Prince. Once again, I was reminded of Emmy and Alaric’s past, of a time when they’d been close enough to give each other nicknames. Cinderella and Prince Charming. A hot bud of jealousy swelled in my chest, which was completely irrational since Emmy was happily married now. Stand down, hormones. Alaric had made it quite clear that he was focusing on his career for the moment, and I was getting over a messy divorce. Plus there was the whole lying/stealing thing.
No, I had to concentrate on work. My salary from Sirius was the only thing keeping me and my current horse off the breadline, and with my sketchy résumé, I couldn’t afford to screw it up. Not with Chaucer’s livery bill due in a week.
“I only booked accommodation from tomorrow night,” I said. “If we go straight to Kentucky, I’ll need to change the reservation.”
Alaric straightened and came back to his seat beside me. “We’ll go tomorrow. But this painting’s jinxed, I can feel it. Just like Emerald. Every time we get a lead, it blows up in our faces.”
The painting in question was Red After Dark, a modern masterpiece by Edwin Bateson valued at a cool million bucks. It had been stolen from the Becker Museum in Boston thirteen years ago along with four other paintings, and I’d left it in my freaking car while I nipped into Tesco. I wasn’t aware of that at the time, obviously—my ex-boss had lied to me about the contents of the package—but my need to buy carrots for Chaucer had been the catalyst that led to the grand unravelling of my life and landed me on the plane today.
And Emerald? The Girl with the Emerald Ring was Alaric’s nemesis. Believed to be the main target of the Becker raid, the oil painting hadn’t been seen since the day it was stolen. Alaric had been on her trail eight years ago, ready to swap what was effectively a ransom for her safe return, when the pay-off had vanished along with his reputation.
See? We really were quite similar. I’d lost Red, and he’d lost Emerald.
Then we’d both lost everything.
“That’s the way of the world,” Emmy told him. “If shit ran smoothly, neither of us would have jobs, would we?”
“I’d be good with that. Wouldn’t you like to lie around on the beach all day, listening to the waves?”
“Nah, I’d get bored.” The plane hit another rough patch, and her bullets fell over and rolled off the table again. “Fuck it. On second thoughts, the beach doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
Wow.
Alaric had told me a little about the Riverley estate before we arrived, but I still wasn’t prepared. Quite fancy, he’d said. I’d feel right at home.
Sure, if I were the Duchess of Marlborough.
My parents’ mansion was “quite fancy.” This…this was something tourists would pay money to gawk at. I could only imagine what the inside was like. And Emmy lived here?
When Ravi turned from the front seat of the chauffeur-driven SUV that had been at the airfield to meet us, his eyes were wide.
“This is a house?”
At least I wasn’t the only one to be surprised.
“It’s more of a playground for grown-ups,” Alaric said.
Emmy’s car had left us in the dust on the journey, probably because she’d shooed her driver into the back seat and taken the wheel herself. I spotted him when we reached the turning area at the top of the driveway, leaning against one of the stone pillars that flanked the massive front doors, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Mental note: don’t get in a car with Emmy driving.
Sky didn’t seem shaken, but she was staring up at the gargoyles that decorated the roofline with a dazed expression on her face. Glad it wasn’t just me. Then she caught me looking at her and scowled as I climbed out of the car.
“What?” she asked. “We weren’t all born with a silver spoon up our arse, okay?”
I was getting used to Sky now. To her snark and the somewhat abrasive personality she used as a defence mechanism. Underneath the prickly exterior, she had a good heart. I nodded towards the building.
“No, it seems some people were born with a gold spoon.”
“Platinum, actually,” Emmy said as she slammed the car door. “But that was my husband, not me. Need a hand with your stuff?”
“Uh… Yes, please.”
Alaric had already started unloading the suitcases. One, two, three, four of them. And embarrassingly, they all belonged to me. He and Ravi had brought a duffel bag each, Sky carried a well-worn backpack, and Emmy had a laptop bag and nothing else. Until the others arrived at my flat to pick me up, I hadn’t realised they were travelling so light, and by then, it was too late to repack. Whenever I’d gone on trips with Piers or my parents, it had been practically mandatory to take a mountain of luggage. A girl never knew when she’d need that third cocktail dress. But with hindsight, perhaps I could’ve left some of the shoes behind, and the yoga mat too. This place probably had its own gym. Heck, I bet there was even a personal trainer just waiting to whip everyone into shape.
I moved to grab a suitcase, but before I could extend the handle, a small man with orange hair bounced down the steps, his silver jumpsuit shining in the sun.
“Ooh, new people!” He scurried towards Sky but quickly veered in my direction when she took a step back. “You must be Bethany? I love your necklace.” Oof. He squashed the breath out of me in a hug, then set his sights on Ravi. “Hey, hot stuff. I’m Bradley.”
Behind his back, Emmy rolled her eyes. “Bradley, for fuck’s sake let people get in the house before you start molesting them.”
“I’m just being welcoming.”
“Really? I pay your salary, and I didn’t get so much as a hello.”
“You live here. That’s different.” Now he headed for Sky again, and I noticed her fists ball up at her sides when he flung his arms around her. “So, you’re Emmy’s new project? I hope you know what you’ve let yourself in for. She’s a real slave driver. I’ve barely had a day off since Christmas.”
“Bradley, nobody made you go to every single fashion week. You also invited yourself to ‘help’ in Florida and then took it upon yourself to redecorate my house. Again. And you have an assistant now. Where is Izzy, anyway?”
“I sent her to the spa. Her manicure was chipped.” He gave up on Sky, who was stiff as a board, and grabbed my hand instead. “Come on, I’ll show you around. The guest house is ready for you and your men.”
His wink told me exactly what he was thinking.
“My men? No, no, it’s not like that.” Both of them? Not even in my dreams. “Not at all.”
“Sure it isn’t. Oh dear, you need a manicure too. I’ll book you in. Does tomorrow morning work?”
“Actually, we’re going to Kentucky tomorrow.”
“Tonight, then. I’ll get a beautician to come over. Where’s the rest of the luggage?”
“Uh, this is it. The cases are all mine.”
“Well, at least somebody knows how to pack properly. Leave it, leave it, one of the men can put it in your room.” He tugged me towards the front doors, and I pleaded with my eyes for Alaric to save me, but the cruel sod just grinned and waved. “The main house was built at the end of the nineteenth century, although it’s been extensively modernised since…”