Chapter 15
Sol
I’m thinking about writing another book,” Sol told Luke after dinner.
Divya had just left to go to her hotel ten minutes before and after having joined them during dinner.
Luke was now rinsing the dishes and loading the dishwasher while Sol finished clearing the table.
And she was surprised at how utterly domestic the whole scene was, yet still incredibly sexy—he was looking at her with mischief in his eyes.
“That sounds like a brilliant idea.” He gave her the full smoldering smile and what she called the Luca charm.
“You don’t think it’s silly?” She was voicing her own insecurities.
He arched his dark eyebrows. “Why should it be silly?”
“Because I haven’t published the first one yet…
” Sol had written her first mystery book after meeting Luke and Divya and partly inspired by their detective work, but also following a sort of calling she was just now realizing she’d felt for a long time.
Only a few weeks ago and after not having succeeded in securing an agent to try to get the book traditionally published, she’d decided she would self-publish it herself—inspired by the advice of a killer, no less.
“Weren’t you telling me the other day that success in the author profession tends to come with having a good backlist?” Luke had finished with the dishwasher and was now wiping his hands with a kitchen towel while looking at her with a wolfish smile.
Sol’s stomach was doing somersaults the same way it had been happening since they’d met and he’d started unabashedly flirting with her.
She shook her head, not quite believing her luck.
She remembered babbling about the publishing business when she’d first started researching it.
But of course Luke had listened to her ramblings.
She shouldn’t be surprised about it by then.
They’d been together for months and he’d always proven to be an excellent listener—who looked like a British Italian model.
Yet she was surprised. It was probably due to her previous relationships.
Both Sol’s ex-husbands could be described as many things, but a good listener wasn’t one of them.
What the hell had she been thinking about when she’d married them?
“Me estabas escuchando y te acuerdas de lo que te expliqué,” she beamed at Luke for listening and remembering what she’d told him.
“Ma certo che stavo ascoltando, cara!” Sol loved it when he spoke to her in Italian. She also loved it when he spoke to her in his sexy London accent. And when he didn’t talk at all. She was about to let him know all about it when his cell phone started ringing.
He sighed, frustrated. Took the device from his jeans back pocket and checked the number.
“It’s Miquel.” There was resignation in his tone.
It wasn’t lost on Sol that Luke always referred to Miquel using his first name.
He’d never called him “Your ex-husband” or “The ex.” He’d certainly never said the words “Your former partner” or “The first one” when mentioning Miquel.
She preferred not to dwell too much on the reasons behind that.
Luke answered the phone through gritted teeth. “Hello.”
Luke
Miquel bloody Oriol had a real talent for always choosing the worst moment. After a long day investigating, Sol and Luke finally had some time alone but of course Ex Number One was interrupting.
“Hi, Luke,” Miquel said. His cheerful tone had always irritated Luke. “Your partner Divya reached out and told me you needed my help?”
And then why didn’t you bloody call my partner Divya? It was almost ten at night. Luke was sure Miquel knew he was interrupting Sol and him.
“Right,” Luke answered, his tone dry.
“Tell Miquel hi for me,” Sol said, as she smiled at him and left Luke alone in the living room, heading for the bedroom.
“Sol says hi.” He sounded cross. “She says you have contacts at the police here and maybe could help us. We need an address for Sandro Palau.” He didn’t beat around the bush and simply asked what he needed.
“Of course I have contacts at the Mossos d’Esquadra,” Miquel continued in his annoying, gleeful tone.
Luke had purposely said the police and not used the term Mossos d’Esquadra because he didn’t want to mispronounce the Catalan name in front of Ex Number One.
He hated it when he was working yet didn’t feel at ease and in complete control.
He promised himself this was the last case he’d ever take outside of London.
For real this time. “You know Mercè is my ex,” Ex Number One continued talking.
“Mercè?” Luke hoped he’d manage to pronounce the name correctly.
“The detective who is handling Leonardo’s case.”
Mercè Roig had given Luke the impression of being a competent, skilled, smart woman.
She was good-looking too. He’d always found Miquel to be a conceited, arrogant twat.
Someone needed to explain to Luke what all these women saw in Miquel.
Then again, it wasn’t like Miquel had a knack for keeping them.
Luke almost chuckled at the realization.
“I just texted her,” Miquel said. The man had the ability to single-handedly carrying a whole conversation without even wondering if the other party should be contributing at all. “We can all meet for breakfast tomorrow and I’ll introduce you.”
“I already know her.” Luke wasn’t being confrontational on purpose. He just couldn’t help himself.
“You know what I mean,” Miquel dismissed him.
Luke sighed and agreed to meet the next day at whatever place Ex Number One was proposing. What was it about that city that everything needed to be organized around a meal of some kind when it could perfectly just have been a phone call or—even better—a bloody text message?
Sol would tell him that he needed to be more in touch with his Italian side and that he was a total Londoner. But Luke saw no problem in being a total Londoner—especially if that meant avoiding Ex Number One at all costs.