He lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “What is a demon without an angel to protect?”
His words send shivers through my soul as desire replaces indifference. His aftershave is heady; his words destructive. His touch burns and his presence domineering.
“Come. Our business is concluded here.”
“But won’t they think us rude?”
“I’ve already made our excuses.”
He pulls me toward the door, and as if by magic, the butler appears with my wrap. As we step outside into the moonlight, I’m surprised when Joseph turns in the opposite direction to his home.
“Where are we going?”
“Walk with me.”
I’m shocked because we are a walking advertisement of wealth. Surely there is a thief somewhere close to relieve us of our possessions.
“Isn’t it rather dangerous to parade the streets wearing diamonds?”
I remind him, and he shrugs.
“Possibly for some, but not us.”
“You’re a little too sure of yourself.”
“Perhaps I want danger.”
“But I don’t.”
“Are you sure about that, Tiffany?”
My words falter, and he whispers darkly, “You pretend to be an innocent angel, but I see behind the façade.”
“You’re full of shit.”
His low chuckle is unexpected, and as we turn the corner, I notice a slumped figure on the pavement wrapped in a sleeping bag.
My breath hitches when I detect the gleam of metal on the ground and a withered hand gripping the handle of the blade with one eye on us.
“Arthur.”
Joseph stops, and the man sits up, a broad smile on his face.
“Mr. Ravera, sir.”
He nods respectfully, and Joseph inclines his head toward the house behind him.
“Is business good tonight?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
Joseph nods, reaching inside his pocket, before dropping a wad of twenty-pound notes into the man’s outstretched hand.
“Stay safe, Arthur.”
The man chuckles. “I should say the same to you.”
Joseph grips my hand tightly.
