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I answer with a curt, “Hey, Burt.”
“How are you certain Victor hadn’t recanted his promise?” His overly proper tone causes an involuntary half-smile to tip the side of my mouth.
Upon opening the bedroom door, I sweep inside and spin around until I’m leaning against it. “Of all his empty promises, this wasn’t one of them. He hasn’t called.”
“Shall I?”
“Sure,” I cut in, snarky. “Tell him I’mfineif that will keep him away.”
“Oh, you know I meant to give him the ringer. You sure you’re all right?”
“Actually,” I drop my head back against the wood. “Should we tell him I moved on?”
“We,Miss Whitson?”
“Dammit, Burt, stop being so formal.Tell him I met the man of my dreams.”
“May I have a name? An address? Date of birth, even? He’ll have questions. Oh...I see. Consider Bartholomew.”
I clasp a hand over my mouth to hide a smile.
“Well, Miss Luxury?”
“Hey, I was making fun of you a second ago. This your form of revenge? Get my agreement in telling him I’m dating someone namedBartholomew. Burt, is that your name?” I let it go, a tiny little chuckle. “Are you trying to tell me I fell for the wrong older guy? I could’ve fallen for a gentleman such as yourself?”
“No, Miss Luxury. My name is,” he pauses, clearing his throat, “Herbert. In primary school, I was terrorized considerably. CalledHerborSilly ‘Erbert. Anyhow, I’ve always preferred Bartholomew.”
“Ah, I understand.” I pull myself away from the door, stalk a few paces to my bed, and allow myself to fall back onto the plush comforter. “Since kindergarten, I was bullied over my freckles. I have an entire list of names.”
“Rubbish, unless beautiful is at the top of said list.”
“Nope, nothing remotely similar made the cut. I’ll keep your secret. Let’s give my tormentora super sexy name, like Santino. Oh, or I finished a novel about a mafia enforcer, Nero, before I methim,” I say, inferring Victor, though I won’t say his name.
“You’re a fellow reader? Splen . . .” His voice trails off as footsteps approach. Very sternly, Burt replies, “Splendid” Burt clears his throat. “Victor, I’m speaking with my dear cousin.”
I press the receiver harshly to my ear in an effort to gather their exchange. My heart gallops in my chest, prepared to charge out of my throat. I just have to hear Victor’s voice.
Hang up, Luxury.
Hang . . . Up . . .
Parts of my body that perished without his touch ignite in anticipation of the slightest sound of his name. I hate the feeling.
My obsession.
A surfeit of emotion swirls through my bloodstream, and I loathe it all.
Before the sound of Victor’s voice can pull me underneath his spell, my thumb grazes the off button, and the phone slips from my fingers onto my bed.Focus on you, Luxxie.
I never sought out Victor Tudor and never desired to google him like I had his alias, Dr. Victor Finch.
Because he’s a liar.
4
Victor
“How is she?!”I fist the lapel of Burt’s suit.
