Page 45 of Final Cost

My overwrought brain immediately fills with nightmare images of Lucien being cornered in the shower or ganged up on while playing basketball or some such. My blood turns to ice. “But you said your lawyers would protect you,” I say, fear making my voice pitch higher. “You said you were paying them a lot of money to keep you out of jail.”

He holds up a hand to calm me down, but it’s too late for that. “I’m not going to some cushy federal jail. I’ll be in a local facility where a man with my money will be a target. I need to face facts.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Listen, Tamsyn,” he says with new urgency, taking my hand for a tight squeeze. “I want you to have it. Everything I have is yours.”

“I don’t need it,” I cry. I shake my head and keep shaking it. I’m rejecting the money, yeah, but mostly I’m rejecting the idea of Lucien dying. Ever. “The money belongs to Roman. He’s your family. I know you always worry about me not having money, but I don’t need it. I’m a nurse now. I’ll have a great salary when I start my job in the fall.”

A glimmer of amusement. “I knew you’d say that. But if I ran a contest of who doesn’t need the money the most, let’s go ahead and declare Roman the winner. I’m leaving him my share of Ackerley, but you get everything else.”

“But what about a charity?—”

“It’s done, Tamsyn,” he says with awful finality.

I pull free and run my hands through my hair, reeling from this unspeakable generosity and my sudden reversal of fortune. He’s leaving mebillionsof dollars. Just like that. And there are things I know I could do with money like that. Charities for children, animals or, I don’t know, research for rare cancers. Hell, I could start my own charity. But every ounce of my body and soul feels sick at the idea. And I’m still shaking my head. “I don’t want money, Lucien. I wantyou.”

A sudden glow lights his face as he stares at me. Then he takes my hand again and kisses my palm, his lips lush, warm and unbearably tender. “Don’t misunderstand,” he says when he raises his head. “I’ve got people to help you manage it. And I’m not going without a fight.”

“Good.”

“Brace yourself. There’s more.”

“Oh, God.”

He hesitates. I get the feeling he’s choosing his words with extreme care. “Mrs. Hooper’s brownstone. It’s yours. I bought it for you. You have to know that.”

My jaw drops and stays dropped. My heart, meanwhile, threatens to pound out of my chest wall. This kind of wealth — this kind of generosity — doesn’t compute in my middle-class brain, where I can barely afford my upcoming rental payments of $2300/month and the most extravagant purchase I’ve ever made for myself is a few random clothing items here and there. “What? I don’t know that! I didn’t think it was for me. If anything, I thought you were buying it as a two-fer.”

“A two-fer?”

“Yes. To add to your real estate portfolio, like you said, and to look good by doing something nice for Mrs. Hooper. So I’d stop hating you so much and give you another chance.”

“Forget all that. I don’t need more real estate. I need peace of mind. If something happens to me, you’ll need a place to live. Especially with Ackerley going to Roman. And if I go to jail, but don’t die, you’ll still need a place —”

“I don’t need a place. I keep telling you, I have an apartment starting in the fall.”

“Nope,” he says, and there’s that unyielding finality again. “You need a permanent home so you never have to wonder where you’ll go next. Ever again in your life. No matter what happens to me. Or to you and me. You’ll have a home for the rest of your life.”

“But —”

“And I’m setting up a trust to generate income for upkeep and taxes. So you’ll never have to worry about that.”

Oh, God. He’s thought of everything. Words hang in the air for several long eternities because I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Who knows what the final cost of all this is. I know it’s nothing to him, but it’s as priceless as all the contents of the Louvre to me. “I can’t accept it, Lucien.”

“Please.” He squeezes my hand again, his voice gruff now. “Do it as a favor to me. I can provide this for you. It’s theonething I can do for you no matter what happens next. Help me out here. So I can rest easy.”

His gaze holds mine, and it’s all right there. His love for me. His need to protect me no matter what and to make sure I’m taken care of for the rest of my life. His absolute determination. Worst of all? His raw fear that we’ll be robbed of our future together. Or that I’ll rob him of his peace of mind by sayingno.

“No one’s ever been this generous with me before,” I say, getting choked up at the end.

A strangled laugh. “Good. If some other man had given you a house, I’d have to find him and kill him. And then Iwouldgo to jail.”

We grin at each other. None of this is a laughing matter, but it’s enough to break the tension.

“I’m trying to imagine Mrs. Hooper’s face when she finds out thatI’mthe proud new owner her of her house,” I say.

More grinning. Until his phone buzzes. He whips it out of his pocket and frowns at the display. “This is the doctor calling me back,” he says, standing and striding away. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

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