“Friendship?” she shoots back, clutching the pink notebook.
“Alright.”
“Momma, Unc-Charles, Dad, were the three amigos. A rift grew between the guys, okay.”
“Speaking of your father, Whitson’s keeping something from me.”
“Then leave it alone.” She huffs.
“Don’t you want—”
“To know? Of course! Nevertheless, it’s my problem. Not yours.”
I wriggle my jaw. “You’re in danger, Little One. I’ve made itmyproblem.”
She pops a frustrated hand against the dashboard. “You. Will. Try. To. Kill. Him. I’ve done something stupid today, Vic. So, I apologize for not waiting for you. But for now, I have my momma’s journal.”
“What of Everhart? That sort of vigilance could safeguard Buckingham Palace. Where is he now?”
“The accident made him paranoid.” She gestures to her face. “My dropping by without a call must’ve triggered—”
“He cannot do any wrong in your eyes. The arsehole’s displaying sociopathic tendencies! What about answers?”
“Vic, I’ve seen him give the shirt off his back to a homeless man—”
“That a bloody analogy? Sounds like a bloody ex—”
“Cut the condescending crap, Vic. We were returning to NYU from lunch. It was raining cats and fucking dogs whenUncle Redgave the guy his peacoat. Okay, so slight modification to the story line, but dammit, he is a good guy.”
I snort.
“There’s something up with my dad. I’ll give you that. Now, no more gassing me up, Vic. I need a hot shower. ThenIwill figure out why he had Momma’s journal by reading it. Is that okay with you?”
With one hand on the steering wheel, I reach over with the other and grab her hand. My Little One would rather be in the dark about anything and everything discomforting. For the moment, I will allow Luxury to be trusting.
13
Luxury
Iwanted answers, but now, more questions are swirling through my mind. If I weren’t so baffled about Charles having Momma’s diary in his possession, I’d wonder why TUDOR is embossed into these plush leather seats.How many people has Victor murdered?
The jet glides into the air in a smooth streamline. While Victor’s on a private call, I slip out Momma’s diary.
Had Uncle Red taken it?
Why was something so personal in his possession?
My fingertip brushes over the lock.GWengraved in the gold for Gina Whitson. I credit Victor for not adding the diary being in Uncle Red’s possession as further proof that Momma dismantled her marital vows. Or Charles took it after he murdered her.
Which you refuse to believe, Luxxie. A gut feeling. You just verbally sparred with Vic, so stick to your guns, girl.
A flood of pressure burns my eyes, and I bite back the notion of betrayal, shoving the diary into my purse.
I’m not ready to taunt myself with what it implies. Even more, I don’t want to know why Uncle Red chose to leave it with me.
I look out the jet window. It suddenly hits me.I’m going to London. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I left Dad behind with one of the best nurses that Manhattan has to offer and the security detail. Everything is taken care of, and I should be elated by my spontaneous vacation, but worry has settled in my bones.