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I stop in front of them before they can scurry down the hall. “Graham, please tell me.”
“Brother . . .” He looks from Victor to me. The beast seems to be in another world. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Graham pulls out his cellphone.
“Alba told me you hadn’t . . . looked up my brother,” he mutters while sifting through applications on his iPhone.
“I trust him. Or I at least tried.”
Hands shaky, I take the awaiting phone from him. Despair colors my eyes as I watch a short clip of a bubbly blonde twirling in a wedding dress, spinning into Victor’s arms, a bed of sunflowers around them.
“The Queen gifted Victor and Emeli this very duchy at their wedding,” Graham starts. “She was the youngest professor at . . .” His voice fades.
I’m numb.
This man.
Myman.
Scalding humiliation bridges the dam in my eyes, crashing over in a series of heated tears. I show Victor the photo. “I thought you couldn’t love. I was going to take you for what you are. Imagine me deciding to live my life with a man who says he could not love me.” I take a deep breath.
Graham and Alba disappear from my blurred sight as tears streak my cheeks.
Alba’s running a tender hand over my back as I stare at two peopleinlove. I should envy Victor and his wife, but I don’t. I feel so alone.
Victor finally speaks, “Luxury, I care about you.”
“Don’t ever say that shit again, Victor!” I swipe tears with the back of my hand. More emerge—a whole ocean of them, rendering my attempts futile.
“So, you weren’t going to tell me about your wife? I mean so little to you that I don’t even deserve to know about Emeli Tudor.”
“You’ve questions, yeah?” His eyebrows furrow in anger.
“Yes!”
“As you wish.” An iron grip cages my bicep and tugs me along.
“Hey!” Alba screams as I stumble past her. Our fingertips barely brush as Victor hauls me up a few more steps.
“Let me go, Victor.” I yank, tumbling over unsteady legs, which can’t quite keep up or get me away.
Graham brings up the rear, following us down the hall. “Okay, brother, okay. Mate, let’s all sit—” He stops talking as Victor’s forearm spurns him.
I jam my toe on an end table. A vase crashes to the ground, and Victor drags me along.
Victor jiggles one of theguestbedroom doors that I stumbled upon one morning.
When the door doesn’t budge, his boot kicks at it. The double doors fall off their hinges, collapsing to the floor. We step over them and into a large bedroom.
“This is the room that I shared with my wife. That I will always adore!” Victor shouts, eyes sweeping around the room but seeing nothing. The bed is made, and the velvety curtains are drawn. The color scheme and crystal figurines are courtesy of a woman thatheloves.
“We met in a literature course at university. Fell in love fast,” he sneers. “You fill in the rest of the story—you’re good at it, Luxury.”
Before I can speak, he snatches my hand. He takes us back across the threshold of secrets.
“Vicky,” Graham tries, “come on now. Lux’s crying, you disturbed bastard.”
We stop at another door. Alba clasps my hand in hers, drawing my attention to her and away from the recklessness eddying around us.
“You’re a fucking wanka cunt, Vicky!”Graham punches out at Victor from behind.
