Page 65 of Filthy Rich

I’m so befuddled by this point that I don’t recognize the box. It’s not until I open it that I remember.

“The emerald ring,” I say, gasping. “From Cartier.”

“That’s right.”

“But… This is a very expensive ring. You got it for Daisy as her souvenir. I can’t accept this.”

I offer the box back to her.

She pushes my arm away, reaches for her brush and runs it through her hair with triumphant vigor. “Those spoiled brats are getting nothing from me from this trip. Nothing. At least you’ll appreciate a nice piece of jewelry. Well, go ahead. Put it on. See if it fits.”

I do, and it does.

Even better, it makes me feel better. Just a little bit. I don’t know what will happen when Lucien and I inevitably go our separate ways, but it will be nice to get back home. And I have Mrs. Hooper’s acerbic wisdom to navigate me through the experience if nothing else. I know we’re not friends or family, and we’re definitely not equals. But we’ve been there for each other and will be there for each other. I’ll provide a listening ear when she deals with her kids. I may be gleefully nosy about seeing them get their comeuppance, but I’ll be there for her. And she’ll be there for me when Lucien…

I don’t even want to think about it.

I’m just so grateful for her protective maternal presence in my life. She’s steady and loyal.

I can count on her no matter what. I know that.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper,” I say, my heart overflowing just a little. I’m tempted to lean in and give her a hug, but ultimately decide that that may be a bridge too far for the two of us.

“Don’t thank me, honey,” she says grimly. “We’ve got a lot of packing to do tomorrow. And by we, I mean you. So you’ll be working your ass off for that little ring. I hope you’re still grateful this time tomorrow night.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TAMSYN

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Lucien says when I arrive at his cabin a little while later.

“Neither was I.”

I go straight to the sofa and sit. He goes straight to the bar and pours himself a scotch and me a glass of champagne. Then he comes and joins me on the sofa, where we sit quietly without looking at each other for a minute or two. Side by side, but worlds apart. His shuttered face prevents me from getting a bead on his mood. I’m not sure about my own mood, to be honest.

I just know none of this feels good.

“Thanks again for your help with the party,” I finally say. “She was thrilled.”

He nods. “What did she say to you about me?”

I shake my head, cheeks already burning with renewed humiliation. “That I’m a fool. Nothing I don’t know already.”

He makes a derisive sound. Fifty percent disbelieving laugh and fifty percent disapproval. A hundred percent unsettling. “And what makes you a fool, pray tell?”

“I’m in way over my head with you.”

“You’re in over your head.” He downs the rest of his drink in one rough gulp that makes his muscles in his neck flex. “How’s that?”

“I’m not good with casual sex.”

“All evidence to the contrary?” he says in his silkiest voice.

I give him a sharp look, stung. “Yes. All evidence to the contrary. Because you’re the only man I’ve ever been with in my life. And you leave kind of a big footprint, in case you didn’t know. So it’ll be a little hard for me to go back to my regular life and forget about you when the cruise is over.”

His response takes forever to arrive, and I die a thousand painful deaths while I wait. I’m such an idiot. Why did I open my big mouth, put my heart on my sleeve and him squarely on the spot like that? Now I’ve forced him to whip up a polite and upbeat speech about how I should throw myself back into the dating sites and look forward to meeting new people at the hospital. Something like that.

But he gives me an uncomprehending look. “Hard. For you.”

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