“He is not!” I gasp, nearly knocking over my wine, “Gregor’s so… you know. Robotic. Does he like guys? Can he handle someone fabulous like Marcus?”
He shrugs. “I’m as surprised as you are, but Gregor shaved and even put on cologne. He’s planning on some action tonight.”
Choking on my bruschetta, I try to stop laughing. “Okay, you have to stop. I don’t want to picture this, but I will tell you Marcus will own that poor man by sunrise.”
Raising his glass, he toasts, “Here’s to getting laid.”
Clinking my glass against his, I echo, “Here’s to getting laid and not telling us a single detail. For once.”
Dinner could not be more perfect. Lachlan tells me about his deeply ill-advised childhood adventures with his brothers over fresh oysters, and mussels and frites. “No one thought the old man would be there, so when he showed up and three of his daughters had their skirts up, he grabbed a shotgun and…” I can’t stop laughing as our house manager approaches with the main course.
“Crobster rolls,” Jerome intones, setting down the plates and gracefully disappearing like a puff of smoke.
“What are these?” Lachlan eyes his plate.
“This is Marietta’s specialty,” I rub my hands together, “she must be in a good mood tonight. Nova Scotia snow crab and lobster, truffle aioli, and dill on a bun.”
It’s not until dessert with shortcake and citrus ice cream that he brings up the next challenge we’re facing.
“So, taking care of Alonso Senior…” he ponders. His dark hair is ruffled from the ocean wind and the candlelight is shadowing his sharp cheekbones.
My husband is so pretty. Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“You can’t be the one to do it,” I say firmly. The thought of him flying off, risking his lifeagainfor my family is too much, and my heart starts pounding. “Not you.”
His head tilts, watching me. “Are ya’ worried about me gettin’ the job done? I dinna ken to be touched or insulted.”
“It can’t be you,” I repeat, “you’ve done all the hard things. I can get back on the dark web and-”
“Not necessary.” He’s swapped out wine for his beloved Macallan. “I’ve already set it up.”
“You did?”
“Aye. It’s gonna cost us, though. He wants twenty-five million pounds and your statue, the Rodin.” He’s sipping his drink, looking at me innocently and my eyes narrow.
“My statue?” Suspicion fills me and I unconsciously grip my knife. “The only person who’d know about my Rodin is the original- You knew who the real assassin was all this time, didn’t you!” I accuse him furiously, “I’ve been waiting for this person to come kill me or take all our money and you-you!You made me marry you by threatening me with this mysterious, cheated assassin and-”
He has thenerveto look confused. “I dinna threaten ya’ with the assassin to get ya’ to marry me. I threatened to kill Marcus to make ya’ say ‘I do.’”
I throw my napkin at him and bolt up from the table. “I can’t believe I was about to tell you I loved you! You are the worst, you-”
Lachlan’s up and has an arm around me in a heartbeat.
“You were gonna tell me you loved me?” He grins, and it looks happy, not mocking.
“Well… well not now!” I shout. “Honestly, I can’t believe you would pull that off and never tell me!” I try kicking him in the leg and he moves just in time, but it loosens his arm enough for me to take off, down the stone steps and across the beach.
I want to drown him. I want to drop a piano on his head. I want-
A heavy body crashes into me and I fall onto the beach, a hand around my throat keeping my face from getting buried in wet sand.
“Forgive me, my wife,” His muscular body is covering mine. There’s still a hint of laughter in his penitent tone and I throw an elbow back, feeling it connect with his ribs. “I dinna know you were losing sleep over this. I dinna think you’d feel threatened. Aye. I likely should have told you.”
“You think?” I snap, but I stop fighting him, resting my knees and elbows in the sand.
“This is only for you and me,” he whispers in my ear, and I silently curse the goosebumps springing up on my skin. “The Toscano Mafia out of Naples is one of the oldest mafias in Europe. They’re known for their skill as assassins. When you told me the man instructed you to meet at our club, I knew it had to be Dario. He runs all the sex clubs for the Toscanos and told me he was comin’ in for a visit. He was not happy when I got to you before he did. He really wanted that statue for his wife. I already settled the debt for the wasted trip.”
“Oh, good.” I’m trying to keep my perfectly justified outrage going. “Perfect. Another sex club owner.”
