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I’m not really sure what kind of “funny business” could go down in this situation that would result in the tests wrongly identifying one of the men as my father, but I don’t like to ask, so—
“They could have taken some of your DNA while they were at the house,” says Jett, reading my mind. “Like, from your hairbrush or something.”
“Really?” I ask, amazed by this. “Like in a thriller, you mean? Do you really think they’d do that?”
“Of course not, Lexie,” says Jett. “It’s two old guys from the Highlands, not a couple of criminal masterminds. I could tell that was what you were thinking, though.”
“Well, you said you wanted to make sure there was no funny business,” I counter, refusing to be embarrassed. “So it was you who put the idea into my head.”
He takes a sip of his wine and winces slightly. I guess it’s not nearly as nice as that £200 Merlot I smashed.
“Look, I just wanted to make sure it was done right,” he says. “I’d hate for these tests to come back as inconclusive, say. You need clarity; and this is the only way I can make sure you get it.”
“Right. Yeah, clarity is good,” I say cautiously. “Clarity isgreat, in fact. Speaking of which—?”
“Violet and I aren’t engaged,” Jett says bluntly. “She just said that to get at you. I guess she thought you’d be jealous.”
His eyes are very green in the flickering light of the ancient kitchen light.
Are you?they seem to be asking me.Are you jealous, Lexie?
“Well, it worked,” I say, as lightly as I can manage. “Good for her. You’ll have to pass on my congratulations.”
I somehow manage to get the words out without giving a hint as to what I’m really feeling, which is an uncomfortable combination of relief and something much more complicated.
He’s not marrying Violet.
But he’s not marryingme, either.
She’s still the winner. And I’m still very much just an unemployed barmaid who’s destined to die alone, surrounded by cats.
And I don’t even particularlylikecats.
This is alotto take in.
“We’re not really speaking at the moment,” Jett admits, looking at the table. “I was pretty pissed at her for saying that — especially in front of that journalist. You don’t even want to know how much I had to pay him to get him to promise not to break that particular story.”
“That reminds me,” I say, remembering why I’d gone into the restaurant in the first place. “That guy, Jett — Alex Russell. He’s dodgy. He offered me money to do some kind of exposé on you and your dad. Quite a lot, actually.”
I get up and find my phone, then hand it to him, having first of all opened it to the message thread between me and Alex Russell.
“Wow.”
Jett gives a low whistle as he scans the message. “That’s a lot of money,” he goes on, handing back the phone. “He must really have it in for me.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you last night,” I say, sitting back down. “With the…”
I make the “lots of money” gesture again with my fingers. He doesn’t laugh.
“Well, anyway,” I say awkwardly. “I didn’t take it, obviously. I would never do that to you.”
“I saw that from your messages with him. Thanks.”
He says it without any particular emotion, but I can see in his eyes that he means it. I relax just a little.
“What do you think he’s planning to write about you, anyway?” I ask, curiously, not wanting to get back to the subject of Violet and the non-engagement until I’ve had some more of this wine. “He didn’t say.”
“Who knows?” he replies, frowning. “Something made up, probably. People are always making shit up about me; trying to turn me into someone I’m not. Dad’s just as bad as the rest. Can you believe he thinks I should actually go through with this engagement? Says it would be good for my career; as if that’s the only thing that matters.”
