Suddenly, blue eyes turn my way, a sphynx in pigtails. “I do have a lot of feelings and most of them are not very nice.” She inhales. “I don’t like Ella. I want you to send her away.”
“You have to give her a chance.”
“I want Lavender to come back.”
I recently discovered that a heart pang is an actual thing—a visceral feeling of emotional distress. It’s like my heart contracts every time I hear Lavender’s name—every time a memory or a thought swims into my head.
“Sweetheart,” I say on a sigh. “I can’tmakeher come back.” Because, if I could, I already would have.
What a plan I’d made, the revenge I’d managed so meticulously. Marry Brin Whittington’s sister as revenge, use every opportunity to make him feel fucking awful. Let him imagine all sorts of depravities and wonder when I’d kick her to the curb. When the reality was, our deal was to be good for us both. At the end of the twelve months, I’d have Daisy and Lavender would be reasonably wealthy. She’d have freedom, I suppose. Instead, the trap I’d fashioned for Brin snared me, snapping shut on my heart.
Which is no more than I deserve.
“I want to go to Whit & With—to the gallery.”
“We can’t, not today.” This time, my heart plummets because there’s no “we” about those visits. Daisy goes after school some days to see Primrose and Lavender.And Tod.But I’m not welcome. That much has been made crystal clear.
I probably didn’t help that the last time I saw the fucker’s face, I lunged for him.
Fucking Tod. He’s not even a remote threat—it was just instinct.
I know she’ll never love him. I even fucking apologized.
“Uncle Raif… you are a big fat butthead.”
I guess I should be grateful for the way her rosebud mouth purses because I’m sure there’s more where that came from as she channels her inner Lavender.
“Yep. You’re right, I am. But this big fat butthead is just doing the best that he can.”
I’m also not done yet.
Not by a long shot.
46
LAVENDER
“You’resure you don’t want to come out?”
“Positive.” I don’t look up from my book. It’s not a romance book—I’m no longer in my romance era. I’m in my murderous one because the book I’m currently reading is about a woman who murders her husband.
A little riskier than divorce, but it definitely has its merits.
“Ned?”
“Sorry, what?”
I look up as Tod drops to one knee next to the sofa. Once upon a time, I would’ve killed to see him on one knee before me.But I was just kidding myself.
“You worry me,” he says, his concerned gaze meeting mine
“I don’t know why. I’m fine.”
“You’re anything but fine.” He takes my hand, his gaze dropping to where I no longer wear Raif’s diamond wedding band. “I’ll be glad when you can put this all behind you.”
“You and me both.” I take my hand back, pulling my fingers under my pajama sleeve. I don’t know when that will be—if that will ever be. I seem to veer from feeling like my heart has been crushed, like I want to get into bed and never get out again, to an almost apocalyptical kind of violence, like I want to bring the wrath of heaven down on Raif’s head.
But I can’t stay in bed. I have a business to run, and Polly (surprisingly, not Brin) breathing down my neck. Polly’s conversations go something like this:
