‘And the daughter of an oligarch. Only money will solve your problems, boy! Who gives a fuck that the girl’—in his archaic plummy accent, this sounds more like gel—‘has a face like a blind cobbler’s thumb!’
His guffaws turn to a deep bout of coughing, and for a moment, he struggles to catch his breath. But I’m not that lucky. At least, not today. But at seventy-eight years old, and after a lifetime of drink and debauchery, the devil must need him back in hell sometime, surely?
‘But you won’t mind, will you, Willie boy, eh? You’re used to looking at cunts every day as it is.’ The coughing turns to wheezing as I wait patiently for him to expire. Then I decide I’ve had enough for today—hell, the next decade—so I cut him off.
My father married my mother for love, or what little he was capable of, so it’s ironic that he expects me to marry for money, but he does.
I’ve given up explaining that I don’t give a fuck about history or lineage, that I won’t be marrying for Russian money, nor Chinese. And I won’t ever marry for love. How could I profess to love someone, only to ruin them afterward by saddling them with my lot in life? I won’t be passing this albatross on to my offspring because there won’t be any.
I often wonder if this knowledge has had some kind of subliminal effect on my choice of medicine. No matter.
This will be my problem alone—and it’ll end with me. I’ll die eventually, of course. There just won’t be anyone waiting and wondering if they’d be better off smothering me to end their own misery. Because I’ll probably turn into my father, who spite seems to keep alive. That and the fact that he’s been pickled in whisky and fine wine. Our relative longevity is another family curse, though usually aimed at those around us.
All in all, I’ll be doing the world a favour by wiping out the Travers.
Chapter Thirteen
SADIE
‘It just doesn’t seem like your kind of sport.’
Sunday morning, I beat Will to the car door, closing it with athunkas I eye the sports field in front of me with doubt.
‘I’m not sure where you’re going with this,’ Will says, coming around to my side of the car. He slings his arm around my shoulder purely just to peer down at me, I think.
‘You just seem like more of a tennis man, maybe.’ I wriggle out from under him, my feet sliding a little on the weed strangled gravel, the ground beneath my feet slippery from a bout of overnight rain. The man is handsy, for sure; even though I’m conscious of those boundaries, he keeps smushing them flat.
‘Don’t let this pretty façade fool you, love. Under all this gorgeousness beats the heart of an animal.’
I don’t doubt it. The stalking, the extreme confidence—this man’s spirit animal is definitely some kind of big jungle cat. And as the morning sunlight crests his face, I decide there’s definitely something golden and leonine about him. But I don’t say any of that, going with instead, ‘Isn’t it really violent?’
‘Only on a good day.’ He turns his head to the sunlight dappling thorough the leaves on the branches of a large oak tree.Like a cat in a patch of sunlight, soaking up its rays.
‘That was kind of an odd answer.’
‘He’s kind of an odd man,’ says a friendly voice from behind.
‘Keir!’ Will calls delightedly, turning to face the man walking towards us. Jeans and a blazer, the man looks more like he’s ready to step onto a private jet rather than a muddy playing field.
‘I thought that was your scrawny arse I was looking at,’ his friend says in a smooth Scot’s accent as he suppresses a grin.
‘My arse is spectacular, isn’t it, Sadie?’
I frown back at him, but it has the usual effect.Yep, none. ‘If your ass was as big as your head, you’d be in trouble,’ I grumble.
‘I see you’re well acquainted wi’ him.’
Will doesn’t give me a chance to answer as, ever the gentleman—ha!—he begins with introductions.
‘Sadie, I’d like you to meet Keir. Keir, meet my new friend Miss Sadie.’
‘We’re not really friends,’ I say, taking the man’s hand. His eyebrows almost hit his hairline, a look I interpret well enough. ‘I’m not one of his clients, either. I just thought I’d take the opportunity to clarify.’
‘Aye, sure.’ His Scot’s accent deepens, and he begins to rub the back of his neck as he pulls away. Then, in a motion I can’t really be sure of, his eyes flick quickly down to my crotch.
A Pavlovian response? The tales this man could probably tell. My eyes slide to Will, who appears to be very satisfied by something currently. But, yep, I just bet he kissesandtells.
Will begins to chuckle, tightening his arm around my shoulder again, this time pulling me in to kiss the crown of my head. ‘You are so entertaining.’
