Page 36 of Gilded Saint

“Papa doesn’t cheat on Mamma.”

A pointed silence falls across the line.

“Scarlet. Stop it. He doesn’t.”

“Don’t be a fool, Willow. Of course, he does.”

She’s wrong. My father adores my mother. They have one of the good marriages. They are the reason I thought Papa would never force me to marry for any reason other than love.

“I need to run,” I say to Scarlet. It’s been a short call, but I don’t want to talk to her anymore.

“Where are you off to?”

“Lunch. The chef made a salad that’s on its last day.”

“You’re eating at home?”

“That’s what I’ve been doing. I don’t like asking John to follow me around.”

“John is your bodyguard?”

“Yes. Well, he’s employed by Leo. I’ve been instructed to have him with me if I leave the premise.” John’s the only security I’ve met, and he works a full day, so I guess Leo assumes I won’t leave the flat at night.

“You need to get used to having security around. You’re not in Italy. It’s important.”

“I will.” I love Scarlet, but I hate that she sometimes acts like my mother. She’s not that much older. “I’ll call you later. I’m meeting with a man who is going to examine my art. He might be willing to be my agent.”

“That’s awesome, Willow!”

I grin. It really is. Leo honored his word and is helping me to get my feet on the ground as an income-earning artist.

I head down the hall and out onto the quad. The paved path to the apartment building turns onto Olympic Park.

Geoff rambles down the street in the opposite direction, and I smile and wave. He holds a white paper bag smeared with grease.

“What’d you get?” I ask when he reaches me.

“Sandwich and chips.”

“I’m going home for lunch today, but I’d love to grab lunch one of these days.”

“Really?”

His upbeat response has me grinning. It’s obviously early days, but my gut says we’ll be friends. He falls into step beside me.

“You live near here?” he asks.

“I do. You must also live near here? You work in the co-op.” It’s one of the benefits of Manhattan Loft Gardens. Based on the real estate literature I saw, it’s a highly sought-after East London residence.

“Ah, no. I don’t live here. A friend got me access. So, you live in one of the loft apartments?”

I nod.

“Quite posh,” he says.

“It is.” I can’t deny it. The real estate value of Leo’s apartment must be north of twenty million pounds, at least based on some of the postings at the realty. “Where do you live?”

“Putney. You’ve probably never been there, have you?”

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