Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Because I believed them at the time.” The fight seemed to be going out of both of them. “Because I wanted to believe that I could walk away from this and into a different life.”
“You love the money too much,” he accused.
“Could you walk away from it? For love?” she asked.
And without hesitation, he said, “Yes. For you, I could have walked away from billions.”
His shoes crunched on the substrate, and I panicked, racing back to the house and through the door, praying he didn’t see me when he emerged. I held my breath until I heard his car start. If he’d seen me there, he would have come in to confront me right away. I sat in the alcove where Matt had left me, my heart pounding so hard that it visibly moved my shirt.
The front door opened and Catherine stormed in, shouting, “Alan!”
He entered the foyer, pushing his little coffee cart, his face showing no sign of irritation at being bellowed for like a naughty dog. “Ma’am?”
“Get Nanny Grace and the children and tell them that we are leaving now.” Her gaze landed on me, and her eyes narrowed. She said nothing. Didn’t even acknowledge my presence before snapping at Alan, “And for fuck’s sake, send someone up for my bags. I’ve been waiting all goddamn morning!”
My mouth fell open as I watched her stomp up the stairs.
Alan brought the cart over as if nothing had happened. “Two sugars, was it?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Who the hell talks to another human being like that?”
But he didn’t remark on it at all, dropping two sugar cubes into the little cup and tipping the steaming carafe to pour. “We have some lovely pastries this morning. I could box some up for your trip.”
“No, thank you, I…” What was I going to do? Argue with the guy that he deserved respect from his employers? He clearly wouldn’t agree with me.
Besides, I didn’t have time to deprogram a butler. At the moment, my biggest concern was my lying, liar pants brother.
And whatever the fuck it was that had gone wrong with him that he could fall in love with someone as vile as Catherine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
(Matthew)
My mother was finishing up her breakfast—and her Bloody Mary—when I found her in the conservatory.
“Good morning, darling,” she said when I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Have a seat.”
“You need to talk to me alone before I leave,” I said, swallowing to keep stomach acid from creeping up my throat and into my mouth. My first thought when Alan gave me the message was that she would tell me she was dying. I sat down heavily and leaned my cane against the table. “Bad news?”
“Bad news? Oh no, not at all. I wanted to talk to you about—would you like a drink?” she asked, gesturing to her little bell.
“Mom.” It took so much effort not to display my frustration. “What do you want to talk to me about? Also, it’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”
She raised her brows and pursed her lips, pushing her glass back before answering. “I wanted to talk to you about Charlotte.”
“Ah. Maybe I’ll take that drink, after all.” I was only half-joking.
“Stop,” mom said with a chuckle. “I like her, Matthew.”
“Oh.” That made things a lot simpler. I wasn’t willing to give her up due to familial objections, but it would be easier to move forward in the relationship if at least my mother liked Charlotte.
“She’s younger than you,” Mom went on.
“She is.” There was no point in tossing out creepy and tired arguments men always made when they had younger partners. I wasn’t going to claim I was so immature that I couldn’t make a relationship work with someone my own age. My mother already knew that. And I wouldn’t claim that Charlotte was wise beyond her years. She wasn’t. There was only one reason I was with her. “But I love her, Mom. I know it looks clichéd and pathetic. I’m a forty-year-old man with a woman in her twenties.”
“Your father was a fifty-four-year-old man with an eighteen-year-old bride,” she reminded me.
“And that’s disgusting. And people called you a gold digger.” Those kinds of rumors weren’t scandalous or unusual, but Charlotte would be humiliated by them.
“I was a gold digger,” Mom said.
“Not everyone is as comfortable with that as you are,” I pointed out.
“That’s something you need to be mindful of, then. For her sake.” Mom reached for her cigarettes.
“Will you stop with those, Princess Margaret?” I snatched the lighter off the table and held it away from her. She simply waited until I acquiesced and offered her a light.
“You have a bad habit—”
“Oh, I have a bad habit, do I?”
“Of assuming,” she continued, raising her voice, “that everyone is cut out for this life. For society.”
I looked away and tried to swallow my bitter feelings. “Maybe I don’t want someone who’s ‘cut out’ for society, Mother. I’m sorry I keep bringing people home who aren’t suitable.”