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My child wags a finger at me. “If your tiara falls off and I have to create another one, it will be bigger. Bigger and better. Do you understand, Daddy?”
Try me. Eh. Too bold, Vic. This kid came straight from your loins. Victoria will bloody try you.
“I do,” I mutter.
My mother bends perfectly at the knee so the sunflower crown atop her head doesn’t tilt. “Take heed, Victor. This is how it’s done.”
My daughter smiles. “Thank you, Grandmummy Mary. Now, Daddy, what else was on my list?”
“Your list,” I undertone with a huff.
Our Queen of the Night blossomed for the first time just last year. Too young to recall, Victoria had set in motion specific requirements for tonight’s ceremony. Like constructing a throne, which now has touches of orchids and other Victoria-approved flowers laced around it.
As we take a final walk-through, the sun has fallen over the horizon, and I continue to glance toward the house.
How did Luxury receive her father?
On the chance that Jonah came, I ordered the butler to escort him straight to her. I stopped myself from warning the bloody bloke to assess Jonah Whitson’s demeanor. Burt always comprehended what was required of him scores of years ago. I’m trying to have faith in this new one. However, five years later, I’m still offering the old chap a ludicrous compensation package to return to us. He continues to decline my offer.
No worrying, Victor. My Little One’s all right in the company of her father. He’s her blood, for goodness’ sake.
And Silas is yours.
“Daddy.” Victoria tugs on my arm as I escort her around tables decorated with more flowers and favors. “Where are the lobs—”
“Lobsters.” I snort. Someone told her they were expensive, I bet. I point into the conservatory, where a pyramid of freshly steamed crustaceans stands before an award-winning chef. “There. At your request.”
“And the cav . . . cav . . .”
“Caviar?” I shake my head again, pointing to another portion of the feast. At first, I’d not considered Victoria’s list—written at the top was the bloody sunflower tiara. But when I looked closer, I got the shock of my life. “I’ll have you know, Victoria, your requirements put my and your mum’s wedding to shame. Caviar, really? Who bloody told you about these things?”
“Grandmummy Mary.”
“Figures.”
“The food is sooo pretty, Daddy.”
“Is it, now?” As stars shimmer in the sky above us, I squeeze my daughter in my arms. “Half of the food you’ll scrunch your nose at. No, all of it. All but the sandwiches.”
“Give meallof the sandwiches!”A salted breeze carries Graham’s exaggerated tone. He strolls along the path from the kitchen entrance, and Victoria discards me as she races toward him.
My gander flickers over him. “This is a black-tie affair. Most surely you brought a woman to mooch off me?”
“This is my lady for the evening.” He chuckles, blowing raspberry kisses on Victoria’s cheek.
While my daughter breaks out in obnoxious laughter, I snort.No, you’ve learned your lesson, little brother. So far, the lady Graham brought to dinner all those years ago hasn’t spoken a peep about Madeline Elliott’s death. And while I was never much of a praying man, I have uttered a few entreats that no more of my past comes back to haunt my family.
I attend church on Sundays, board meetings once per month, ballet weekly—and I’ll never admit that no other father can produce a plié as spry as mine.
* * *
An hour later, the soft clink of silverware against plates ceases as Luxury and her father wander into the conservatory. I lift Victoria from my lap and tell her to be mindful of her macaroni and cheese sandwich.
I haven’t eaten, opting to wait on my wife. I look her over, and she mouths, “Stop that,”while grinning.
“You’ve not visited the bloke in ages,” I mouth.
Once my lengthy strides have caught up with her, Luxury melts into my arms as I hold her tightly. My thumb follows the path of her lush mouth, and she pulls back just before I can claim her in a sordid kiss. “Vic, I’d like to introduce you to my father.”
