The brunette reached for me and pressed a manicured hand to my arm. Aye, she was technically beautiful, but she did nothing for me.
I was almost inured to physical perfection. I’d been around so much of it in this industry that it was nothing new. A person had to have something more to them to make me feel intense about them.
Like Aria.
She’d had me by the balls since we’d met.
The thought of her brought a small smile to my face, and Eden mistook it. Her fingers tightened on my arm.
“Let’s change and get a drink to celebrate a good day.”
“That’s a kind offer, but I’m just going to head back to my hotel room.”
Eden flashed me a predatory grin. “Why don’t you invite me to join you?”
There it was. I half admired the European forthrightness and confidence. I liked how few hang-ups the French had about sex. But right now, it made things awkward. I gently extricated my arm. “I have a girlfriend.”
Her perfect brows drew together. “Wesley Howard’s daughter?”
So she’d seen the articles online. “Aria. Aye.”
She shrugged. “D’accord. You know where to find me if you grow bored with your American.”
I gave her a thin-lipped look and promptly walked away.
By the time I got back to the hotel, all thoughts of Eden had fled. I wanted to shower, order room service, and call Aria. However, when I returned to the hotel, the manager stopped me.
“Mail arrived for you, sir,” he said before handing over the envelope.
A chill skated down my spine at the familiar font. And lack of address. “Was this hand-delivered?”
“A courier delivered it, sir.”
I murmured a thank-you and walked away, almost afraid to open the letter. Sucking it up, I ripped into it and pulled out the piece of typewritten paper. And some photographs.
I wonder if she knows who you really are. You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve anything.
My pulse jumped at the sight of the photos. They were taken inside my London flat. Whoever had broken in had smashed my Golden Globe and BAFTA awards.
As I got into the elevator, I hit Walker’s contact on my phone. He picked up on the third ring. “Walk, I have a problem.” I explained the note and the photographs.
“That’s it,” he replied. “I’m sending you a list of recommendations for private security and you’re going to pick someone I can have flown out to you tonight.”
My gut clenched, but I knew he was right. “What about my flat?”
“We need to call the Met and have them look into it. This person might have left behind prints.”
“I think we should put protection on Aria until we know what we’re dealing with,” I suggested, hating the thought of putting Aria through that but needing to know she was safe. “This letter obviously refers to her.”
“Aria’s off the estate right now.”
I stumbled to a halt just as I got out of the elevator. “What do you mean she’s off the estate?”
“She left the estate two hours ago. She’s running an errand for Lachlan in Inverness. I’m sure she’s fine, North, but I’ll send someone after her if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Aye, aye, it’ll make me feel better.” I continued to my room and noted the housekeeping cart was outside it and the door was open. Great. I just wanted into my fucking room. Something had been wedged in the door to keep it open.
A prickle on my nape gave me pause.
I glanced down the corridor both ways, looking for other housekeepers. Then I looked back at the door and the ice bucket that propped it open.
Why would housekeeping need to prop open the door?
“Walk … the letter didn’t have an address on it. The hotel said a courier service delivered it, but …” I pushed open my door without stepping inside and saw my clothes had been strewn everywhere. And sitting in an armchair facing the door, waiting for me, was someone I hadn’t seen in years. Understanding crashed over me, and I swayed with the immensity of it. “Walker … I know who’s been sending the letters.”
“Who?” he barked in my ear.
“Barbara Benny. Darren Menzie’s mum.”
“Who? How?”
“Because she’s in my hotel room.” I hung up the phone as I stepped into the suite. Somehow, deep down, I think I’d always known the letters were about what happened to Gil. What we’d done as boys. What I’d failed to stop Darren from doing. I must have moved the ice bucket because the hotel door clicked quietly shut behind me.
Thirty
ARIA
Lately, I’d been feeling restless. Not with my life in Scotland—I loved my life in Scotland, even more now that I was starting to have one outside of my job. But being without North for most of the week left me feeling a little unmoored. Like there was something I should be doing and wasn’t.
It manifested itself in ways such as wanting to be out of my office more and volunteering to drive to Inverness to drop off a contract renewal with the estate’s solicitors. It was pretty urgent, and Lachlan had intended to drive it over since it would be quicker than mailing it. But I’d offered instead. So that’s why, instead of ending the day driving ten minutes home, I was driving an hour toward the city before the solicitors’ office closed.
Feeling out of sorts was probably the reason I answered my mother’s call, twenty minutes from my destination. I’d been avoiding talking with Mamma as much as possible, making excuses to cut her off when she started asking about North or complaining about Allegra moving to the East Coast after the summer. Now I was trapped in a car with her musical accent filling the interior.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Mamma stated right away.
“I have not,” I lied. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Sì, sì, getting your papa to call in favors so you can be on the set of your new boyfriend’s film. A man I still have not met. Did you know he played a serial killer in his last movie?”
I rolled my eyes, my hands tightening around the wheel. “It was a TV show. And he’s not actually a serial killer, Mamma.”
“I know this. But it is a very dark part to play. What does this say about him?”
Oh, for God’s sake. “What does it say about Dad that he made a movie about an alien that was a serial killer? Or an assassin? You remember he made those, right?”
Mamma tsked. “I’m your mamma. I can be upset that I haven’t met this man. And he’s a Scot. Scots are earthy. Not sophisticated.”
“Untrue. And especially about North.” I tried not to let her irritate me. “Anyway, how are you?”
“Uh, well, one of my daughters would prefer to flee to the other side of the country than be near me, and the other fled across the ocean to start a life with a Scotsman.”
My agitation simmered. “One: Allegra is going to one of the best schools in the country, not fleeing you.” It’s not actually about you, Mother! “Two: I moved across the ocean to start a career for myself. North was just a happy bonus two years later.”
“And what of your papà? Me? Do you not want to be close to us?”