by Nora Roberts
Rather than answer, he simply stepped inside. “I take it you’ve moved in.”
“No. I’m staying here until I start my next job. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Staying here,” he repeated, “after a whirlwind trip to Italy.”
“Yes, we went to Italy. I’m happy to get you a drink, or I’m sure you know your way around if you’d rather just help yourself. I really need to clean my tools.”
“I want to know what’s going on.”
She saw some of Ash in him, and oddly some of her own father in him.
Authority, she realized. A man who had it, a man who used it, and expected others to fall in line.
She wouldn’t.
“I’m painting the powder room using a Venetian plaster technique.”
It wasn’t the first time someone had looked down his nose at her, Lila thought, but Spence Archer had one of the best techniques.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to remember that whatever you think of me, you’re Ash’s father.”
“As his father, I want to know what’s going on.”
“Then you’ll have to be more specific.”
“I want to know why you paid a visit to Giovanni Bastone. And since you’ve managed to insert yourself into my son’s life, in his home, so quickly, I want to know how far you intend to take this.”
Her head began to throb, a steady beat-beat-bang in her temples, at the base of her skull. “You should ask Ashton the first question. As to the second, I don’t owe you an answer. You may want to ask your son how far he intends to take it as it’s his life and his home. As you are his father and obviously don’t want me here, I’ll leave until you and Ash talk.”
She grabbed the spare keys from the bowl in the same cabinet as the monitor, marched straight to the door, yanked it open.
And pulled up short when Ash started up the short flight of steps outside.
Twenty-six
What part of ‘Don’t go out’ confused you?” he wondered. Then his eyes narrowed on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I want some air. Your father’s here.”
Before she could walk by him, Ash simply took her arm, turned her around.
“I don’t want to be here—and you’re about to become the third person I’ve punched in the face.”
“I’m sorry, and do what you have to do. But he’s not chasing you off. That needs to be made clear to both of you.”
“I’m going for a damn walk.”
“We’ll take one later.” He pulled her back inside. “Dad.” With a nod, he carried the bags he was holding to a table, set them down.
“I want to talk to you, Ashton. Alone.”
“We’re not alone. It occurs to me, though you met, I never introduced you. Lila, this is my father, Spence Archer. Dad, this is Lila Emerson, the woman I love. You’re both going to have to get used to it. Anybody want a beer?”
“You barely know her,” Spence began.
“No, you barely know her because you choose to believe she’s after my money—which would come under the heading of ‘my business.’”
His tone, so brutally cool, had Lila fighting off a shudder. She’d rather face the fire any day, any time.
“You choose to believe that she’s after your money,” Ash continued, “which is your business, but entirely without merit. And you choose to believe she’s after the cachet of the Archer name, which is ludicrous. In reality she doesn’t care about any of those things. In fact, they seem to be points against me, which is pretty damn annoying. But I’m working on that since I intend to spend my life with her.”
“I never said I—”
He just shot Lila a look so cold it burned. “Be quiet.”
When sheer shock had her closing her mouth, he turned back to his father.
“She’s done nothing to earn your attitude toward her or your treatment of her. On the contrary, you should be grateful she offered one of your sons compassion and generosity while he coped with the death of another of your sons.”
“I came here to speak with you, Ashton, not be lectured.”
“My house,” Ash said simply. “My rules. As to my plans regarding Lila? They’re long-term. Unlike you, this is something I plan to do only once. I’ve been more careful than you might think because it’s a one-time deal for me. Lila hasn’t done anything to deserve your behavior toward her, which is nothing but a reflection of some of your own experiences. You need to stop using them to measure my life and choices. I love you, but if you can’t show Lila reasonable courtesy—the basic rules of behavior you expect from me, from everyone else—you won’t be welcome here.”
“Don’t. Don’t do that.” The tears that stung her eyes appalled her nearly as much as Ashton’s words. “Don’t speak like that to your father.”
“Do you think I won’t stand up for you?” Some of the hot, ripe temper bubbling under the chill lashed out now. “Or is that something else no one else is allowed to do?”
“No, it’s not—Ash, he’s your father. Please don’t say that to him. It’s not right. We can just stay out of each other’s way, can’t we?” She appealed to Spence. “Can’t we just agree to avoid each other? I can’t be responsible for causing a rift between you. I won’t be.”
“You’re not responsible, and everyone in this room knows it. Don’t we?” Ash said to his father.
“As long as I’m head of the family, I have an obligation to look after the interests of the family.”
“If you mean financial interests, do whatever you think best there. You won’t get an argument. But this is my personal life, and you’ve no right to interfere. I never interfered in yours.”
“Do you want to make the same mistakes I did?”
“I don’t. Why do you think I waited? Still, whatever mistakes I make are mine. Lila’s not one of them. You can back off, have a beer, or not.”
After a lifetime in business, Spence knew how to change tack. “I want to know why you went to Italy to see Giovanni Bastone.”
“It has to do with what happened to Oliver, and it’s complicated. I’m handling it. You don’t want the details, Dad, any more than you wanted the details of Oliver snorting his trust fund up his nose or gulping it down in pills and alcohol.”
Some bitterness there, Ash realized, and not completely fair. He’d often wished to Christ he’d been spared Oliver’s details.
“Oliver aside, there are plenty of stains on the family linen. There are too many of us for it to be otherwise. I handle what I can when I can. I wish I’d done a better job of it with Oliver when I had the chance.”
Spence swallowed what Lila thought might be a combination of pride and grief. The dregs of it roughened his voice. “What happened to Oliver isn’t your fault. It’s his own, and maybe partially mine.”
“It doesn’t much matter at this point.”
“Let me help you with whatever you’re trying to do. Let me do that much. Personal disagreement aside, you’re my son. For God’s sake, Ashton, I don’t want to lose another son.”
“You did help. I used the plane to get to Bastone, and used your name. You told me ahead of time what you knew and thought of him. It got me in.”
“If he’s involved in Oliver’s murder—”
“No. I promise you he’s not.”
“Why won’t you tell him?” Lila demanded. “Oliver was his. It’s wrong not to tell him what you know, and at least partially because you’re mad at him about me. You’re wrong, Ashton. Both of you are wrong and stupid and too stubborn to get out of your own way. I’m going upstairs.”
Ash thought about telling her to stay, then let her go. She’d been shoved into the middle long enough.
“She says what she thinks,” Spence commented.
“Most of the time.” And he realized he’d be sharing that calzone after all. “Let’s have that beer, and unless you’ve eaten, you can split my calzone. We’ll talk.”
N
early an hour later, Ash went upstairs. He knew women—he should, with lovers and sisters, stepmothers and the other females who’d been part of his life. So he knew when a little fussing was in order.
He put her sandwich on a plate—linen-napkin time. Added a glass of wine, and laid a flower on the tray from the arrangement she’d picked up for the living room.
He found her working on her laptop at the desk in one of the guest rooms. “Take a break.”
She didn’t stop or glance back. “I’m on a roll here.”
“It’s after two. You haven’t eaten since early this morning. Take a break, Lila.” He leaned down, kissed the top of her head. “You were right. I was wrong.”
“About what, exactly?”
“About talking to my father about some of this. I didn’t tell him everything, every detail, but I told him enough.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“It wasn’t easy for him to hear it, but you were right. He needed to. He deserved to know why he lost a son.”
“I’m sorry.” With her hands gripped together in her lap, she stared at her laptop screen, seeing nothing.
Ash set the tray on the bed, went back to her. “Please. Take a break.”
“When I’m upset, I either stuff sweets down my throat or I can’t eat at all. I’m upset.”
“I know it.”
He picked her up out of the chair, stepped over, set her down on the bed. With the tray between them, he sat cross-legged facing her.
“You have a habit of just putting people where you want them.”
“I know that, too.”
“It’s an annoying habit.”
“Yeah, but it saves time. He knows he was wrong, Lila. He apologized to me—and not just for form. I know when it’s for form’s sake. He’s not ready to apologize to you, except for form. You won’t want that.”
“No. I don’t want that.”
“But he’ll apologize and mean it if you give him a little more time. You stood up for him. You have no idea how completely unexpected that was for him. He’s feeling a little ashamed, and that’s a tough swallow for Spence Archer.”
“I can’t be a wedge between you. I can’t live with that.”
“I think we took care of that issue today.” Reaching over, he rubbed her knee. “Can you give him some time to apologize, make some amends?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not the issue. I don’t want to be the issue.”
“He’s blaming himself for Oliver, a large part of it. He let go, Lila. He didn’t want to hear any more, see any more. It got easier to just wire some money and not think about where it was going. He knows that, feels that.”
Ash raked both hands through his hair. “I understand that because I’d hit pretty much the same line with Oliver.”
“Your father was right when he said it wasn’t your fault. It’s not his either, Ash. Oliver made his choices, as hard as that is, he made his own choices.”
“I know it, but—”
“He was your brother.”
“Yeah, and my father’s son. I think he jumped all over you because, by God, he wasn’t going to have another son go down the wrong path. And I’m his first,” Ash added. “The one who was supposed to follow in his footsteps and didn’t even come close. It’s no excuse, but I think it’s part of the reason.”
“He’s not disappointed in you. You’re wrong again if you think that. He’s afraid for you, and he’s still grieving for Oliver. I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone so close, but I know what it’s like to be afraid you will. Every time my father was deployed . . . Anyway, we’ll say emotions ran high. And I don’t need everyone to like me.”
“He already does.” Ash rubbed her knee again. “He just doesn’t want to.”
Possibly true, but she didn’t want that, or herself, to stay at the center.
“You told him about the egg, about Vasin?”
“Enough, yeah. Now I can leave it to him to make arrangements for the Fabergé to go to the Met when it’s time.”
Giving him part of it, Lila thought, instead of shutting him out.
“But you didn’t tell him you intend to face off with Nicholas Vasin?”
“I told him enough,” Ash repeated. “Are we okay here, you and me?”
She poked at the sub. “You told me to be quiet.”
“Did I? It won’t be the last time. You can tell me the same when you need to.”
“You manhandled me.”
“I don’t think so.” Eyes narrowed, he angled his head. “Eat that sub, then I’ll show you what it’s like to be manhandled.”
She sniffed, deliberately, wished she didn’t want to smile. Instead she just looked into his eyes. So much there she wanted, she realized, and the more she wanted, the more it scared her.
“I don’t know if I can give you what you want, if I can be what you want.”
“You already are what I want. As long as you’re what and who you are, I’m good.”
“You were talking about lifetimes, long term and—”
“I love you.” He touched a hand to her cheek. “Why would I settle for less? You love me—it’s all over you, Lila. You love me, so why would you settle for less?”
“I don’t know whether to eat what’s on the plate in a few big bites, or just nibble away at it. And what happens when it’s gone? How can you know it’s going to just be there?”
He studied her a moment. Obviously she didn’t mean this plate, but some imaginary plate—holding love, he assumed, promises, commitments.
“I think the more you feed on it, the more there is, especially when you share it. Speaking of, I had to split the damn calzone after all. Are you going to eat all that sub?”
She stared back at him. After a moment, she took her multi-tool out of her pocket, selected the knife. With care she began to cut the sub in half.
“I knew you’d figure it out.”
“I’m going to try. If I mess it all up, you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”
She picked up half the sub, held it out to him.
“My lawyer called while I was out.”
“What did he or she say?”
“He, in this case, said he’d found and contacted Vasin’s lawyers in New York, relayed that I’d like to meet with Vasin about mutual business.”
“But with a lot of lawyerly words.”
“No question. Vasin’s lawyer, in lawyerly words, agreed to contact his client.”
A step, she thought, to whatever happened next. “Now we wait for an answer.”
“I don’t think it’ll take long.”
“No, he wants the egg. But you used the wrong pronoun. Not I but we want to meet with Vasin.”
“There’s no need for you—”
“You really don’t want to finish that sentence.”
Reboot, he decided. “You need to consider who he is, his background. He’d be more inclined to deal with a man.”
“He has a woman doing his wet work.”
“Wet work.” Ash picked up her wine, sipped it. He shifted