Page 14 of Valentine Nook
One look at Max and it’s clear I’m the only one concerned about his tardiness.
“I’m taking Max to school,” Clementine answers in a level of calm that directly correlates to my mood and only serves to irritate me further. She turns to Max. “Come on, Spider-Man, go and get changed. We need to leave in five minutes. We can have a second breakfast in the car.”
Max groans but decides against protesting and trots off, followed by Dolly.
I slump down in my chair with a sigh only to find Clementine still staring at me. I don’t bother to ask her why she’s staring at me because I know. Just like I know I can’t escape the conversation about to happen because it’s been a daily occurrence for the past week.
“Come on, Lanny, you can’t seriously keep this bad mood up. Go and meet her. You’ll like her.”
“I don’t need to like her. She’s my tenant. It’s a business transaction and nothing more. As long as she pays the rent every month, I never have to see her.”
“She doesn’t know anyone.”
“Then she shouldn’t have moved here, should she?”
“Lando—”
“Clementine, I’mnothaving this discussion again. Bluebell Cottage belongs to me, just like this house belongs to me. I did not give you permission to rent it out, but you and Mum did it anyway. And if you think I’m going to endure the pair of you ganging up on me for the next six months, then you can both move out tomorrow. Bluebell still has two spare rooms.”
Okay, maybe I am in a bad mood.
The cause of it is standing opposite my desk, blue eyes squinting, arms crossed over her chest while she taps her foot on the floor. She’s one of the causes, anyway. The other is my mother because I seem to be related to the two most infuriating women in England.
Once more, I curse the day I ever met Caroline Montague.Along with the day I was stupid enough to ask her to marry me.
It didn’t take me long after we broke up to realize how badly suited we were. Or that my entire family despised her.
I was too blinded by a woman who perfectly fit the role of the future Duchess of Oxfordshire. I ignored every one of the tiny niggles that constantly followed me and all the giant red flags waving in my face.
I’m still boiling with rage that it got to the night before our wedding for me to see what should have been obvious. My best friend—ex-best friend—and my fiancée—ex-fiancée—were having an affair.
I’d spent the evening with my groomsmen, including Jeremy and my three brothers, Alex, Hendricks, and Miles. We’d played poker, had a delicious dinner, and overall, it had been a relatively sedate and early night.
For reasons I can’t explain, when Miles left to go home, I decided to walk back across the fields with him. He lives next to Bluebell Cottage, where Caroline was sleeping the night before our wedding while I was staying at Burlington.
I hadn’t planned to go in and see her because, after all, it’s bad luck. But as I passed, the gate had been open and so was the front door. Being naturally curious and wanting to make sure the cottage was shut for the night, I walked up the path.
I was only halfway down when I heard them.
Groaning, deep moans, and breathless panting. They’d been so desperate to get to each other they hadn’t even had time to close the door behind them. At first, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was seeing, except as the light adjusted, all I could make out was my fiancée’s legs wrapped around someone who wasn’t me.
When Jeremy and I were eighteen, we went to Thailand on a boys’ trip with a group of our friends. It was to be the finalvestiges of freedom for me before I officially took over the dukedom I inherited when my father died.
I doubt there was a sober moment for any of us, and one afternoon, Jeremy lost a bet. His forfeit was a tattoo on his arse. He chose the Superman logo.
Now, everyone knows the rules of tattooing is you have to wait before getting your skin wet. But Jeremy was eighteen, drunk, and the temperature was a scorching forty degrees Celsius. The minute he arrived back at our villa, he forgot about the still drying ink and jumped straight into the pool.
From that day forward, he was the not-so-proud owner of a permanent red and yellow smudge on his left arse cheek.
As I stood there in the doorway of my cottage, that smudge burned into my retina.
Before I knew what I was doing, I punched Jeremy square in the face before calmly walking away without another word.
Our wedding had been hours away. The entire country was primed to watch the spectacle that had been tabloid gossip for months—how much the flowers had cost, where the honeymoon was, who would be attending—and canceling everything didn’t seem like an option. Instead, I got blind drunk.
If Alex hadn’t found me and taken charge of the situation while my mother and James dealt with the fallout, I would now be in a very unhappy marriage.
I have no intention of making that mistake again.
