“No,” York snapped. “I don’t have time to clean up your messes. You know as well as I do how stubborn she is. She’s got it into her head that you need to be calmed down, and by god, that’s what she’ll do.”
“Send her to Paris.”
London knew that York understood him. He wasn’t just talking about the city in France, but also their brother, who just so happened to live in the town of the same name.
“Paris isn’t the one who is going to have a hell of a time disappearing in the next few decades when we have to reboot.”
London swore. Back in the days, before technology, before everyone and their mother had a camera in their back pockets, London could misbehave all he wanted, and no one would be the wiser. It was true that there were a few reports of him through the ages as a cad and a scoundrel, but it was only ever attached to a drawing of him. Never pictures. This was new, and he wasn’t a fan.
“You’re the heir apparent. Can’t you coax her into another charity or something?”
On the other end of the line, York sighed heavily. “No, London. I happen to be on her side with this.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“What we always do when Mom gets into one of these fixing moods. You do what she says, and eventually, she’ll leave you alone. It seems to me that Mom set up a good plan for you. All you have to do is play nice with the woman that was hired. And for the love of all that’s holy, do not fuck this woman.”
“Not likely. I hate this.”
“Better you than me,” York responded gruffly.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll send her your way when she’s done here.”
“Don’t you dare,” York growled.
With a laugh, London ended the call. York had been no help, and if he sweat a bit, thinking that he was Johanna’s next visit, then so be it. London was still desperate for a little bit of camaraderie and understanding. York had been less than helpful in making him feel better about their mother’s machinations. He called his other brother, ever the middle child. Paris was a notorious neutral party in the family squabbles, but he did sometimes surprise London with ideas of how centuries-old men should not be interfered with.
Try telling that to the formidable Johanna Warwick.
“Paris, dear brother,” London said as soon as the call connected.
“What do you want? I have paint drying on a canvas. Make the call quick.”
London rolled his eyes. Paris was always mid-painting or mid-sculpture. It was always very dramatic to bother him during his artistic projects. “I’m just letting you know that Mom is on the tear.” He gave him a brief rundown of what had happened with Johanna, and his conversation with York.
“I’m going to have to echo our older brother on this. I don’t see how this is my problem. You knew that this could happen. No. That this would happen. You’re a notorious attention monger, London. You knew making a splash with your sexual escapades was a risk. Especially when we’re only about thirty or forty years away from resetting our lives. In the age of technologies and selfies to top it off. This is a good plan that Mom has come up with. You won’t get any sympathy from me.”
London was fuming. “And if she comes to you next? What will you do then?”
“I’m not concerned about me. Our mother knows that there is no way I’m going to take a mate. My work is too important.”
London rolled his eyes with such vigor, he was sure Paris had heard the silent motion on the other end of the line. “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Mom that you’re feeling particularly lonely and that she should go visit you next.”
“Don’t…”
London didn’t give his brother the chance to finish his thought. He had already hung up. It made him smile, a mischievous, if not downright malicious smile. If his brothers weren’t going to help him against their mother’s well-intended scheming, he would send her their way next.
It was a sort of game they had been playing for centuries.
Tag, you’re it, mother fuckers.
He smiled to himself once again, planning out just how he would mess with the plan. London didn’t need a keeper. He was a grown-ass man who was in complete control of his own destiny. Nothing, and he meant it…nothing would change his ways. He was a playboy to his core, and it would always be like that.
Chapter Three
Bethany
Johanna Warwick had been one of Bethany’s mother’s closest friends. She had been there with her when her mother had died. Johanna had helped her plan the funeral while the police investigated both her and her stepfather. Johanna had been a comfort for Bethany in one of the darkest times of her life.
And so when Johanna told Bethany to meet at her home for afternoon tea, the young woman canceled her plans, and donned a sweet yet classical tea dress. It was pale tan, a soft material patterned with small white and blue flowers. Tiny buttons started at the collar and ran down to her waist. She paired it with tan heels and hoped that the rain would hold out.
It rarely did in London, but a lady could hope.
Thankfully, the gray clouds were still holding firm when Bethany rang the doorbell at the fancy house in one of London’s most prestigious neighborhoods. It didn’t take long for the door to swing open.
“Bethany, dear.” Johanna placed her delicate hands on her shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks in greeting. “You look as lovely as ever.” Her fingers touched Bethany’s chin, and her eyes misted over with emotion. “You look so much like her.”
Johanna’s words were a compliment, but they also made Bethany a bit sad. She did look like her mother. A lot. It was something her stepfather hated about Bethany. It also made her sad to see her face every time she looked in the mirror. She tucked a stray brown curl behind her ear and gave her a watery smile.
“Thanks, Johanna. How are you?”
They hadn’t seen each other since the funeral, but that was largely due to the fact that Joanna was always off traveling somewhere across the world. She had properties across the globe, and she spent her weeks hosting her international friends, planning benefits for all of her charities. It was a kind of life Bethany didn’t understand. Yes, her own family was very wealthy, but there was wealthy, and then there were the Warwicks.
They had their own level of what prosperity looked like.
Johanna led Bethany to a beautifully decorated sitting room. She went over to the table, a white linen was draped over it, and the tea was already steeping. She waved a hand in the air.
“I was having a wonderful time on Santorini with some of my old fashion friends. Unfortunately, I’ve been called away from the warm Mediterranean sun to deal with a crisis.”
Bethany leaned in. “Oh, no. What can I do to help?”
Johanna rewarded her with a nice warm smile. “Dear girl, you’re so kind.” She took a deep breath and shook her elegant head. “It’s about London.”
Bethany tried not to blanch or have any sort of reaction. Johanna knew her very well, and she was a shifter. Making her reactions imperceptible to the dragon was damn well near impossible.
“Oh?” Bethany said, picking at a nonexistent thread on her dress.