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“LUCIAN!”
I had my arms around him in a flash, like a limpet to his chest, pulling back just far enough to check out his expression, even through those glasses.
Only he wasn’t wearing those glasses. Not anymore. He was well and truly Lucian Morelli again.
He dropped me to the floor and he was smiling, smirking his trademark smirk.
“Are we all packed and ready to go?”
He was glowing. I could see it. I knew in that moment that the place we were heading to was a good one, not some crappy little place with a garden, trying to run for our lives.
I nodded and pointed to the suitcases on the floor by the bed, feeling like a nervous little girl in the gaze of her master.
“Yeah, we’re ready to go.”
His smirk burned even brighter.
“Good, because we have a limo waiting outside.”
My mouth must have dropped right open.
“A limo?”
He nodded and gestured to the window. I raced over and looked out at the street below and there it was. A sleek black limo parked and waiting.
I asked the obvious question.
“Where are we going?”
He was already picking up the suitcases, still smiling when he met my eyes.
“To Henley on Thames. A town on the outskirts of London.”
Henley on Thames sure sounded grand. I could feel the tingle of excitement at the idea of going anywhere with Lucian Morelli, but this was intense, because I could feel it in him, that excitement to match.
I wanted to ask him a million questions, but he didn’t give me the chance. He was too busy getting ready, checking the suitcases were fastened up securely before positioning them ready to go.
“Come on,” he said. “The less time we have to spend in this shithole, the better. I’m well and truly done with it.”
His voice was laced with himself. With the Lucian Morelli I’d grown to adore.
I picked up the cruddy suitcase of my own and joined him at the door.
“Ready?” he asked again and I nodded.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Good,” he said, holding the door open as I stepped on through to the hotel landing.
I was mute as I trotted along at his side, heading downstairs. He didn’t bother checking out. Didn’t even look at the reception desk as we walked on by to the main entrance, just paced along as him, proud, tall and on a mission to get where he was going.
Yep, there it was right outside the front doors. The limousine. It felt like a passport into the kind of world I truly thought I’d left behind.
“Farewell, fake fucking IDs,” Lucian growled and I followed him, stepping out into the evening chill.
The driver was suited and gave a little bow as he opened the limo doors for us. I slipped inside and Lucian followed me, pressing up close in the back seat and wrapping his arm around my shoulder as the driver loaded our suitcases into the trunk.
“Here we fucking go,” he said. “Say hello to the start of our whole new life.”
I felt starstruck as we pulled away, still trying to soak in the speed of the change around me. I stared back at the hotel as long as I could until it disappeared from view, feeling a strange attachment to it as we left it behind.
“Talk to me, then,” I said to him. “Where the hell are we going, in a limo, out of the blue? Where is this whole new life?”
He leaned back in his seat, still smirking.
“We’re going where we belong, Elaine. To a glorious damn manor house in Henley on Thames.”
Even the thought of being in a manor house was weird. I laughed out loud as I raised my foot from the floorboard, showing him a battered sneaker.
“Not sure I belong in a manor house looking like this.”
“Not yet,” he said. “But you will. I assure you, Miss Constantine, you will. You’ll be fitting in there just fine when we get you the wardrobe you belong in.”
He took my hand and pulled it onto his thigh, holding it firm as he kept on talking.
“My initial meeting with Quentin and Ellis went exceptionally well. We have many opportunities to discuss. Many.”
“That’s great,” I said. “So, we’re going to be safe here? We’re really going to be Lucian and Elaine living in the UK?”
“Yes, we’re really going to be Lucian and Elaine living in the UK. Only right now we’re going to be Lucian and Elaine living at the Quentin Estate, on the outskirts of Henley on Thames, staying with our very prestigious associates, Devon and his lovely wife, Francesca.”
He made it sound like these people were supposed to be our very best friends or something, even though I knew he barely had any friends at all. He read my mind.
“It’s amazing how attractive friendship can become to people who want to do business with you,” he said. “Believe me, sweetheart, Devon Quentin most certainly wants to be our friend. He’s dedicated a whole wing to our stay.”
