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“Friggen kills me,” I gasp. “If I wait—wait until he returns—then I don’t have to torture myself wondering if this stupid letter, and our flower, and my memories are the only thing I have of Victor. This is all too much!”
“For any other woman, yes. Some bloody nobility couldn’t have endured a day in Victor’s place or at his side. You’ve handled yourself well, despite the circumstances. However, I suppressed Ms. Elliott’s involvement long ago. That’s the only deceit I have in me. Victor would have my head if you refused to open these last notes. You must.”
“Alright.” With tensed lips, I stick my index finger beneath the seal and let it rip open. I add a snarky, “You’ll have to listen in, too.”
“I’m always here whenever you need.”
I collect the tears that won’t cease from falling and clear my strained throat. Seconds later, I’m reading Victor’s short note.
“I don’t know . . . if I’ll return, Little One,” my voice crashes like broken glass, “so, I thought it best that you have either Dr. Everhart or your father around when you open the other envelope. It contains the name of the person who mur—” My hands flap, airing the heat surging over my flesh. “Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” With burning eyes, I continue, “Who murdered your mum.”
He must’ve thought he’d return by now. Having Dad or Uncle Red around while sharing the news was a last resort.
A flurry of emotions ratchets through my body. “Will you please hold on to the second letter? Vic clearly intended to return to be with me. I’ve waited over a year to bring my mother’s murderer to justice. I will wait.”
22
Luxury
Twenty-eight days later . . .
Iremember obsessing through October of last year, fretting that I hadn’t spent an entire month dominated by “Dr. Victor Finch”before I was madly in love with him.
Damn, now I’m counting the days when he’ll return to me.
But today, I agreed to goout.To leave the slice of nirvana Victor purchased for us. Our home.
When I tell Burt, he’s taken back by my response. I can understand why, as he’s implored me to visit Urban Gardens for the past six weeks. Or Aliyah. Anyone.
“Ye-yes,” he sputters over his words, placing the teacup onto the counter. “I’ll have the driver ready at once. Where are we going?”
“You don’t have to . . .” I gesture to his crutches.
“Nonsense. I’ll sit with the driver and read.”
“We’re visiting Uncle Red.”
At the mention of Dr. Everhart, Burt’s brows push toward his well-kempt gray hair.
“Oh, I won’t leave you in suspense, Burt. You aren’t really a butler anymore, so you could’ve asked. And the answer is yes, I havetheenvelope.” I pat my purse.
“Very well then.”
Still, I’m staring at a face creased with wisdom and astonishment, so I add, “And no . . . my decision to visit Uncle Red after almost six weeks without Victor doesn’t imply . . . I’ve lost faith in Vic returning. I just know that Uncle Red has suffered from a broken heart a whole lot longer than I have.”And it’s friggen unfathomable.
“That’s kind of you, Luxury. Dr. Everhart deserves closure.” Burt grunts, attempting to arise on his crutches, and I’m at his side in seconds. “You as well,” he adds.
I jump, unnerved, when a servant appears, saying, “Allow me, Mrs. Tudor.” The staff started referring to me like that a while back, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them I might not ever become a Tudor.
* * *
Burt suggested a helicopter ride into the city, followed by commissioning a ride. I preferred the scenic route, mainly to give Vic more time to return to read the darn letter himself. So, a two-hour drive stretched on, and now the evening sun fans between cement and brownstone buildings alike.
I nudge my chin. “C’mon, Burt. I wouldn’t just leave you in the car.”
He pats the book he’s had trouble reading lately. Only having turned the page three times in the hours it took us to arrive. I needed something to fixate on, so I counted. Literally counted the minutes between Burt’s page turns.
“Rubbish, I’ll not impose.”
