The Gamble

17. Raif

“Lunch was… pleasant.”

Small talk? I must be going soft. Can it be that I prefer Lavender’s attitude to the silent treatment? At least I’d decided to drive from the airport myself. It gives me something else to focus on.

I glance her way when she doesn’t answer, and she holds up her hand, the gesture softer than don’t talk to me. I let several beats pass as she continues to stare out the car window.

“I’m not not talking to you,” she says eventually.

My little girl. Why the hell did I frame it like that? Well, other than because that’s what she’s become to me. But it was sloppy. At best. At worst, a monumental fuckup.

At the Whittington dining table, Lavender had stilled, the silver serving spoon still between her fingers and suspended midair. No one but me noticed this as a quiet shock had passed around the table. Bad enough that Lavender brought home a surprise husband, but one with my kind of baggage? I guess I should be glad I didn’t make my announcement while the carving knife was still on the table.

Lavender eventually brought the spoon to my dish, and the hush was eventually broken. By Primrose, of course.

“That’s classic!”she’d said with unmitigated glee. “Lavender, the wicked stepmother!”

What a fuckup.

“I think I’m just processing.”

Lavender’s quiet voice snaps me back to the present moment. I flick the blinker left and turn out of the quiet residential street. Her gaze briefly meets mine, and I find myself jarred by the fact I can’t even guess what she’s thinking.

When she ordinarily wears her moods so obviously.

“I can’t imagine you as a parent.” She accompanies her statement with an uncomplimentary glance. “I mean, I don’t know you all that well, but it’s still weird.”

“Technically, I’m not her parent. Just her uncle.”

“Yeah, you said. Was it the shock factor you were going for by announcing it at the table?”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

I had qualified it by briefly explaining the situation. That my seven-year-old niece lives with me as her primary caregiver, but she also has contact and visitation with her father. A father who, up until my sister’s death, was not part of her life. He makes his living as a DJ of all fucking things.

I kept the details to myself, failing to mention what a piece of shit he is. I also let them assume my sister and I were close, as they are themselves. For all their petty squabbling, the Whittington clan is obviously tight-knit. But the truth is, I didn’t even know I had a sister until my father died. And then Adrienne died in a car crash just as we were getting to know each other. Daisy was left parentless, and her father was nowhere to be seen. So of course, I took her in.

And then her father resurfaces to the detriment of all parties involved. But mostly Daisy’s.

“You’re sure?” she asks, not shouts. Her reaction is unexpected. “I mean, I had to roll with it. Play along at the dinner table. And you got to avoid telling me in a quiet room where you expected me to, what? Go off my nut?”

“It was unintentional,” I repeat harder. Yet my pulse quickens; I actually feel it hammering viciously in my throat. What is that? Worry that I’ve upset her? I push the thought away. “I should’ve told you earlier.”

“Before we made a deal.”

A deal. Is that how she’s selling it to herself? Maybe it’s better that way. She gets to keep her power. But it was blackmail. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, which doesn’t explain how I’m feeling right now.

“No,” I admit. “I wouldn’t have told you before. It would’ve given you leverage.”

Her expression reflects her surprise. “You think I would use a child? Someone innocent in this?”

“It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. She’s not your responsibility. She’s mine. And I will do what I need to protect her.”

“Including marrying someone you barely know, apparently.”

“I know enough.” I know more now than I did. That’s not to say Lavender hasn’t been a surprise in many ways. And one of those ways is her reaction right now.

“Remember when I asked you if this was about an inheritance?” She turns in her seat to face me, her knee bent, her shoulder against the seat.

“I remember I said no, but in a way, it is. I’m trying to protect Daisy’s future.”

“Okay, I get that. But then I asked if your reasons were for something criminal. You said no again, but that’s not true, is it?”

“I’m not asking you to break the law.”

“Just lie to the courts.”

“Looks like I was wrong on both counts.” I slide her an unrepentant glance. “She should be with me, but as it stands, the system favors the father.”

“That’s the way it should be, though. He’s her blood.”

“He’s a waste of fucking space,” I grate out. “He has no interest in Daisy beyond getting his hands on her trust fund. But it’s not about the money. It’s what’s right for her.”

I never imagined it would come to this. I am not the kind of man to put someone’s needs above my own. But in this instance, how can I not? My father neither loved nor hated me. He saw my birth as my mother’s attempt to better her life, and he was right. But she didn’t get to hang on to him, on to the dream. Being a single mother in the heart of a conservative society made her life much worse.

But he didn’t give a fuck about that. Or me. And we spent very little time together over the course of our lives. Visits to England once or twice a year until I was old enough to make college studies my excuse. He never did anything outwardly to hurt me, but his ambivalence felt somehow much more cruel.

I won’t let Daisy suffer the same. She’s kind and gentle, a worrier, very like her mother. A life with her father wouldn’t be a hardship, but she would suffer.

“How can that be right? Or even legal, surely?”

“‘For the benefit of the child’ is a legal phrase that gives an executor a vast range of discretion when it comes to spending.” And Adrienne’s executors seem the type open to bribes. “Provisions for living costs, a house, transportation, and school fees are all legitimate, but at risk of being vastly inflated. Like buying Daisy a McLaren to get to school.”

“No way.”

“She currently has her own driver and a Range Rover. Her father could argue that, when living with him, she shouldn’t be deprived of the same. Which is all well and good, but it’s a slippery slope. Especially when I happen to know the asshole has already been window shopping the kinds of shit he can’t afford.”

“What a nightmare.”

“Bad enough to think she might be left with an empty trust by the time she’s grown, but it’s not about the money. It’s the fact that he’s shown the bare minimum of interest in his own daughter. He was never concerned about exerting his parental rights until he realized that custody could mean an easy street for him. Meanwhile, Daisy never asks about him when he’s not around. And when she spends time with him, she comes home quiet and withdrawn.”

“I see.”

“I don’t think you do. I wasn’t destined for parenthood, but she has no one else, and I will not let her down. So here we are. I could say I’m sorry for putting you in this position, but I’m not. I’d do it all again—I’d do worse—and I have, to protect her innocence.”

“Let’s put all that aside for a minute. What you’ve done, and I’m assuming that’s make me your wife so you’re a more attractive parenting prospect.”

I nod once, hard.

“But you’re going to go to court and gamble?”

“It’s not about odds. I need to fix the gamble. I fight dirty to win.”

“Not for Daisy to win?”

“I’m doing this for her, even if I can’t get her to tell me what’s going on in that head of hers.”

“Is she getting help? Therapy, I mean?”

“Of course.” Court mandated or not.

“She probably can’t make sense of it herself,” Lavender murmurs. “But if she doesn’t like being with her dad, if she prefers you, coupled with the fact you had bazillions for lawyers, that should be enough.”

“It’s not just about the courts. We have social workers, one in particular, hell-bent on the perception that I’m trying to tear a family apart. I can’t get her to understand that he’s only in it for the money. Meanwhile, Daisy won’t say a word against her father. Not to me or to her therapist.”

“You don’t think he’s hurting her?”

“Not in the ways you might think,” I answer darkly. The man is still breathing.

“Couldn’t she just tell the courts, hey, I want to live with Uncle Raif? You know, without saying anything against her dad?”

“If she could, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“I suppose not,” she agrees. “I’d be at home, sleeping off mimosas and eggs Benny.”

“With anyone in particular?” My question sounds dangerously frigid.

Her answer is to send a withering glance my way. “What about a nanny? Couldn’t you get one to keep an eye on her when she’s there? Spy for you, maybe.”

“She has a nanny, but the agreement in place says she goes to visit her father alone. His house isn’t big enough to accommodate anyone else, apparently.”

“Seems like a poor excuse.”

“But one the social worker approved.” Father and daughter need a safe space to learn to communicate, she’d said.

“I suppose you’ve already tried to buy him off.”

“Whatever makes you think that?”

“Oh, just a hunch,” she replies, fighting a smile. “Pity you couldn’t frighten him off.”

“Yes, isn’t it?”

“You already tried.”

“I have thought about it.”

“Oh, that tic in your jaw says you’ve thought about it a lot.”

I could’ve made him disappear before now, but I won’t be the reason he abandons Daisy. I never want to have to look her in the eye and admit I was responsible for his absence.

I slow the car at the lights. As usual, the McLaren draws attention.

“It’s so loud,” Lavender mutters, slinking down in her seat.

“You’re embarrassed?”

“I just don’t like people looking at me.”

“Then get ugly.” I chuckle, my attention returning out the windshield.

“It’s not me, it’s this car. You shouldn’t even be driving it. Adding miles will diminish its value.”

“It’s not yours yet.”

“Twelve months. Do you really think it’ll take that long? To convince whoever I’m meant to convince, I mean.”

“These things are complicated. Mediation, assessments and evaluations, home visits, fact-finding timelines. The list goes on.”

“Sounds like you’re getting desperate.”

“No shit,” I mutter under my breath. I expect her to begin some kind of negotiation when, in the periphery of my vision, Lavender’s hand appears. I frown as I glance down at it.

“Hello.” She gives an impish grin. “Looks like I’m desperate.”

The corner of my mouth curls. I make it look reluctant as I take her hand. The lights change, and I pull it away. Also reluctantly. When Lavender is shining, she really fucking shines.

“While I hate to admit it, I do get it. I have nephews and nieces, and I love the bones of those little snot machines. Whit and Mimi have three-year-old Irish twins. Augustus,” she says, pulling a face, “or as his auntie Lala calls him, Gus. His little sister is so sweet. Her name is cheese.”

While the Whittington siblings all have unusual names, I’m going to guess the next generation hasn’t tried to one-up their parents.

“Go on then,” I say in the vein of one who is long-suffering. “I can tell you’re dying to explain.”

“Thank you!” She rubs her hands together gleefully. “It’s Annabel. Boring, right? Her name was shorted to Belle quite early on. Baby Belle. Can you see where I’m going with this?”

“I bet her parents just love that.”

“Gus does. He thinks I’m the greatest. Heather, my eldest sister, and her hubs, Archer? They have Milo. He’s almost five. I held all three of those babies as wrinkly new humans and swore I’d be the best aunt ever. Better than Primrose, anyway. I’m good with kids.” The look she slides me seems to dare me to contradict her. “The good thing about being an aunt is that I get to do the fun stuff,” she says, beginning to count her points against her fingers, “that I’m not responsible for them, and that I get to hand them back at the end of the day.”

“Daisy won’t be your responsibility. Obviously, I’d like you to get to know her, given we’ll be living under the same roof.”

“Until I walk out of her life in twelve months?”

I make a gesture of futility. I know what’s coming next.

“See, this is what I have a problem with,” she says, poking her finger in the air like a bit-part gangster with a gun. “This is what you haven’t thought through. You can’t just waltz in and out of a child’s life, not without causing them some form of damage.”

“You don’t have to disappear. I’m sure we’ll be firm friends by then.”

“Have you ever had a relationship?” she asks, amused.

“Have you?”

Her amusement fades like a light turned down. I’m not sure what to make of this reaction. The strength of it, at least.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m friends with all my exes.”

Her head rears back a little as though this doesn’t compute. “Oh God.” Her shoulders sag. “You’re the golden handshake type.”

“Sorry?”

“You pay your girlfriends off to make sure they toddle off without any fuss,” she says, miming a walk with her fingers.

“That’s not it.” My tone is gruff because she’s hit a raw nerve. I am that guy. I’d just never stopped to examine it. “You let me worry about after,” I grate out. I hadn’t thought about the future on account of being too fucking busy trying to control the present.

“Fine, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Because that plan always works.”

“What?”

“To fail to prepare is to prepare to fail.”

“Thank you for that very useful aphorism.” And your vote of confidence.

“You’re welcome.” She stretches out her legs, crossing them at the ankle. “Here’s another for you. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“That also works for me.”

“I was once given a cactus for a housewarming gift. You know, a cactus? A thing that survives in the desert?”

“I know what a cactus is.”

“Let me tell you, it did not survive in my living room. I’ll help you. I’ll lie to the court. But I can’t parent a child, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“No one is asking you to.”

She angles her gaze my way, her expression hard. “What I mean is, I can’t do any of this if it’s not the right thing for her. No matter how much money is involved.” She doesn’t add you idiot, but her tone fills in the blanks.

I could point out that, for a marriage just two days old, she’s already told so many lies. That she’s in too deep already. But I don’t point.

Instead, I feel grateful. I guess I’d expected a much different conversation.

“So what’s the plan?” Lavender unclips her seat belt, then slumps back in the seat.

“Pack a bag.” I glance out of the window and up at the red brick building. There’s a light on the top floor. Fuck. It seems Tod has even less smarts than I’d credited him with. Or maybe he just has fewer options. “Just the things you need. I’ll get a team in to bring the rest.”

“What? No. I’ll just get stuff as and when.”

“As and when what?”

“As and when I need them. It’s not like I won’t be setting foot in the place for a year. I’ll have to come back occasionally.”

“Why do you need to come back?” My question sounds a little dark.

“Water my plants. Take utility meter readings and stuff.”

“You don’t have plants.”

“I have fake ones.” She shrugs. “They need dusting. This is my place. You’re not going to make me stay away from it. Our deal was I’d live with you, not be your shadow.”

“Live. Fuck. Sleep in my bed.”

“One of those things is not like the others,” she huffs. “The rest only accounts for part of my days. Remember, it’s my body you want. Not my attention.”

It was the heart I’d denied. I refrain from correcting her now.

“Be back in a flash,” she chirrups, finding the door handle with ease this time.

“Well, I’m coming, too.”

“Fine,” she mutters, climbing from the car. At the garden gate, she adds, “I feel like we’ve had this discussion before about me not climbing out of windows.”

“I didn’t think you’d do it then. I know you won’t now.”

“So toddle off back to the car.” She makes a lazy shooing motion with her hand. So I grab it.

“The least I can do is carry your bag.”

“Whatever.” She shoots me a fake-looking smile. Or it might’ve been a grimace, given she knows exactly why I’m traipsing up the stairs after her.

“You’re here! Oh, thank God!” No sooner than the door is open, Lavender is engulfed by arms and a heavy waft of Paco Rabanne. “I called you a million times. Why haven’t you answered?”

“’Cause I didn’t want to.”

She begins to unfold herself from his embrace when I reach over her shoulder and yank at his shirt collar.

“Take a fucking hint, dipshit.”

“What—whoa!” He stumbles but catches himself against the wall, his eyes flying wide as he notices me for the first time. “You brought him here?” His attention darts incredulously between us.

No way she loves this prick.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” I take a step around Lavender, aborting it at the press of her hand to my chest.

“Stop,” she says quietly before turning to the arsehole. “Yes, I brought him here.”

“I have a fucking name.”

“That some of us are unlikely to forget,” she murmurs as she turns to close the door. “But let’s not air our dirty laundry to the neighbors.”

“Nothing dirty to see here,” I respond, getting out of her way. As she turns back to the hallway, I plant my hands on her hips, forcing her to look at me. “Not yet, at least.”

Lavender rolls her eyes but can’t hold back her smile, though she tries. None of which the asshole sees.

“That… man kept me in that house for twenty-four hours!” the little bitch bitches, his voice rising by octaves.

Swinging around to face him, I press my forefinger to my chest. “Who, me?” I growl, daring him to try me.

“Your thugs,” he amends, stepping backward. “I know they work for you.”

“You know that for a fact, do you?” I take another step in his direction, and he takes another back. “Did you see their employment contracts?”

“Stop it,” Lavender says, sounding bored. “Leave Tod alone. Is it true? Did you lock him up?”

“At least they didn’t stuff him in a suitcase and throw him in the Thames.”

“That shouldn’t be funny,” she replies with a giggle. “Though I’m not sure you’d be able to get his gangly legs inside.”

“You think?” I eye him as though measuring him for a watery Samsonite-sized coffin. “We could give it a try?”

“I’m glad you’re both having fun, but could we discuss the bit where this man held me prisoner!”

She glances Tod’s way. “The idea is becoming more tempting by the minute.”

“You did say you wanted to choke him.”

“Throttle,” she corrects, patting my cheek like I’m a cute kid and she’s an old lady. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Tod looks momentarily worried, though he blows out a whooshing breath when she waltzes past him like he’s not standing there.

“What? Get what over with?” he whines, following. “Did you hear what I said he did?”

“I heard you.” She pivots on the heel of her boot as she reaches the small living room, pointing a menacing finger his way. I mean, it might be threatening to him, especially with that matching expression. Me? I just want to suck it into my mouth. Press my teeth over the knuckle to hear her gasp. “The thing is, Tod, I just don’t care. That should sound familiar,” she adds, canting her head to the side.

“Whaa…”

I chuckle. Lavender Whittington-Deveraux will do that to a man. Make him lose his words. Come so hard on his face he feels it like a shower of stars.

“Close your mouth, Tod. You look like a guppy.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because… because you’re a monumental shithead, and you’re to blame for all of this!” she explodes, her hands in the air now.

“Me? What did I do?” His attention swings to me. “He did this—he kept me prisoner!”

“Prisoner in a mansion worth thirty million? Boo-fucking-hoo.” I sound thoroughly bored. I’m not. This is as entertaining as fuck.

“I s-should call the police,” he stammers. “You’d go to prison for unlawful imprisonment.”

“Sure. If you think you can convince the police I kept you hostage when I wasn’t even in the country. Hell, take them to the house. Show the suite of rooms you stayed in.”

“Rooms I was kept in!” he contends. “Behind locked fucking doors!”

It looks like he might be about to stamp his feet.

No. Fucking. Way. No way she’s in love with him.

She’d eat him for breakfast and spit out his bones. This… skinny string of piss must seem safe to her. No one she’d lose her heart to, at least.

No one she’d lose her heart to.

“Bars on the windows? Bread and water? It’s not like a chef prepared your choice of menu or anything. And Marco, the big Polynesian guy? I’m pretty sure he has photos on his phone of you and him playing cards.”

“People might’ve missed me!”

“No one would miss you,” I mock. The only way I can see Lavender being with him is if he was at the business end of her strap-on. And that is a thought I’m now banishing from my head.

“If you’re done with your little rant, maybe you’d like to ask what happened to me after your little stunt?” She looks fucking imperious, my raging wife.

Temporary raging wife, I remind myself. The one whose temper gives me a raging hard-on.

“I didn’t mean anything to happen to you,” Tod replies, his gaze darting warily between us.

“But you sold her out to protect yourself.” Tod doesn’t argue with my assessment as I make my way deeper into the room. Taking a seat on the small couch, I rest my heel on my knee and slide my arm along the back. “I think we could make this work, princess. Sunday veg-out sessions after eggs Benny and mimosas.”

“But that’s what we do,” he whines.

“I can’t see us doing that for a while, Tod,” she says, coming to sit next to me. Thigh to thigh, she makes it pretty fucking obvious as she lays her hand on my knee. Covering it with my own, I bring it to my lips. A strategic move, sure, as the emerald-cut Graff diamonds sparkle.

“Sweet girl,” I whisper, pressing her hand to my chest. Sweet like arsenic. The woman is as prickly as a porcupine. Since when have I had a thing for quills?

“You got a new ring.” His gaze accuses, his body understanding, though his brain has yet to catch up.

“Yes, I did.” She holds out her hand, admiring the diamond band.

“How? Why? Now look,” he says, his arms flapping against his sides like a sullen teen. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Open your eyes, Tod. There will be no more mimosas for you and me.” She turns to me all love and adoration, and for a split second, I’m sucked in myself. “You see, Tod, my darling husband is very territorial.”