Chapter 13

The wedding was over. That night, they did not share a room.

They had a contract. Clear, clinical, and agreed on both sides: the marriage was a performance and a partnership. They would appear together in public, assist each other's objectives, and otherwise remain separate. Nothing more.

The following morning, Eliana went to see her father.

"The wedding went smoothly. I held up my end. Can I have my mother's things now?"

Gerald Ashford smiled the way he smiled when he thought he had a room entirely in hand.

"Of course, darling. You could have had all of this so much easier, if you'd just cooperated from the start."

He produced a rosewood keepsake box. She reached for it. Inside was a single piece of jewellery — a jade bangle, pale green, cool to the touch.

"There can't be only this," Eliana said. Her voice was steady.

"Well, naturally. Your mother left a few pieces — gems, mostly. You'll get them back, one by one, as we do more business with the Calloways."

She set the bangle down.

"I know what you're doing," she said. "You're keeping the full inventory back so I can never satisfy the terms. No matter how much I deliver, you'll find something else to ask for. That's a bottomless trap."

Gerald's expression stiffened slightly.

"So I want to be clear about something. Sebastian is my husband. I have his ear. What I ask him for, he'll consider. If you give me a number I can't verify, or deliver pieces that aren't from the original collection, I won't know — and you'll be able to extract anything you want from me indefinitely." She held his gaze. "Unless you'd rather we operate honestly, and protect both our positions."

Gerald let out a sound between a laugh and a grunt.

"You've gotten sharp. I can see Calloway money's already rubbing off."

He reached into his breast pocket and handed her a photograph. A small collection of items, laid out on a cloth. Rings, earrings, a brooch. Personal things.

"That's everything. Your mother had no eye for anything valuable. Jewellery and sentiment, that's all she had."

He lit a cigar and leaned back.

"And remember who put you in Calloway's path. Without me, you're a divorced woman with nothing."

Eliana didn't respond. She took the photograph, picked up the bangle, and left.

At street level, she exhaled once. Then she raised her hand to her ear.

"Did you catch all of that, Sebastian?"

The voice in her earpiece was low and unhurried.

"Every word. I'll have a contract prepared — something he'll want to sign."

She walked another half-block and turned a corner — and stopped.

"Eliana."

Adrian Wyndham was standing on the pavement.

He looked like he hadn't slept. His voice when he said her name was rough around the edges, like something that had been used too hard.

He crossed to her and put his arms around her before she could step back, pulling her in with a desperation that was entirely unlike the man she'd known.

"Come back with me," he said, very quietly. "Let's go home. We'll go back to London and file again — whatever the process is — I don't care. I just need you to —"

"Let go of me." She kept her voice low, checking the building's windows without moving her head. Gerald's people were everywhere. "Now."

He released her, stepped back. Colour in his face.

"I know what I did. I know there's no justification for any of it. But I need ten minutes — just ten minutes to explain —"

"Adrian." She looked at him steadily. "I'm asking you not to touch me in public. If you do it again, I'll call the police. That isn't a threat, it's just what I'll do."

She turned and walked to the end of the block.

He followed.