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“I’m not afraid of marriage.” I began plucking up the engagement rings one by one and examining them. “But, like hard drugs, I prefer to stay away from the concept.”
“Because—also like hard drugs, it gets you addicted.” Christian pointed at a silver ring with a cushion diamond.
I needed to find something not excruciatingly expensive. Didn’t want to blow my cover as a billionaire to a woman who would marry a no-show mouth breather with an oral sex name just so she could afford to shop on Fifth Avenue.
Arsène pushed his face into the pillow of rings with a scowl. “Which one screams Daphne Markham to you?”
“Dunno.” I skimmed through all of them. “Is there anything that looks like it would look good on a thirty-year-old divorcée with two children and a time-share in Aspen Highlands?”
Arsène chuckled. “Aren’t you a lucky bastard?”
I knew she wanted something mouthwateringly gauche, with a diamond the size of her head. But I also knew she’d tell immediately if I got her something expensive, and I wasn’t in a hurry to please her.
“She’d probably hate an heirloom ring.” I scrubbed the stubble on my chin. I pushed the pillow with the rings toward the salesperson. “Which means that’s exactly what she’s going to get.”
“An heirloom?” Christian glowered at me. “You need a family to have heirloom pieces. Your ass is lonelier than a brain cell in Congress.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
Arsène clapped my shoulder. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Are we going to rob a nice elderly lady?” Christian inquired calmly. “Because that’s the onlywayhe is getting this woman a family heirloom.”
“Granny needn’t worry.” Arsène turned around, heading for the glass door. “We’re going to a place where you sell your soul for a few bucks.”
“Wall Street?” Christian and I both followed him reluctantly.
Arsène laughed, already hailing a taxi. “Pawnshop hopping.”
Seven Brooklyn pawnshops and one purchase later, I returned to my love nest with Poppins, a.k.a. the woman who vomited into my messenger bag, then had the audacity to tell me I was uncivilized for throwing it into a public trash can because it would leave a terrible smell.
I pushed the door open. Her voice filled the apartment like soap bubbles. She seriously had the poshest accent I’d ever heard, including the royal family.
“... no, Kieran. Mooning thy neighbor is absolutelynota form of courting.”
“Why?” I heard a male voice rising from the speakerphone in the kitchenette.
“Because it’s harassment, isn’t it?” Duffy leaned against the counter, sipping lemon water. She hadn’t noticed me yet. “Besides, she won’t fancy you for it.”
“Why not?” Kieran demanded. “I have a great sense of humor, and an even greater arse.”
Wait, wait, wait. That was Kieran, her twin brother? Why did he sound like Michael Caine? She sounded like a gently bred, privately educated princess, and he ... like the person who cleaned her chimney.
Then the penny dropped. Duffy didn’t come from money. Of course she hadn’t. That was why she was so obsessed with it.
“Honey, I’m home!” I sauntered in, deciding to mess around with her a little. After all, it had been four hours since I’d last done so.
She raised her head from her gargantuan gallon of water and stared at me like I’d just handed her over to ISIS.
“Who’s this?” Kieran probed on the other line.
“No one.” She shot me an intimidatingDon’t you dare talklook, sprinkling it with violent hand-waving gestures.
“Her fiancé.” I popped open the fridge and grabbed one of her green juices.
“Hey, mate. I’m her older brother, Kieran,” the person replied without missing a beat.
“Twinbrother,” she amended. “He was born a few minutes before me.”
