Page 67 of Tattered Edges

Iris tilted her head in confusion. “What is?”

“Someone in the family happy to meet me.” Quickly realizing how bitter that sounded, I added, “Not that I blame them, exactly. I know my very existence left them with more questions than answers for a man who can’t answer them.”

Iris scoffed softly and shook her head. “Don’t let my sister-in-law and her children shape your view about what it is to be a Blackstone. I might no longer bear the name, but it is who I am—who I’ve always been. Juliet,” she paused, as if catching herself before saying too much. “Let’s just say she was my brother’s great mistake. Nevertheless, he loved her. And their children, of course.”

“Yeah, of course,” I murmured. Wishing to change the subject, I motioned toward the center of the store and asked, “Do you want to sit down?”

“Actually, no. I can’t stay, and I don’t want to bother you while you’re working. I was hoping I might steal you away for dinner. I arrived in London a couple hours ago, and I’m only in town for the night, but I want to make the most of it. I would love to get to know you a little.”

I glanced at Victoria apologetically, but I knew she’d understand the need for my sudden change of plans. Then, looking back at Iris I replied, “I’d like that very much.”

“Wonderful. I saw on the door the shop closes at seven. How about I send a car to pick you up here soon thereafter? I’m staying at the Ritz, so we can have dinner there.”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you tonight.”

Even after her farewell, she lingered a moment longer, still studying me. Before she left, she lifted her hand as if to touch my face, but then she stopped herself—remembering while we were related, we were still strangers. She then smiled forlornly, waved, and headed for the door.

Withsomuchtolook forward to at the end of the day, my afternoon dragged.

Business wasn’t completely unfortunate, and the repairman came to fix my roof, but I wasn’t nearly busy enough to prevent my thoughts from wandering in two very different directions.

If I wasn’t thinking about Rory—his mouth, his hands, his freckle spotted back, his long, lean legs, and other unmentionable appendages—then I was thinking about Iris. I wouldn’t soon forget the look on her face when she laid eyes on me. It was nothing like meeting the other Blackstones, which filled me with a reckless amount of hope.

Given my recent familial interactions, it seemed ill-advised to think I could count on any one of them to have a genuine interest in adopting me into the fold, but Iris struck me as different.

When seven o’clock finally rolled around, I was a mix of nervous and excited. Having sent Rory a text earlier, letting him know of my unexpected yet anticipatory dinner plans, he’d insisted I only head upstairs if Victoria was still close by. Of course, being the gem that she always was, she accompanied me to the flat and helped me pick an outfit to befit dinner atthe Ritz.

I wore a pair of black, wide-leg, high-waisted pants with a simple, black blouse, underneath a fitted, dark green blazar. It was as dressed up as I’d been since I moved to London, the clothes already a relic from my time working in Diane’s gallery.

“You look smart, and I have a good feeling about tonight,” said Victoria as we made our way through the store, headed for the exit. “Granted, I do wish it wasmeyou were dining with, but we’ll have our proper gab soon. Go ahead and add your dinner at the Ritz to topics we’ll need to catch up on.”

“I absolutely will. And we’ll pick a night next week. Promise.”

I locked up and we said our goodbyes, the car Iris had sent for me already parked out front. It was on my ride across town that I realized how very little I knew about my aunt. She’d apparently gone her own way, leaving behind all of the family business—though, in pursuit of what, I couldn’t say. Whatever it was—or perhapswho, given she was married to a man living in Paris—it seemed she’d done well for herself. Either that, or she was smart with whatever Blackstone inheritance she’d received.

Upon arriving at the Ritz, my car door was opened by one of the hotel’s doormen. He was wearing a top hat, and I enjoyed the pleasant reminder I was so far from home in the United States as I began to step out of the car. I thanked my driver as I went and informed the doorman I was meeting someone for dinner. He escorted me up the front steps before granting me access to the opulent lobby. Iris was already there waiting for me.

“We better hurry in, or we’ll miss our reservation,” she told me after we exchangedhellos.

As soon as we were seated for dinner, I knew instantly this would be the fanciest dining experience of my life. More than my opinion of the Michelin-starred restaurant, I wondered what it said about Iris.

We’d just finished placing our five-course dinner order when my curiosity got the better of me. “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

“Not at all, dear,” she replied. She then reached across the table, patting one of my hands as she continued, “I hope we’ll walk away from tonight knowing a great deal more about each other. Ask away.”

“You don’t work at the publishing house. Why? What do you do instead?”

“Books were really never my thing. Not to say I don’t read them, but there was no part of that business that appealed to me. My father was more than happy to have a son interested in following in his footsteps; and my mother, she was always my ally, encouraging him to let me go my own way, knowing I would be happier for it. She was right, of course.

“I do still have a bit invested in the publishing house. It is an inheritance I couldn’t discard, but I was never part of the day to day. Though, I have my father to thank for my business acumen.

“I’m fortunate enough to have a career in fashion. It’s how I met my husband. He’s really the face and the creative genius of the brand, and I’m the CEO.”

“Oh, wow,” I murmured.

“Yes, we do alright.”

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