“That’s Graham Thurgood. The one and only.”
“Ah. Does he live here?”
“Not usually. He’ll stay over sometimes. But he just had aheart attack, so he’s been recuperating here since getting out of the hospital.”
“Sorry to hear that. Is there a Mrs.Thurgood?”
“Graham’s been widowered for a long time.”
Damn, Peter looks good in the morning. Only the presence of some slight under-eye circles betrays their previous night’s activities.
“And the woman with him…that’s Rose, right?”
“Yes. Rose is the glue that keeps everything and everyone, including Graham, together.”
Vivian’s head throbs, and she slinks down onto the edge of the bed. Her eyes briefly flicker to her black lace underwear strewn on the floor a few feet away. She’s having trouble focusing, between the desire building inside her, her terrible hangover, and a need to find out more information. “And Oliver, the one who got in a fight with the waiter, is his son?”
“Yeah.”
“So where does Oliver live?”
Peter’s still smiling, but he’s tilted his head, one eyebrow raised, and Vivian gets the impression that he’s suddenly a little guarded. “Why all these questions? Why are you so curious?”
“Well, um, I’m just trying to get the lay of the land, is all,” she fumbles with her words. “For years, I’ve sourced antiques for this place, and I always wondered who the man behind the curtain was,” she tries to joke, and immediately realizes it has come out wrong. “Sorry, not that Graham is a fraud…I’m not operating on all cylinders this morning.” There’s a chill in the air that she can feel on the tops of her shoulders.
“I get it,” Peter says to her relief. “I like to meet the people I design houses for. Oliver is…a bit of a nomad. He’s recently returned from living abroad in Southeast Asia. He comes andgoes.” He pauses. “Oliver and Graham don’t always see eye to eye on things.”
“Oh? They don’t?”
“Oliver has a direction he wants to take the Knox in that his father doesn’t agree with.”
“What kind of direction?” she asks, hoping she’s not pushing it.
“We have a long history here…certain traditions. And over the years, Graham has moved us away from those, and there are those of us who want to move it back to how it was.”
Those of us.Is he Team Oliver, then?
“But I digress. To answer your question, Michael is your man—the sole antiques buyer…He’sparticular,” Peter says with almost a sneer. He leans over to glance at the table clock, and his face clouds. “Shit. I need to hop in the shower. I’ve got a flight to catch.”
“A flight?”
“Yeah. Milan. I’m working on a hotel. I’ll be back on Saturday.”
“But you’ve only just returned from a work trip,” she says, and she instantly regrets it. She hates the way she sounds, like a whiny girlfriend. Christ. This is so unlike her. But this is the first he’s mentioned it.
Her vulnerability must be written across her face, because he pulls her toward him.
They touch, skin to skin, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck, growing hungry. He has a certain fresh smell, something she couldn’t pinpoint until she peeked in the bathroom shower and noticed the Dove soap. She likes this about him: the plain, simple bar of soap he prefers to use. She wants to find out more about him in a way she’s never cared to for others: his favorite book, song, movie, dessert.
What turns him on the most, though last night she gained a bit of insight.
“I’ll miss you,” he says, as he runs his fingers up and down her spine, making her skin tingle. His finger pauses at the blade of her left shoulder, where she has a small birthmark, and traces it. Then next to it, he draws an invisible heart shape. She watches the sharp lines of his arm sleeve moving against her own pale skin. Soft and hard. Hard and soft.
It’s like her heart: that firm mass with a surprising soft center. But she needs to keep her edge. She doesn’t know if she can trust him. If she could, wouldn’t she have already shared the story of her family history, or at least the appropriate bits and pieces?
Why hasn’t she?
“I’m sorry, Vivian, I should have told you. It was a last-minute trip, and, well, to be honest, I’m not used to having someone to tell things like this.”
