Henry tips his chin at me. “Don’t fuck her.”
I pull back. “Where did that come from?”
Julian nods. “She wanted you. Could see it in those greedy little eyes of hers.” He squints at me in what I assume is an impression of Melanie.
I flip the back of my hand at him. “That was about the money. The recognition. Nothing to do with anything else. She’s holding out for more.”
Henry slips one hand into his pinstripe jacket and rubs two fingers of his other hand over his lower lip. “She’s exactly the type of woman you always go for and need tostopgoing for.”
I bristle. “I don’t have a type.”
“Sure you do,” Julian says, listing on his fingers. “Middle-aged, divorced or single, sometimes with their own children.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Every middle-aged woman is going to fit into those parameters.”
Julian and Henry share a meaningful glance that sets me on edge.
“Melanie ticks your boxes,” Julian says. “Fiscally responsible, reliable, unlikely to run away or shirk responsibilities. Not flighty. You know…” He shrugs, and I gesture for him to continue. “Boring,” he says with a reluctant roll of the eyes, as if it’s my fault he had to say something so critical.
Henry sighs. “Not every woman you date has to fit your pre-conceived idea of a good stepmother for your daughter.” Julian nods his slow and serious agreement. “She’s eighteen,” Henry continues. “She needs a mother about as much as I do.”
Eighteen.
My daughter, Lizzie, left her London day school this summer with a slew of top grades, and I’m so proud of the young woman she’s become. But holy fuck.Eighteen.
I was eighteen when she was born.
I have no idea how she got so old. HowIgot so old.
The air settles, thick with Henry’s accusation, and I can’t deny the truth of it. I do always assess women through the lens of potential stepmother. Lizzie’s welfare has always come first, and there seemed no point in dating a woman who couldn’t fill that maternal role. The only thing is, I’ve never found a good one, and recently, I’ve more or less given up on finding anyone at all.
Julian and Henry look concerned. More concerned than I’d like, in fact. I’ve known them since we were thirteen, when we went to boarding school together, the year after my family moved here from the States. Henry and I went on to Cambridge afterwards, and Julian left us for Oxford, although we never lost touch.
If they weren’t my closest friends in the world, I’d tell them to get the fuck out of my building for encroaching on personal matters when we’re here for business, but they are, so I tolerate their concern.
As godfathers to Lizzie, they’ve been ever-present figures in her life. They’re more like uncles to her, and brothers to me, so while Melanie Castow might not be of interest to me, what they have to say is.
Left to my own devices, Lizzie would come first every single time. Occasionally, I need my friends to remind me to balance my needs with hers.
“You need a change,” Henry says, tugging a piece of black fabric from his jacket pocket and tossing it onto the table. It skids in my direction, and I step towards it, picking up what looks like a Scarlet Pimpernel black face mask edged in velvet.
“What the fuck is this for?” I say, letting it dangle between my pinched thumb and forefinger.
“Masquerade night at Delirium,” Henry deadpans, as if this is a plan we’d put in place weeks ago, nothing more irregular than a business meeting I’d forgotten, and he’s casually reminding me.
Henry has owned and run Delirium, the most elite sex club in London, on the side of his more socially acceptable business ventures, ever since his father, the fourth Duke of Brecktonshire, died there in the arms of his mistress. Of course, that’s not what the obituary in theTelegraphsaid, but it’s what everyonein the knowknows to be true.
Sex is Henry’s bread and butter, although he conceals it well amongst London society. If you aren’t inclined to discover the allure of sex clubs, you’d accept him at face value: an upper-class aristocrat with a property portfolio to rival the king’s.
He’s been pestering me to sign up for membership to the place for years, and I’ve never conceded, not least because I don’t have fucking time. Raising my daughter alone and running Jupiter Private Equity takes up almost every waking hour. Granted, Lizzie needs me far less now, but she and the business have always been my top priorities.
I toss the flimsy mask back at him. “I’m not coming to your sex club.”
“Mask nights bring out the kinkiest women,” Julian says, tugging his own mask out of his pocket and flapping it. “They’re the best nights.”
“Not my scene,” I say, gently shaking my head. “If I’m having sex with someone, I want to see their face. I want to know what I’m getting into, and with whom.”
Henry and Julian share another of those looks. I don’t like it one little bit.
