Page 372 of The Black Trilogy

“Luke Halston-Cain.” He went all formal, hating the quaver in his voice.

Black’s handshake was dry and firm, but he made no attempt to crush Luke’s hand as men sometimes did when they were trying to prove a point.

“I hear you’re dating Mack. I hope you like shopping.”

“I don’t mind shopping, as long as it’s with Mack.”

“Good answer. Make sure you look after her.” There was an implied threat behind the words.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

Luke allowed himself to breathe again when Black walked over to the fridge and got out a carton of orange juice. He went to drink from it, and Emmy cleared her throat. He sighed and got a glass instead.

The tension buzzing through Luke dropped a notch as Black lost interest in him. Everyone in the kitchen surrounded the man like wasps to the honey jar. He exuded the same kind of magnetism that Emmy did, the certain something that made a crowd turn when she entered a room and drew people from all walks of life to crawl at her feet.

Black managed to eat lunch, ask his questions, and issue orders all at the same time. Sloane arrived from the office and began making notes, and soon so many people filled the kitchen it was standing room only.

Bradley bustled into the middle of things, laden with bags that he dropped on the floor the second he saw Black.

“You’re back! You’re really back! I’ve called your favourite designers to order you new clothes, but I’m afraid we’ve missed most of the summer collection.”

“Have I got anything left to wear? Or did it all get thrown out?”

“Nothing’s been thrown out. Emmy wouldn’t let anybody touch your stuff. But it’s from last season.” Bradley’s horrified expression showed he didn’t understand how anybody could contemplate suffering that shame.

“I think I’ll manage to find something then, Bradley.”

“But...”

Black crossed the room until he stood over the smaller man. He was the darkness to Bradley’s incessant sunshine, and Luke stepped to the side to get out of Black’s shadow. Childish maybe, but he’d regressed, and the unnatural fear of being sucked into Satan’s lair was very real.

Bradley gulped as he looked up. “Maybe I’ll just have a look through and recycle anything that looks really awful. Although I’m not going to have much time what with creating a nursery for the baby and organising a homecoming party for you.”

“My wardrobe’s fine, and we’re not having a party. I want to keep things low key. And I should warn you, Emmy’s heard what you did at her funeral and she’s not very happy about it.”

“Why? It was an excellent funeral. Everybody said so.”

“Perhaps because she wasn’t actually dead?”

“Now she’s just being picky.”

“Instead of parties and clothes and nurseries, do you think you could get hold of the lawyers and find out how I get my death certificate revoked? And whether the transfers of my assets can be undone?” He paused for a second. “I don’t care that my estate’s gone to Emmy, but if anything got paid in tax, I want it back.”

“Sure thing, boss. I’ll call Oliver. And nothing got transferred to Emmy. She didn’t even file the will for probate.”

“Why not? It’s been nearly nine months.”

“She didn’t exactly need the money, did she? And Miriam was being such a witch about everything, Emmy told Oliver to hold off from filing for as long as he could.”

“What exactly has Miriam been doing?” Black’s voice turned low and dangerous, and his eyes narrowed.

Bradley seemed to shrink a couple of inches even though Black’s anger wasn’t aimed at him. “Miriam told Emmy she was contesting the will, and as your only living relative, she should be getting the lot. Oh, and she came round a few times and shouted at Emmy a bit.”

“And Emmy let her?”

“Emmy hasn’t been herself.”

Luke tried to lighten the mood which had turned, well, black. “She looks happy today though, huh? I’ve never seen her smile so much.”

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