26. Anders
ANDERS
Standing in front of the painting, The Death of Lady Jane Grey, I’m in awe of the detail and the emotion. Emily’s hand brushes against mine. I’m lost in the world. Having her next to me for this sends me spiraling thinking about things that might have been. Things I can never have.
“I could stay here all day.” Emily’s blue eyes blink up at me.
“Doing better?” Oliver pushes his shoulder into her. He’s wearing a baseball cap, gray turtleneck, and khakis, while I’m in jeans and a black T-shirt, which thankfully doesn’t match Ryder’s today. He’s standing behind us. And Holloway’s men are at the exits to the room.
“Yes.” She smiles up at him.
I pivot in time to see a man taking a photograph of Emily, or it might be of Oliver.
I drop to a crouch, pretending to tie my shoe to get a better look at the guy.
What the hell do we have the asshole’s security team with us for if they’re not going to be doing anything?
I catch the eye of the man covering the way we came in and tilt my head at the photographer.
Standing, I whisper to Emily. “There’re paparazzi next to a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, to your right.”
“Oh.” She nods, staring at the museum’s app on her phone.
“Walk slowly to the next room with me. Ryder and Oliver will stay here.”
Oliver nods. “Best way to figure out who they’re trying to get.”
“I’m sure it’s you,” Emily whispers to Oliver.
The guard on the other exit repositions himself as Emily and I leave for the next gallery room. The photographer follows.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I say.
Emily nods at me. “We should go.”
“I’m afraid so.” I want to take her hand, but now’s not the time. And definitely not the place. The ride back to the estate in the SUV is as solemn as the gray sky.
I turn to Emily, her head on Oliver’s shoulder, and put my hand on her knee and squeeze. “We can still make something fun of the day, can’t we?” I look over Emily’s head to Oliver. “What else is there to do around here?”
“Not much; there’s some shopping in the village,” Oliver says.
“That’s not an Emily activity,” Ryder says from the front seat.
“Oh, but there’s a seamstress who makes all the clothing in her little store.”
“That sounds more like something you’d like.”
The shop’s awning reads Callie’s Couture.
Callie, by the name tag on her chest, is early forties with bright green hair. Her black pants and shirt are dotted with different colored threads and white fuzz balls.
“Hello! Excuse me. Organic cotton likes to leave its mark on me. How can I help you?” She brushes fuzz from her sleeves.
Ten minutes later, Emily strides out of the dressing room wearing a slinky red dress that has me wanting to throw the lock on the door and do things to Emily that would definitely make the old lady walking down the street with her dachshund blush.
And blow Emily’s cover of happily engaged pregnant pawn. So I sit on my hands.
“That’s fantastic,” Oliver says.
“It is. But does it show my apple-crisp belly?” She rubs her stomach.
“There’s plenty of room to let it out,” Callie says.
Emily smiles as Callie pulls on the side of the dress. “It fits now, though.”
“It does, and it looks dynamite,” I add.
“I’ll take it.” Emily smiles. There’s a bunch more outfits that make their way to the register. I’ve never been one for clothes shopping. But then, I’ve never gone shopping with Emily before.
“Anything else I can do for you?” Callie asks.
I wiggle my eyebrows at Emily. “Do you have pajamas?”
“Aye, I do.” Callie holds up two slinky nightgowns.
I stand and shake my head at the two sexy numbers Callie’s holding. “I was thinking of something more that comes up to here and goes down to here.” I wave my hand under my chin and drop it to my ankles. “Lots of buttons, hard to open. Made of steel, Teflon, whatever you might have.”
“He’s joking, Callie.” Emily raises her eyebrows at me. Emily takes one of the two nightgowns Callie’s holding and puts it on the pile without trying it on.
When we come out of the store an hour later, all of us are carrying a bag, the photographer back in London’s forgotten, and the day feels less gloomy.
“She’s a talented designer,” Emily says, clutching her bag to the buttons of the new sweater she wore out of the store.
Somehow, each of us ended up getting something. Oliver bought a jacket for his sister, Ryder got shirts for several of his nieces, and I bought Angie a Fair Isle knitted sweater. One of the few things that the shop owner didn’t make herself.
“True,” Oliver says.
“When pictures get out of Crown Princess Georgina wearing that jacket, we’re not going to be able to get into the store.” Emily puts her hand on Oliver’s leg.
“I’m sure she’ll fit you in. How are you doing?” I ask. Emily called her father alone. Even though each of us offered to be with her for support.
“Okay. I knew he wasn’t going to take it well; I just didn’t think he would hang up on me. He’s never hung up on me. Ever. Rachel texted a bunch. She said he’s doing okay. He didn’t take Easton’s call either, though. She’s going to make sure someone stays with him tonight. Her or someone else.”
“That’s good,” Ryder says from the front seat.
“I hate this.” Emily’s lips twist.
“I know.” I put my hand on her knee. I hate it even more for her. And the number of hours I’ve stared at the cracks on the ceiling above my bed trying to figure out a different plan . . .
Her eyes flash to mine. And there’s more she wants to say, but now, in front of Holloway, isn’t the time.
Back at the estate, she toes off her shoes and pushes the door shut behind her, throwing the lock with Oliver, Ryder, and me standing in the middle of the room.
Her eyes land on each of us, and the tension of watching her walk out of the dressing room knowing we couldn’t touch her?
Knowing that to the rest of the world she belongs to Thayer?
Deep in the bag from Callie’s shop is the nightgown I want to see on Emily. But I can’t. Fuck.
“What now?” Emily sinks into the sofa. “I’m not used to having nothing to do. This living in a gilded cage and not being able to take action is getting old.”
I’m not going to be the one to tell her that she’s got a long way to go.
“I want to know what Thayer’s doing to make this end how we want it all to end,” Emily says.
“Have you asked him?” I swipe the hair away from her ear. “Because I’d like to know too. And I’m never alone with him.”
“I will. I will tonight.”
“Are you going to wear your new nightgown tonight?”
Her eyes widen. “No. Why would you think I would?”
“We all saw the kiss, Em. We were standing on the balcony above the patio. Esmeralda clued us in,” Ryder says.
Oliver nods. He knew what was going to happen, unlike the rest of us.
“You did?”
“We did.”
“Good, and was I convincing? The kiss, I mean.”
“Very.” My voice drops. “If you would like to practice with me, I’m more than willing to volunteer.”
“You’ve got a lot of volunteers, Em.” Oliver takes her hand and pulls it to his lips.
Ryder’s to one side of her, and I’m on the other. I move to her side, while Ryder finds the remote for the blinds, dropping them. Oliver turns the music on.
“A little louder, Ollie. What I have planned is going to have Em making a lot of noise,” Ryder says.
He laughs but turns up the volume.
“This is lovely, but it needs to come off.” I drop to my knees in front of her. I start at the bottom of the sweater’s tiny buttons, carefully undoing each one.
A growl bursts from Emily, and she flings the sweater up and over her head.
“My, my, you’re a little impatient.” Oliver chuckles, easing down onto the sofa next to her.
Her bra is gone; his lips are on hers. Damn, this isn’t in my normal wheelhouse.
Sharing a woman? But this isn’t any woman, and I shut down my internal editor and find the zipper on Emily’s new skirt.
With some help from her, it’s gone, along with her tights.
Ryder’s on the opposite side of her from Oliver.
But I couldn’t care less what Ryder or Oliver are doing.
The only thing I want is moaning. Loud. Her knees on either side of my head.
Because Emily’s not a quiet woman. She’s also not demure.
Fiery, feisty. And it’s been too long since I’ve heard her call out my name.
With my hands on the underside of her buttocks, I slide her forward until she’s at the edge of the sofa, her tender skin before my mouth. Oliver’s hand holds her open on one side; Ryder’s got the other. Damn, maybe sharing isn’t so bad. I can have my feast, drive her to the edge over and over.
“What are you smiling at, Anders?” Emily asks with a sassy tone.
“Appreciating more art, darling. So pretty.” I take my first lick.
Her body vibrates under my tongue.
“We got you, Emily. You like this, don’t you? You’re our vixen now,” Oliver says.
“Am I now? A vix—”
I flatten my tongue against her clit, and a shiver shakes her legs.