Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
He pulled away but didn’t let go as he looked down on me and smiled broadly.
Startling blue eyes. Thick, golden-blond hair, the same as his mother’s color, if a shade darker. A healthy tan. He was tall. He was fit. He was handsome.
He was fake as shit.
I’d seen pictures of him, more when I started researching the whole family after Portia hooked up with him, then deeper when she’d asked us to this week at Duncroft.
He was not the financial wunderkind his brother was. He was his mother’s light to his father’s dark. And Daniel’s reputation was more of a happy-go-lucky playboy than his older brother’s inveterate philanderer.
But regardless of his effusive welcome, he did not want me there, and the fact he’d not even glanced at Lou told me how he felt about her.
In other words, the edge I was riding about this week got sharper.
Sharp enough to cut.
When I said nothing, he finally let me go and looked to Lou.
“Louella,” he muttered far less enthusiastically, as was his touching only one cheek to hers.
I watched this and turned annoyed eyes to my sister before I moved in and did the touching cheeks thing myself. “Portia.”
“You look pretty,” she said.
We moved away and I let my gaze wander her head and hair before I replied with grudging honesty, “You do too.”
I turned my attention to Daniel’s parents, and I saw that Portia had told no fibs. Like Daniel and Portia, Lou and me, they were decked out. Exquisitely tailored suit and tie for Richard, a one-shouldered, deep-rose satin gown with a knotted waistline and some gathering to give it some interest, for Jane.
“Lord and Lady Alcott,” I greeted.
“Oh, it’s Richard and Jane, of course,” Daniel invited, to his father’s jaw growing tight, the same happening around his mother’s eyes.
“Drink, Miss Ryan?” I heard said low, and I looked to my side to see a tall, thin man in a black three-piece suit and pale-blue tie that had the family shield emblazoned on it standing there, though also slightly behind me.
A new member of staff.
The butler.
That meant I’d seen four maids, whatever they called the guy who took care of the bags and car, and a butler.
Already a lot of staff, but I figured there was even more.
A number of them.
As I thought: massive house, massive staff.
I had no idea, but maybe the Alcotts were even more loaded than we were, and that was saying something.
“Champagne, if you have it,” I ordered. I turned to the room at large. “We’re celebrating, correct?”
“Absolutely,” Daniel brayed cheerily.
Richard and Jane remained mute.
“Mrs. Ryan?” the butler asked Lou.
“Champagne too, please.”
He dipped his head and floated away.
Daniel had retrieved his own drink, what appeared to be a G and T, and he lifted it my way.
“I’m not ashamed to admit, I’m addicted to your éclairs,” he proclaimed. “When I’m in the city, I try to swing by your shop. This was even before I met Portia,” he declared, sliding an arm along my sister’s waist and tucking her to his side.
“Well, thank you,” I replied.
“Best patisserie in London, even The Guardian said so,” Daniel told his parents.
Portia piped up. “Daphne studied in Paris. Grand diplôme from Le Cordon Bleu with an internship with François Perreault. He’s known to have the best patisserie in Paris. It’s in the Latin Quarter.”
Unspoken by my sister, but probably known by all the Alcotts, was that I fell in love with and married François Perreault, and then, after the third time I discovered he’d cheated on me, I’d fallen out of love and divorced him.
The courtship lasted two years.
The marriage lasted two more.
The divorce was five years ago.
The bitterness remained.
Although everyone knew François, I suspect even the Alcotts—he was that famous because he was that good—they were completely unimpressed.
I wished I could have filmed their non-reaction at the mention of Frankie’s name. He’d lose his mind that they hadn’t sighed with reverence.
Though, Lady Jane had a figure like Lou’s, so I doubted she’d had an éclair or a mille-feuille in a long time.
Or ever.
The butler handed me a coupé glass of champagne.
I checked to see if Lou had hers (she did), before I raised mine and asked, “Shall we toast to family and new friends?”
“Perfect!” Daniel cried. “I’ll toast to that!”
Lou and Portia raised their glasses with Daniel, Richard and Jane slightly held theirs in front of them.
I ignored their lukewarm participation (they were still participating) and said, “Cheers.”
And then I drank half the glass.
Four
THE TURQUOISE ROOM
I already knew something was going wrong, I just didn’t know what it was, before we entered a dining room that was a study of turquoise.
The tablecloth was white.
The wood was cherry.
There was a massive tapestry on the wall that looked ancient.
But everything else, including the trim on the china, the vases that held extraordinary flower arrangements, the embroidery on the serviettes, and the cast to the crystal glasses and candelabra, was turquoise.