Imperfect Affections

She looks at the card and phone on the counter.

“Your old phone was due for an upgrade,” I continue. “There’s no limit on the card, so you can pay for whatever you need.”

“Very trusting of you,” she says with a good dose of sarcasm.

“Having money and a means of communication are vital to your safety,” I point out. “I’d hate for you to get stuck somewhere without a penny to your name.”

Since she doesn’t make a move to take either of the items, I slip a finger underneath the strap of her handbag on her shoulder and hold her eyes with a smile as I drop the bag and catch it in my hand. She glares at me when I take out her old phone and shove it into my pocket before sliding the black card into her wallet.

“Your new ID card and driver’s license should be ready by next week.” I hang the bag back on her shoulder. “I took advantage to order a passport for you at the same time, seeing that you didn’t have one.”

“My new ID card?”

“With your new surname.” Which fills me with no small measure of satisfaction.

“Of course.” Her smile is tight. “How could I forget? I suppose I owe you a thank you for taking care of it.”

Ignoring her biting tone, I say, “It’s my pleasure.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead ten times over. Interlacing our fingers, I lock up and lead her to my car.

In less than forty minutes, we park in Damian’s building and go through his impressive security check before we’re showed into a showroom with jewelry displayed behind glass cabinets and a lounge area in the center. A bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket on the table. We take a seat on the baroque style sofa and wait in silence.

A minute later, my brother enters with a tall, willowy man in tow.

“Violet,” he says, inclining his head in greeting but refraining from touching her. “It’s good to see you again.”

Taking her elbow, I help her to her feet.

“This is my designer, Tony,” Damian continues.

The tall man nods.

“He’ll show you around and tell you more about our designs and the inspiration behind them.” Damian catches my gaze and motions toward the door. “We’ll give you a minute.”

Leaving Violet in Tony’s care, I follow Damian outside.

The ground floor lobby looks a lot like the one on the upper floor outside Damian’s office. African art hangs on the walls and reflect on the shiny marble floor. The showroom is in a private reception area and visits are on appointment only. We’re alone in the spacious lobby.

“Brother,” he says drily, shoving his hands in his pockets.

My greeting is wry in return. “Damian.”

“Sober?”

I scoff. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn into our father.”

He studies me from under his lashes. “That’s very reassuring.”

“Cut the crap. Being funny doesn’t suit you.”

“When were you going to tell me you got married?”

“In time.”

His lips curl in one corner. “Who don’t you consider important enough? Me or your wife?”

“Fuck you, Damian.”

His smile widens. “Gus Starley’s daughter. I can only assume it’s business, not love.”

I clench my jaw. “Careful, brother. I won’t let you disrespect my wife.”

“No disrespect intended.” His gaze sharpens. “Am I to assume you’re looking for a ring to match the earrings?”

“If you’re still fishing for information, then yes, the earrings were for Violet.”

“Mm. That means you planned this marriage for a while.”