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I opened my mouth to argue, but it was like he’d struck me dumb. How was I supposed to respond to that?
“And what about Lucy?” he asked.
That really was jabbing below the belt. “Henry, that’s unfair.”
“She’s your best friend, isn’t she? And you promised to marry her, if only to save her dignity. Well, her father informs me that she is very ill indeed. If you won’t come back for your own family, perhaps you’ll come back for her. Don’t you at least owe her that?”
“What I owe Lucy is between me and Lucy,” I snapped. “And if you’re smart, you’ll leave it at that.”
I ended the call and stomped back and forth, up and down the sidewalk outside the bar. Why did the arsehole always feel like he could order me around like that? My own dad didn’t seem to care where I was until I was right in front of him, and then all he knew how to do was yell. Henry, on the other hand, was like the world’s worst nanny. Managing my every move. Well, I was twenty-fucking-seven now. I didn’t need him doing that anymore. If I ever did.
The bistro in Kendal had been a success, hadn’t it? Ranked one of the top new restaurants in Cumbria, and within five years, had given me enough seed money to start two new places in London and Bath before I saved enough for this trip to scope out the scene across the Atlantic with Jagger.
Three weeks here, and I found I liked America. Specifically, I liked New York. It wasn’t like at home, where the second I got off a plane or popped into a club, I was hounded by paparazzi like I was the Duke of fucking Cambridge himself.
It had been like that since word got out that the Duke of Kendal had a half-Japanese love child who turned out to be his sole heir. For more than seven years now, the papers couldn’t get enough. It was good for business—the free publicity had made all my ventures a near-overnight success. But the rest of it could jump into the Channel for all I cared.
Here, I was a nobody. Not Masumi Sato’s troublemaker, nor the errant son of the Duke of Kendal. I was just Xavier, a really tall chef with an arm full of tats the girls seemed to like. A lot.
I turned on my heel to re-enter the bar where Jagger was holding court with a bunch of students from the nearby university. Columbia, I thought it was. We were on the Upper West Side. So, a bunch of smart birds, but still young enough that they thought Jagger was sophisticated.
Before I went in, though, guilt struck a chord in my chest as I recalled Henry’s parting shot.
Lucy.
Lucy sick. Really sick. Again.
“Fuck,” I muttered and pulled out my phone.
She answered on the fourth ring. “I was sleeping, you know.”
I checked my watch. “You were not.”
“Was too. It’s one in the morning.”
“And you never sleep before two. You and Henry, night owls, both of you.”
Lucy chuckled. “Well, you have me there. But I was nose deep in a very good book.”
“One of your dirty ones?”
“What others are there?”
I chuckled. Had to love that about Luce. On the outside, she was as prim as they came, but underneath, her mind was as foul as any bloke’s.
“Has Henry been guilting you into coming back to this bore of a town again? You won’t, will you?”
I toed my trainer into the sidewalk. “He tried. Says you’re sick again. What’s going on?”
There was a long sigh on the other end of the mobile. “It’s nothing, really. Mummy is up in arms because I fainted at Imogene’s graduation. I told her it was because it was so dreadfully boring, but she took me to the hospital anyway. I’m home now. Over exhaustion, per usual.”
“You sure?” I asked. “You’d tell me if it was more?”
“Probably not, but that’s how it goes. I shan’t have you ruining your life for me. You’re supposed to be living it for both of us now, remember?”
I smirked. I hated thinking of Lucy trapped up there, locked in a room while her parents pretended she didn’t exist. Lord and Lady Ortham were never the kindest people, but they put up for me mostly because they still thought one day I’d end up with their younger daughter and bring their family’s properties together with Kendal.
I wouldn’t have done it for Imogene. Absolutely not.
