No Ordinary Gentleman

“Well, this is all very nice,” she says, disregarding me, “but what about that money?”

“What are you talking about?” Alexander growls.

“Obviously, the gig is up. Blackmailing you through Griffin is a lost cause.” Her head turns like a shark sensing blood in the water. “But it looks like you’re ready to move on.”

“It looks like I’m in need of a divorce.”

“No, not technically,” Griffin interjects. “Scottish jurisprudence might not be my speciality, but—”

“Oh.” She presses a hand to her head. “It seems my amnesia is lifting! I remember who I’m married to. And I remember who he used to make me screw.”

“Make you? I couldn’t stop you,” Alexander spits.

“The press would still have a field day anyway. By the way, that’s a splendid black eye, Griffin.” Leonie slides a compact and a lipstick from her jacket pocket. “Was it Alexander’s gift?”

“It’s not what you think.” From my position, I see Griffin’s fists ball.

“No?” Her eyes slide my way. “Who decided this time? Or is our meek maiden over there pulling the strings. I know they say the quiet ones are always the worst, but I’ve never really been convinced about that.” She casts a sly glance my way as she begins to apply her lipstick.

A creeping sensation slides up the back of my neck, its tendrils slithering into my head, turning to realisation with crystal kind of clarity. She’s going to use me against him. Use the knowledge of our relationship, our love, as leverage against this all coming out, just when we’re at our most vulnerable. Just when we were about to start a life together. The one thing he fears she’ll use against him.

The truth coming out.

“How much do you want?” Alexander turns, clearly surprised to find me by his side.

“You know nothing about me or us.” My voice rings clear, my convictions carrying me. “And you know nothing about our love.” Leonie scoffs, but I push on because she really has no idea what I’m feeling right now. This wave of emotion, this overwhelming desire to protect the man next to me. “We all make mistakes.” My eyes find Alexander’s, and I see hesitancy but also concern. “And we judge. We all judge. And maybe we judge ourselves most of all. But the thing about love is you can’t turn it off, no matter how much it might hurt in the process. So we do the only thing we can do.” I press my hand to one cheek and my lips to his other. “We keep on loving anyway.”

I pull away, sliding my hand down his shoulder and arm, our fingers linked until the very end of our fingertips.

“How much do you want?” His voice is brusque as I move away. All business.

“Quite a bit, I’m afraid,” she answers, her tone like a kid in anticipation of candy as my quiet steps carry me out of the room.

49

Alexander

“What are you doing?”

The moment I’d realised Holland had left the room, I’d taken the stairs two at a time.

She can’t leave.

Not after what she’d said.

Not after what’s passed between us.

Yet as I swing open the door, there the evidence lies: a suitcase open on her bed, clothes dropped into it, onto the bed, between the wardrobe and the bed, and pretty much everywhere in the room.

Though my heart beats against my ribcage, I force myself to smile. “This reminds me of your hotel room.” The first night when I’d switched on the lamp to find the room festooned with clothes. Used cups. Hair products. I’m sure that night was a peek into our future. Our future bedroom.

“You were supposed to be leaving then.”

“No supposing about it. I am leaving,” she retorts, dry-eyed and stony-faced.

“Looks more like you’re running away.”

Her denial is a vigorous shake of her head. “Wilder, my nephew, asked me to come home. He’s worried about Kennedy.”

“When was the last time you went home?” I stroll over to the window and lean against the windowsill.

“He’s worried about a man who’s hanging around the coffee shop,” she says as though she hasn’t heard me. “That’s Kennedy’s business. The coffee shop.” She drops a pile of underwear into the case. “She runs our grandmother’s old place.”

Oh, look. Another penny the information miser parts with.

“I mean, it sounds kind of worrying,” she says, hurrying on. Words. Packing. “But I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. I think it might have something to do with Wilder.”

Back at the armoire, she flings open the doors and begins tugging at the hangers.

“Okay. I’ll get on and book a couple of flights.” I pull out my phone. “Into Portland?”

“What?” She swings around.

“You have family trouble, yes?” Holland nods. “Your family will be my family soon. Besides, I really should introduce myself to your sister, don’t you think?”

Holland blinks. A hanger clinks to the floor. Then she shakes her head as though this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.