39. Lavender
“Right, well, the numbers look great.”Whit reaches for his wineglass before leaning back in his. “Really great.”
“Yeah, but you knew that before you got here.” I give a little shrug, nudging my tablet a little with my knuckle. My brother brought his laptop, and his phone is on silent, which told me all I needed to know about his house call.
“How could I have known? I’ve been on a sabbatical.” His brows lift as he brings his glass to his lips.
We’re sitting at the breakfast nook after declining Raif’s offer to use his home office. Whit, Mimi, Gus, and Belle arrived in a flurry of cheek kisses, cuddles, and effusive introductions. Whit and Raif were a lot more sedate in their greetings—gruff hellos and solid, manly handshakes—though both men’s demeanors thawed when Daisy appeared in all her shy loveliness. Even the Irish twin hooligans toned it down a notch. In fact, I think Gus might have the beginnings of his first crush.
They’d arrive later than I’d originally anticipated after Mimi had called this afternoon, politely turning my offer of dinner down.
“A meal is meant to be enjoyed, not endured,” she’d said with a stuttering laugh. “A meal with our two monsters has become a feat of endurance lately.”
“They’re not that bad.” I was probably being polite.
“They’re worse than bad after our mammoth vacay. Too many late nights and too many treats. Of course, I blame the parents. Mine, I mean. I swear, they’d made a bet to see who could be the number one grandparent. “What was that, honey?” she said, impersonating her mother’s voice.“Can you have more candy? Well, of course you can! I’m your favorite, right?” Seriously, these kids are feral, so let’s not frighten your new hubs from the potential joys of parenthood.”
My laughter sounded like machine-gun fire. “Didn’t anyone tell you he kind of already is?”
“Is already what?”
“A parent.”
“Ack! Yeah, sorry! I totally forgot. Jet lag mommy brain. His niece, right?”
“Yeah. Daisy.”
“So admirable,” she murmured. “Honestly, I’ve been close to selling these two on eBay.”
As if. Mimi never thought she’d have children, and she’s an amazing mum, no matter what she says.
“How are you finding that?” she asked carefully. “You’re always so good with Gus, Belle, and Milo,” she was quick to add. “I’m sure you’ve taken it all in your stride.”
“Daisy is lovely.” What else was there to say? That I could tell she’d suffered trauma, that I recognize it in her? That she’s sweet and lovely, and I just want to hug her so hard and promise she’ll be okay? All true. Every word of it—I make sure of it because I feel like I can now. Like it is my place—like I’m here to stay.
“Congratulations, by the way. I just wanted you to know I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Mimi. That means a lot. What about Whit? What’s he had to say?”
“Oh, you know how Whit is.”
Which probably meant she had to pull rank and stop him from flying back to insist I sort my shit out once he heard about the wedding.
“He just wants you to be happy. He just worries, you know.”
Yeah. I know a thing or two about worrying.
“I, for one, can’t wait to meet the man who’s caught my sister-in-law’s very astute eye.I’m just sorry we have to bring the kids this time, but they’re desperate to see their aunt Lally.”
“I’ve missed the little snot machines.”
“Invite us for dinner sometime soon, though? I’m kinda jonesing for adult conversation. I’d even go for a wine hangover.”
“Rebel.”
“Oh, Lavender,” she answered on a sigh, “you know I was born to be mild.”
I didn’t doubt the kids wanted to see me, and Mimi couldn’t wait to meet Raif, but I also knew her presence would offer a lighthearted buffer between her husband and mine, should there be the need.
“Lavender?” Whit’s glass chinks against the table’s Calacatta marble top, and I snap back to the kitchen nook and the present moment.
“Sorry. I was miles away. A sabbatical, you said? That must be why things have been a bit quiet.”
“Funny,” he mutters.
“Isn’t sabbatical just another word for a holiday? The photos Polly loaded to the family WhatsApp sight certainly made it look that way, lounging on sunny beaches and wearing silly hats in theme parks.”
“I’ve also been working. Calling into the bank’s international offices and stuff.”
“And the checking the gallery’s accounting system,” I quickly add, “so don’t pretend you’re surprised to find we’re doing well. Every time you log in, I get a notification. And you have logged in. Plenty.”
My brother has the good grace to look embarrassed, though chooses not to address that as he mutters, “A sabbatical is not a holiday.”
“Potato, potahto.”
“They’re both the same thing,” he says, fighting a smile.
“So.” Shoving my tablet pen in my bun, I reach for my glass and lean back, mirroring his posture. “The purpose of this visit is… what?”
Whit’s eyes flick down. “Why are you drinking water?”
“I know, terrible, right? Especially when you consider what fish do in it.”
“Lavender,” he warns.
“Not for any of the reasons you’re insinuating. Not that I’m too young to be up the duff.”
“I didn’t insinuate you were. I merely asked a perfectly acceptable question.”
“And I’m merely telling you I’m drinking water because I’m a hydro homie—super hydrated. And not at all pregnant,” I snap.
“Okay. Fine. I’m glad we’ve established that.”
“The way you lot go on when you see me with a glass of wine, it’s little wonder I opt for water. I’m not an alcoholic, you know.”
His brows flicker. “I’ve never said you were.”
“I seem to remember differently.”
“That was a long time ago. And, at the time, I remember you were drinking vodka from the bottle. “You were a little wild and a lot impetuous, but you grew out of it. At least, I thought you had.”
“Ah! So we’re getting to it.”
“As for pregnant, you’ll just have to forgive people for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Especially as you seemed to have snatched a husband out of midair.”
“Snatched?” I swallow some water, giving myself a moment to consider. “I like that. Yeah, I snatched a good husband, as it happens.”
“Is he?” Whit sits forward, steepling his fingers on the table. “He’s good to you? You love him? He loves you?”
This is not the direction I’d expected my brother to take.
“Yes, he’s good. The best. And I…” I glance down at my glass, swallowing over the ball in my throat—the spiky lump I’ve been ignoring since Raif crouched over me in all his naked glory and asked me to be his wife. For real. To give this marriage a shot.
All in.That was Raif’s promise. His proposal.
“And you what?” Whit prompts softly.
I look up. “I really love him.” The words free, I find myself coughing as tears spring to my eyes.
“You okay?” Whit moves to stand, though he aborts when I lift my hand to ward him off. The last thing I need right now is a cuddle—this emotional dam will hold!
“Fur ball,” I answer, patting the center of my chest. A fur ball of love. But tears, urgh, no thank you. Not that there’s the smallest sign of melting or withering. I’m all in one piece, no sign of abandoned sparkly shoes or stripy stockings. Not that I’m a very good witch. I’m more like a big old scaredy cat—one who needs to pull up her big girl knickers and say “I love you” again. Preferably in earshot of Raif.
As for whether he loves me or not, what exactly does “all in” constitute? All things point to his deep affection and his care. But love? If he loved me, wouldn’t he have said so that morning? Or the multiple times since then, like when I wrapped my left hand around his hard cock, and jacked him so slowly his eyes glazed, and the most beautiful, tortured sounds fell from his lovely lips.
I guess we both enjoy those sparkly hand jobs.
He makes me feel cherished, whatever his feelings toward me are.
“Mum says you were dating him before all this.” His fingers flicker in the air as though to indicate the space.
“Yeah.” If that’s what she said, I won’t contradict it.
“But why marry him so soon? That’s what I don’t understand.”
“Because I wanted to.” My answer sounds even, and that seems to surprise my brother. My answer is also true. Even if he did make me an offer I couldn’t refuse, I still wanted to. I was intrigued. A little charmed. And into him, which sounds crazy, but I’ve never had a man like him show interest in me, despite the fact he drives me crackers half the time.
And after what he told me, how he confided in me, I want to climb into his chest and hold his heart to protect it from further harm. I want to wake every morning feeling his body stir beneath my fingertips. Like this morning when I pressed my lips to his, kissing him softly, just a tease. Counting the moments to see how long it took before his mind, his mouth, registered me there.
I love it when he takes my hand in the street for everyone to see. It makes me want to shout from the rooftops, “See this man? He’s all mine, so hands off!”
I love him when his eyes are all soft, and he’s begging for relief. And when it’s my turn, which it is, more often than not, I love how his voice will drop with that husky note as he demands, “Just one more.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Are you seriously asking if I know who the man I married is?”
“Do you know about his reputation?” His expression looks troubled. I am such a hypocrite, but I won’t share the origin story of my marriage with him.
“I don’t care about his reputation. Anything I need to know, he told me himself.”
“The Lavender I know is no one’s fool. She wouldn’t take his word for it.”
“I know it all, Whit. I know about the clubs and the casinos, the legitimate and otherwise. I was at one of his parties. I know. Do you hear what I’m saying? He hasn’t hidden anything from me.”
“Right.” His face is harder now. “So tell me. These numbers… do they have anything to do with him?”
“Yeah, I suppose they are.”
“Right.” He sits straight, and his jaw flexes as he reaches for his laptop again. “Explain,” he demands, snatching it open.
“All right, control freak.” I frown. What does he take me for?
“Lavender, come on. This is serious.”
“Fine, so, there was this dinner we held a few weeks ago, and I met some of Raif’s friends. Maybe some were just associates.” I give a tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Anyway, one of them was called Turkey Teef Keef,” I say, laying on a thick East London accent.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath as he begins to stab at his keyboard.
“What did he buy?”
“Nothing.”
Whit glares at me from over his laptop. “Nothing?”
I give my head a quick shake. Idiot. As if I’d be stupid enough to get caught up in something illegal.
“I never saw him after that.”
“Right.” He stabs the keyboard again—in the same place—deleting something. “Okay, which of his associates bought something from you?”
“The Right Honorable Amelia St. John Smythe.”
“The politician?”
“Yes. She’s also Europe’s largest landowner’s daughter. Did you know that?”
“Yeah, of course I do.”
“She and her husband, John? They’re lovely people. Posh but lovely. They’re building a house for their Siberian huskies and bought a couple of paintings for the place.”
“They bought paintings for their dog kennel?”
“No, not a fucking dog kennel. They’re building the dogs a four-bedroom house,” I say as though I find this completely normal. “One bedroom for each dog and one for guests. For doggy sleepovers. They’re also considering a few other pieces for their place in Saint Tropez. John was very complimentary when they visited the gallery but said their UK home is full of stuff they inherited.” I expect they’re classic period pieces. Old masters and Roman-Greco statuary. “Apparently, they live in a castle.”
“Who else?”
“From dinner? No one.”
“No one?”
“Not to my knowledge. All I know is Tod’s exhibition went great. I think it’s probably word of mouth,” I say, using my husband’s lame excuse. Hopefully, Whit believes it more than I did. I know the gallery’s recent run of success has something to do with Raif. I just haven’t worked out exactly how, but I also know there can’t be anything illegal about it.
“You’re right. The Lavender you know isn’t a fool. I wouldn’t put the gallery at risk. I’ve worked too bloody hard to throw it all away.”
“Excuse me, guys.” I turn to the deep sound of Raif’s voice. “Don’t let me disturb you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my head. “You all good?”
I nod, and he straightens, but his hand remains on my shoulder. “You sure?” he asks, his eyes on mine.
“Of course. We’re just talking shop.”
“Okay.” He nods, but he looks unconvinced. “I’ll just grab juice boxes for the kids. If you need me…”
“I know.” My heart. There it goes swelling again. I have a heart-on for this man and his kindness.
“Can I get you a refill?” He directs his offer Whit’s way.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” he says, straightening in his seat.
“I can get you more water.”
I don’t really need it, but I nod anyway and watch as he makes his way into the kitchen. Broad shoulders. Straight back. Regal, almost. I turn to my brother again, keeping my voice even. Like a grown-up. I don’t want to embarrass myself or the men in my life who love me.
“I know you put up the money to open the gallery, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that, but I’m the one who has sweated blood and tears. I’m the one who worked seven days a week up until recently.”
“I get that, but—”
“I don’t think you do get it. I know you want your investment back—”
“You’re right, I don’t care about the gallery like you do, but fuck the investment. It’s you I care about. This is about you. I want to be sure you’re safe and fucking happy. You deserve that as a bare minimum, and it’s my job to make sure that happens.”
“With all due respect, Whit.” We both turn to Raif’s voice. “I think you’ll find that’s my responsibility now.”
“Yeah?” My brother’s gaze slides my way. “Is he up for the job?”
“Yeah.” There goes that fur ball again. I clear my throat and try for a second time. “Yes, he is.”
From across the room, Raif’s smile feels like sunshine on my skin.
“She might’ve passed the baton to you,” Whit says, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t be watching.”
“Got it.” Raif nods just once but with such gravitas. My cheeks begin to tingle, and God help me, that’s not the only place I find that reaction as I glance down at my lap.
Good thing it doesn’t come with flashing lights.
“You okay, princess?” he asks, not giving a fuck about my brother’s incredulous huff.
I nod quickly. “I’m fine.” More than fine. Whit’s not my dad, but he loves me. And Raif is not my daddy, but he’s throwing out solid daddy vibes with that whole cherishing, authoritative, she’s-my-responsibility thing.
Oof.That is tickling my metaphoric pickle. But sadly, I find I must shake that shit right out of my head because I once walked into Whit’s office to hear Mimi whisper, “Daddy, you make it hurt so good.”
I’d needed brain bleach.
Daddy kink can’t be our thing as well.
“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Raif begins to turn in the direction of the kitchen. The nook isn’t a thoroughfare—I know he was just checking up on me.
“We’re done here,” Whit says, closing his laptop.
“Then come join us in the basement. The kids are swimming.”
“But they don’t have their bathing suits.”
“It wasn’t a planned swim.” Raif’s mouth curls in one corner.
“Gus pushed Belle in, didn’t he.” Not a question as my brother’s lips flatten. “That kid will be the death of me.”
“You survived me,” I say, standing and crossing to my husband and sliding my arms around his waist. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Whit’s head whips up. “You know, I hadn’t considered who he took after before, but now I see it. He’s a mini Lavender.”
“Then he’s a lucky kid.” Raif hooks his arm around my shoulders. “My wife is the best.”