressed like a burglar.” He smiles to take the sting out of his word, but I am dressed head to toe in black. Apart from the dog hair. “All that’s missing is a balaclava.” His gaze slides over my hair. “With hair like that, you’d be caught in no time.”
It’s hard to ignore what is clearly a compliment. I try anyway.
“Thief or not, you can’t go wrong with black. Except when you’re dealing with white dogs,” I add, plucking at stubborn, wiry hair.
“I like to see you in green,” he murmurs. “Like the dress you wore to dinner.”
“The one with pockets?”
“Yes, the pockets. Perhaps that’s why I liked it so much.”
Pleasure bursts inside me. His compliments. His words. The little in-jokes we’re having. Until I remind myself I can’t trust any of it.
“It would be very impractical for a day at Nora’s.”
“But perfect for greeting me at the door, a smile on your face and a martini in your hand.”
“How very 1950s of you. Also, dream on,” I add as his lips quirk. I ignore my phone as it buzzes.
“Oh, I do. I dream of all kinds of things.”
My heart skips, then stutters. He doesn’t dream of this being real.
“Nora told me Mitch turned up at the sanctuary this week.” The words tumble in a panic from my mouth.
“Oh?” He reaches for my hand, and I recognize his response as a stalling tactic. “Did she say anything about his visit?”
“Just that she threatened to sic Lamb Chop on him.”
“Lamb Chop?”
“The sheep.”
“The three-legged sheep—not one of the dogs?”
“She wouldn’t risk the local council or police involvement. I’m not sure she’s supposed to have so many animals on the land. Plus, what kind of man would admit to being terrorized by a sheep?”
“How terrifying could that woolly creature be?”
“That depends on whether you enjoy swollen testicles or not,” I offer happily. “Lamb Chop has a habit of headbutting men right where it hurts. She’s also bitten the postman’s ass a couple of times. Maybe Nora should’ve hung on to the llama. That thing would chew off your face just for looking at him the wrong way.”
“A llama?” Oliver’s tone is a touch incredulous.
“Llamas are very territorial creatures. They’ve been known to bite off the testicles of their rivals, ending their bloodline.”
“I wonder if you can send someone a llama,” he muses.
“As a gift?”
“Yes, let’s go with that.”
“Kind of brings a whole new meaning to Dick at Your Door,” I say with a snort.
“A dick where?” He looks at me like I’ve completely lost it.
“Dick at Your Door.” I take back my hand, sliding away a stray lock of hair. “You know, the company that sends your enemies a chocolate dick to choke on?”
Oliver laughs, the deep sound apparently eroding my brain cells, because, apparently, I’m on a roll. Of idiocy.
“I know a drug dealer in Hammersmith who used a snake in his business. A boa constrictor. He’d mail it to people who owed him money, obviously to frighten them. I mean, it was the snake I was acquainted with, not the drug dealer. And in a professional capacity.” Why am I babbling? “It’s not like I owed him money or anything. How do you suppose he hasn’t turned up at the hotel?”
“The snake?” He blinks. “Mitchell.” He glances down, then straightens his shirt cuffs. “Few people know I live there. Which is exactly the way I like it.” He pauses. “Are you worried about seeing him again?”
“I’d rather never set eyes on him again.” The low violence of my own answer surprises me. “Why else do you think I gave up on my belongings?”
“You should’ve allowed me to rectify that.”
“I don’t want you to. There’s nothing I need.”
“There must be.”
“Leave it, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Oliver studies me silently before speaking again. “You know, your paths are bound to cross again at some point.”
My mouth twists as I suddenly understand his reticence. “I should’ve guessed. Seeing him is somehow part of your game plan.”
“I’m no friend of Mitchell Atherton’s. You know that. How would I have arranged a meeting?”
I harrumph my distrust of his answer.
“That’s not to say I think it shouldn’t happen. And when it does, surely, it would be better if I were by your side.”
“Why? You gonna play llama?” I almost expect him to say something crass, assert that one of us being acquainted with Mitchell’s ball sack is enough.
“It’s not going to be swords at dawn, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Because he doesn’t like me that much.
Sometimes I forget Oliver isn’t like other men. But other rich men? Yep, I see those similarities. I wonder if he does it on purpose—reminds me of our situation whenever we’re getting along well. I should probably thank him for it.
“I’m not so dumb as to think you’d want to protect my honor.” My answer comes out uglier than I expect.
“That’s not fair, Eve.”
“Nothing about this is fair.” I slide him a look, my gaze flicking up, then down.
“I will do what I need to,” he answers simply. “But I’m not the one that put you in this situation.”
“No, you’re just the one who took advantage of it,” I say, plucking at a button on my cardigan. Rich men can’t be trusted. I should put that on a card. Laminate it for durability. Read it aloud ten times a day and use it as a mantra. “I was stupid enough to accept his proposal. I was fooled by his lies and his empty promises.” I need to remember, not repeat the mistake.
“Enough,” his cool voice commands as Oliver hauls me onto his knee, without a thought for what either I or the driver think. “This self-flagellation does not serve. You deserve kinder treatment, above all from yourself.”
“Do I deserve kinder treatment from you?”
“He will seek you out. And I will be by your side. That will be kinder.”
“Cool sidestep.” Whether I’m to blame for this situation or not, Oliver definitely took advantage of it. The strange truth is I can’t not like him. But trust is another question altogether.
“Just imagine it,” he says, his hand whispering through my hair. “I’ll take you in my arms and kiss you, and whatever plans he’s undoubtedly scheming will be crushed. He’ll be crushed. Because I have you and he does not.”
Such words. All pretend.
“You want to see him crushed, don’t you?”
I shrug, turning away from him. “I mean, it’s a close second to death by peanut butter.”