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Finally, at the bottom of the wooden box, I find a silver-framed photograph of Kit, Maryanne, and myself as children. Kit stands proudly between us, taller than us because he’s about twelve and Maryanne and I are seven and eight, respectively. My father took the photograph among the dunes on Trevethick beach in Cornwall. Kit’s arms are draped possessively over us, and he’s beaming with pride. He was always king of the castle. His blond curls shimmer in the Cornish sunlight that burnishes our tawny hair, and we stand in dark contrast to our golden elder brother. I remember our father encouraging us to smile, and he must have said something funny, because Maryanne and I are both laughing—even though we’d probably just been playing a game that Kit devised, where we were at his capricious mercy.
The light is wonderful. Hold still, progeny.
That was Dad’s collective noun for the three of us.
And his love is clear to see in the frame.
I don’t remember seeing this photograph anywhere in Kit’s house, but it must have meant something to him if he had it framed. And that gives me a warm but melancholy feeling of homesickness.
Kit. Kit. Kit.
I’m so sorry.
I trace my finger over his image…
You bastard. You let your anger get the better of you.
A lump forms in my throat.
Even though you were sometimes an arsehole, I loved you and I miss you.
I hear the rattle of a key in the front door, and I abandon the box to help my wife.
* * *
Alessia shuts the door behind her using her foot, as she’s laden with shopping bags—only to put them down as Maxim comes barreling toward her.
“Hey,” she says as he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight. “What’s wrong?” she asks, folding him in her arms.
“Nothing. I missed you. That’s all.” He holds her for several seconds, his nose buried in her hair.
“I am back. In one piece.”
“I know. I know. I’m glad you’re back.”
* * *
I release her and remember that I have a duty to perform. “I need to show you something.”
“Okay. Can I put the shopping away first?”
I laugh. “Of course. Let me help you.”
“So this is the safe, which you know. But this is the number.” I hand her a piece of paper. “Memorize that and eat it afterwards.” I raise my brows.
She laughs. “Tasty.”
We’re in my walk-in closet, and since I found out that Kit didn’t give Caro access to any of the safes, I thought I’d need to make sure my wife isn’t ever put in that position. I twist the dial to the numbers: 11.14.2.63. Then I turn the handle and open it. Alessia peers inside, fascinated.
“See?”
“Yes. What’s in there?”
Kit’s journal. “Important documents. My birth certificate. Passport. You should give me yours. The jewelry you wore when we went to Egonov’s, which I should take back to the bank.”
“The bank?”
“Yes. The good stuff is stored there. We have a vault, and we should go and look. There might be something you like.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
“If something happens to me.”
Alessia eyes widen in alarm. “What’s going to happen to you?”
I chuckle. “Nothing, I hope. I just think it’s important for you to know where everything is. There’s also one at Angwin and the Hall. And when we’re there, I’ll show you those. You need to know what’s in them and where they are.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” I grin, feeling… relieved.
“Now that we’re in here. Are there any clothes in here that you’d like to donate to charity?”
“I like my clothes.”
“Maxim, nobody needs this many clothes. I’ll fetch a black plastic bag.”
I sigh, examining my overstuffed wardrobe. Maybe Alessia has a point, but this wasn’t how I wanted to spend the afternoon.
“There, I’ve filled one bag.” I step out of my wardrobe, feeling inordinately pleased with myself.
Alessia looks up. She’s on the floor beside my bedside drawers, with a cardboard box and a black plastic sack. She holds up a pair of handcuffs and swings them around her finger. “Yours?”
“Ah.”
“Ah,” she repeats and grins as I feel a fucking flush creep up my cheeks.
Why am I embarrassed?
I laugh, because I can’t think what else to do, and sidle up to her.
“I thought you would have been through that drawer when you were cleaning.”
“No. But I’ve seen these before. Once. And this ribbon was tied to the headboard.” She holds up the ribbon.
Damn. That was to restrain Leticia and her talons.
“You know all my dirty secrets.”
Alessia nimbly gets to her feet. “Do I?”
“Maybe not all of them.” I step closer and stroke her cheek. “But we could make our own.”
“Dirty secrets?” Her eyes light up and she skates her fingers down my chest to the waistband of my jeans. “How about the rain check?” She glances up at me through her lashes with her most come-hither look.
