The Gamble

23. Raif

“And then Iflicked yellow paint on top, and do you know what color it turned then?”

Leaning back in my chair, I pick up my wine and give a little shrug.

“Everyone knows the answer to that, Uncle Raif,” Daisy insists.

“Not me.”

“Green—it turned green!”

“Amazing.” What’s really amazing is how effusive Daisy is this evening. She’s positively glowing as she recounts her day as an artist between bites of her burger. Her McDonald’s burger. I prod mine as it sits in its branded box, uneaten. Inedible, more like, I think, flicking the limp lettuce leaf hanging out of the bread roll. I glance up, feeling Lavender’s eyes on me. She shoots me a faintly evil-looking grin.

“How are you enjoying your first McDonald’s?” Lavender asks my niece, her smile changing depth.

“McDonald’s is… okay.” She pats her mouth with her paper napkin.

“You don’t have to be polite.” Lavender chuckles. “If you don’t like it, I’m not going to be upset.”

Daisy shakes her head, releasing a relieved breath. “I don’t know why everyone likes it so much. Sam’s burgers are much nicer, aren’t they, Uncle Raif?”

I make a noncommittal noise, not ready to give Lavender the satisfaction.

“The chicken nuggets are all right,” Daisy says, swapping the rubber burger for something much too white to be chicken and dipping it in a tiny tub of sauce.

“I wonder what makes that particular shade of orange,” I ask no one in particular. “Probably something nuclear.”

“I like the sauce,” Daisy says,

“It’s sweet and sour,” Lavender offers.

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“This is shit,” I mouth silently across the table.

“Baby,” she mouths back.

Maria would’ve ordinarily arranged a private chef from an agency, given Sam’s illness. But as she’d also come down with the flu, that task was overlooked until this afternoon. I’d called Lavender to ask what she’d like for dinner—it had occurred to me I don’t know if she has preferences or allergies—and I’d intended to order in from a nearby hotel when she’d offered to take care of dinner herself.

I should’ve asked her to elaborate.

“Lavender says that when I go to the gallery again, she’ll ask Tod to teach me to sculpt.”

“Tod?” I turn my attention Lavender’s way as my dinner turns in my gut. “Tod was at the gallery?”

“He works there.” From across the table, Lavender picks up her glass, her tone airy. “Didn’t I say?”

“No, you didn’t.” That spineless fucker lives with her—off her. And she pays him to hang out in the gallery? Maybe I’m too shocked to be angry. Or maybe I can just see through her little facade.

“I must’ve forgotten,” she says with a shrug.

Oh, darling. I have eyes in my head. I know you’re not in love.

Daisy continues with tales of “the best day ever” while Lavender and I maintain our stare fest. It looks to me as though she’s considering sliding the dishes to the floor in favor of lunging across the table to make me choke on her tongue.

Or maybe I’m projecting.

“And how was Tod?” I find myself asking, though my tone isn’t deliberately icy.

“His usually whiney self,” my wife replies.

My wife.Or not quite. Technically.

I glance down at my phone as it vibrates against the marble tabletop. No need to look at the display. I know who’s calling. The same person who’s been trying to get ahold of me all day.

“Tod is doing an art show,” Daisy puts in, taking another bite of her chicken nugget.

“Is he?”

Probably at Lavender’s expense. When will she see him for what he is—see him as not right for her?

You’re not right for her either. With a frown, I push away the voice of reason.

“I want to be an artist when I grow up.”

“You’re an artist now,” Lavender says. “And when your masterpiece is finished, I’m going to hang it up. Well, if that’s okay? You can always bring it home if you’d prefer.”

“Nononono!” Daisy practically bounces with excitement. “Keep it for the gallery, like I’m a real artist.”

“Okay then.” Lavender, the master of the understatement smiles a secret smile. She’s enjoying being around my niece, it would seem. “You are a real artist, you know.”

“How?” Daisy asks.

“Anyone who makes art is.”

My phone vibrates again. Lavender tsks.

“Such bad manners to bring your phone to the dinner table.”

She enjoys giving me shit as much as she enjoys making Daisy smile, it would seem.

I hook my elbow over the back of my chair. “When you feed me a decent dinner, I’ll be sure to be more attentive.”

“Oh my God.” Lavender presses her hand to her chest. “Daisy, did you hear that? We have a dinosaur in our midst.”

“Where?” The little girl”s head swings left and right. “I don’t see any dinosaurs. Or mist.”

Lavender coughs up a little wine, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, the diamonds in her wedding band twinkling. Why do I find that hot?

Daisy slips from her chair, moving to pat her back. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, thanks, Daiz.” With a fond look, Lavender gives Daisy’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Shit. That expression she has for the kid. It melts something inside me.

Looking at Lavender usually makes things hard.

“I meant your uncle is a dino. He’s suggesting that because I’m a woman, I should be responsible for dinner.”

“But that’s Sam’s job,” Daisy replies, mildly confused. “And he’s a man.”

“And that wasn’t what I meant at all. It doesn’t have to be dinner you feed me. I’d go for a little snack.”

“Uncle Raif, why are you talking in that funny voice? Is your throat sore? And why did you say snack like a crocodile.” She makes a clapping motion with her hands and arms.

“Yeah, Uncle Raif,” Lavender repeats. “What’s with the voice?”

I could ask the same of her come-fuck-me eyes.

“I must have a frog in my throat.” Can I swap for your pussy?

“Is that why you think he’s a dinosaur? Because his voice sounds old?”

Lavender shakes her head. “How can I put this? Your uncle doesn’t realize that marriage doesn’t exactly suit a postfeminist ideology because it’s rooted in the ownership of women.”

“Postfeminist?”

She quirks a brow, probably surprised I didn’t go for the low-hanging fruit in that statement. Ownership. Money exchanged.

“I’m all for personal choice,” she says, a touch tart.

“Not for the outlawing of men?”

“I’m not militant. I know you all have your uses.”

“All of us? Like men in general?”

“Some of you might be more useful than others,” she concedes.

I give in to a dirty-sounding laugh as I trace my fingertip around the rim of my glass. A poor substitute for what I want to touch.

“So you’re saying you believe in empowerment and equality. That you’re flexible.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

I put my glass to my lips. I know we’re not having two different conversations.

“Lavender’s mummy came to see us in the gallery.”

“Did she?” I glance Daisy”s way, who nods.

No need to mention Polly also came to see me this afternoon. She’d called under the guise of being in the area. I’d kind of expected it, but she was much nicer than I would be, under the circumstances. She paid a visit to let me know exactly how special her daughter is. Marking my card would be another way to describe it.

Hurt my daughter, and I’ll make you pay.

Gotta respect her for that.

“Yes, she’s very nice. And so is Primrose.”

“Wow. It was a real family affair today.”

“There is no escaping my lot,” Lavender says with a mostly content sigh.

We’re interrupted by a rap at the door. It opens, and I frown as Leo appears around it. He remembers to keep his eyes fixed on me. Lucky for him.

“My apologies for disturbing you, but you have a guest, Mr. Deveraux.”

“We’re eating dinner.” I flick out a casual hand. “Can’t you see?”

“It’s McDonald”s, Leo.” Daisy twists in her chair, holding out a packet of what has to be cold french fries. “Would you like one?”

“No, carino,” he replies. “I mean, no, thank you, Miss Daisy.”

“You’re sure?” Daisy persists. “I’ve never had McDonald’s before now. Have you?”

“No…” His eyes dart to mine.

“Eat a fry, Leo,” I command.

“I… okay. Thank you.” Taking one from the red packet Daisy offers, he chews once, then grimaces as he swallows.

“Now, tell whoever is here”—to fuck off—“that I’m unavailable.”

Leo’s eyes flick to Lavender. Like a whole tale. “Antonio said you’d want to see this person.”

“Fine.” Antonio can be relied upon. He’s been with me for a long time. I put down my glass and stand. “If you ladies will excuse me.”

“Of course,” Daisy offers happily.

I round the table and touch her blond head as I pass. “I’ll be right back.” I catch myself before bending to kiss Lavender, though I recognize the temptation all the same.

“It must be my lucky day,” I announce, walking into my home office a few minutes later. “Unless there’s something I’ve missed on my calendar, like Whittington clan visitation day.”

Brin Whittington turns from the window overlooking the darkening garden. “Meaning?” he demands, his tone surly.

“First, your mom.” I make my way over to my walnut desk and lean back against it. “Now you. And, of course, there’s also Lavender, though she doesn’t visit so much as… come.”

“You fucker—” He glances at the floor and shakes his head. “I deserved that,” he says, glancing up again. “But she doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“And that’s my problem, how?” I fold my arms and cross my feet at the ankle, the picture of apathy. It’s not that I don’t care about what he did. I just don’t care as much about it as much I probably should have. I care that his actions fucked up my plans, which brings us here. To this moment. A moment of recognition for him.

Brin’s restless steps echo to the other side of the room, wheeling around to face me. “Why her?”

“Process of elimination. Heather is already married, and Primrose is a little too young.”

“Does she know that? Does she know why?”

“You’re still breathing. I’m sure you can answer that.”

“Exactly,” he says with an unhappy-sounding laugh. He wheels away, retracing his footsteps. “I don’t know how the fuck you’ve gotten her into this, but I know you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” Ice cuts through my tone.

“No. It’s the truth.”

“You think telling your sister why this has happened will get either of you out of this shit?” No need to explain how Lavender will get out of this marriage or what she’ll receive for being part of it. What Brin gets out of it is discomfort. Maybe fear. Definitely regret of knowing

“No, but it would get your balls severed from the rest of your body, I reckon.” Despite his bravado, he slices his hand through his hair in an agitated motion.

“Your sister is far too fond of my balls to slice them off.”

“She’d just put them in a jar and stick them on a shelf.”

“Why are we having this conversation, Brin? We both know you won’t tell your sister, so my balls will remain exactly where they are.”

“You have majorly fucked up.” He gives a slow shake of his head.

This is not what I was expecting.

“Totally got your wires crossed,” he continues.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say icily. “I saw what I saw. You were there that day too, so you also remember.” My chest tightens as I recall the expression on his face again. He’d gone pale, panicked, but ultimately, the expression he wore was one of shame.

Is it strange that I feel so unattached to the memories?

“That’s not what I meant, but yeah. I was there, and I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Curling my fingers inward, I begin to examine my fingernails. “Pity for you, I don’t give a flying fuck about your regrets.”

“All the same, I should’ve apologized before now.”

I make a noise. It sounds almost like an agreement.

“I screwed up. I could tell you I was drunk because I was, but that’s not a good enough excuse. But honestly, Ali said you and her had an arrangement.”

I frown because we did. But fucking other people wasn’t part of it.

“Like an open relationship.”

I sigh and rub my thumb across my fingernails as though expecting it to catch. I raise my eyes but not my head. “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. In my eyes, you’re still at fault.”

“So why take it out on my little sister?”

Rolling my stiff shoulders, I reach for the small fruit bowl on the corner of my desk. I pick up an apple and rotate it slowly between my thumb and fingers.

“You have no idea what I have planned for her.” I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. In the periphery of my vision, Brin’s body jerks, though he ultimately aborts that instinct.

I glance menacingly his way. “That’s right. I’d stay right where you are if I were you.”

“You’re a bastard,” he grates out, his hands balled by his side. “But you know what? I console myself with the thought that you don’t understand how badly you’ve fucked up. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“No, I have the right girl… just for the wrong reason,” I concede.

“Lavender isn’t… Jesus.” He laughs. It isn’t a happy sound. “You must’ve realized by now Lavender can start an argument in an empty room.”

I almost smile because he’s right, but I’m not here to make him feel better. I’m enjoying his sister in more ways than I expected. More ways than he’d be able to understand.

Besides, the whole point of this was to make him feel like shit. To punish him.

So it’s strange to find I feel shitty right now.

“You’re not listening. Lav is—”

“Don’t call her that,” I snap, curling my hand around the apple.

“What?”

Like a snake striking, I’m up from the desk, the apple bouncing to the floor as I wrap my hands in his jacket. “Your sister would appreciate it if you used her full name,” I enunciate carefully. Okay, through gritted teeth.

“Piss off! You’ve only known her five minutes,” he says, trying to smack my hand away. “Don’t try to tell me about my own fucking sister.”

“Who also happens to be my wife.”

“Yeah, and I’m wondering what kind of idiot that makes you.”

Tension flares in my biceps, my fingers tightening on his lapels. But if I was going to hurt this idiot, it would’ve happened before now. Maybe that was my first mistake because if I had hurt him, he wouldn’t be standing here now, cocksure and insolent.

“Get the fuck out.” My arm moves like a piston, propelling him in the direction of the door. I didn’t like him before. I like him a whole lot less now.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” he says, straightening from his stumble. He pulls on the front of his jacket. “But I get it. I really do. You want to hurt me. You want revenge.”

“If I wanted revenge, I would’ve burned your fucking house down months ago.”

“Steady on.” He blinks, shaking off his shock. “Talk about overreacting.”

“Did Polly drop you on your head when you were young?” What is it with this idiot?

“Look, Lav—I mean, Lavender, she’s gonna drive you insane.”

“Maybe I like insanity,” I retort, moving closer. “Maybe I’m insane myself. You ever think of that?”

“I hear you’re more reasonable than others with similar business practices.”

Fuck. I should’ve beaten him to a pulp already.

Too late now. Lavender probably wouldn’t like it.

“You’re not even her type.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“She has a thing for wounded birds, my sister. And that’s only because she gets to pluck off their wings.”

“That’s bullshit.” And he knows it.

“Is it? Tod’s been trotting behind her like a Pekinese for two years now. All sad eyes and panting tongue. She says ‘jump,’ and the idiot asks how high. Roll over, Tod, and he does. Just so she can kick him in the balls.”

“I don’t give a fuck about Tod. And I don’t give a fuck about you.”

“What about Lavender? You give a fuck about her, or are you just fucking her?”

I lunge for him again, though he jerks out of reach, careening in the direction of the opening door.

“What the fuck!”

“Oi!” Lavender complains from the other side as it slams shut on her. When she opens it a second time, I have Brin in my grip.

“What’s going on?” Lavender’s brows lift expectantly.

“He tripped on the carpet,” I say, glancing at it for veracity’s sake. “Didn’t you, Brin?”

“Yeah.” Brin frowns warily. “You want one of those rug grips on it.”

“Or you could just watch where you’re going,” Lavender suggests.

“Yeah, you really ought to watch where you step.” My delivery is light, words like a stone skimming over water. “Wouldn’t like to see you get hurt.”

“Got it,” he says. At last.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I came to see Raif. On business.”

“What business?” Lavender seems unconvinced. Stepping closer, she punches him playfully in the chest in a quick one-two motion.

“Nothing that’s got anything to do with you.”

“Fuck off.” Lavender pulls a face. It’s an iteration I haven’t seen, but one her brother obviously has.

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” he mutters, his eyes darting my way.

Idiot.

“You two have been talking about me.” Her attention pings between us.

“No,” says Brin.

At the same time, I answer, “Yes.”

Lavender’s brow quirks. “Which is it, then?”

“I know this might come as a shock, but not everything in the world is about you, Lavender.”

I slide her brother a disgusted look. “Brin is here in his capacity as older brother to warn me to be good to you.”

Lavender snorts.

“If only he’d called ahead, I could’ve saved him a journey. Your mother beat him to it.”

“What?” And there’s that expression again.

“She dropped into my office this morning. I must say, Polly delivered her threats with much more class.”

“Steel fist in a velvet glove, that woman,” Brin mutters.

“You didn’t say she’d been to see you,” Lavender says, ignoring him.

“I was being diplomatic.”

“And you were being a dick about it, I suppose?” This she delivers Brin’s way.

“That’s fucking charming!” he complains.

“I suppose that’ll be the reason he tripped,” she says airily, eyebrows riding high.

“Why do you assume this is my fault?” Brin bleats. “You’ve only known him five minutes!”

But he’s not really hurt by her assumption. I’m also not really flattered, either. Her loyalty is owed to me. She has five million reasons for it.

Besides, this looks like a scene that has played out between them before.

“It’s because I know you that I assume it’s your fault.”

“You know what? Don’t ask me to do anything for you again.”

“I didn’t ask you to do this. In fact, I don’t understand why you would, unless you think you had to step into Whit’s shoes because he’s not around.”

“You mean there’s another Whittington in line to eyeball me menacingly?” Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her body closer.

“The things you’ll put up with for love, right?” In my arms, she turns her brother’s way, hands resting over my arms. “Did you tell Brin about my wedding gift?”

“I did not.” And I don’t know where this is going as dark amusement flciks across her face.

What the fuck am I going to owe her now?

More to the point, what am I going to get for it?

“Oh my God.” She practically bounces on the spot. “You’re not going to believe what my darling husband bought me.”

I tighten my arms around her. Don’t overdo it, princess. Also, fuck do I like the sound of that.

“What?” Brin sounds suspicious. For good reason.

Lavender turns and, rising to her toes, presses a kiss to my cheek. I feel every inch of her body against mine—thighs, stomach, breasts. She’s a fiery heat that I try to contain by wrapping my hands around her waist.

“He’s going to be so jealous.” Her whisper skates my cheek as she pulls away.

Reluctantly, I let her.

“Follow me, loser,” she sings, making for the door.

“I’m pretty sure she wasn’t talking to me,” I murmur.

“Raif, you’ll want to see this,” she asserts, disappearing into the hallway. “Leo?” I hear her call. “What floor was the garage on again?”

“What’s she talking about?” Brin demands, glancing behind him. “What the hell have you bought her?”

I gesture him ahead. I wouldn’t want to steal her thunder.