“Lou?” Al asked as she stopped in front of the table. Four faces looked up at her with confusion, Sue standing behind her like a proper lieutenant. Lou banged her fist on the tabletop, causing the water glasses and silverware to knock together.
From behind clenched teeth, she said, “Out.”
Her body vibrated with the anger racing through her system along with the blood flushing her cheeks.
“What the hell, Lou?” Harley said, starting to stand.
Al sat still, resolved as her anger slapped at him. Lou slapped the review on the table in front of him, then stabbed her knife into the review. The handle quivered when she removed her hand.
“Get! Out!”
Her hands shook; her whole body twitched. Tears singed her eyes, nearly sizzling as they slid down her heated cheeks. Sue set the dictionary and note card next to the article.
Al’s eyes went to the note card and a look of confusion crossed his face. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and nodded with a deep breath, understanding the full story. As Lou towered over him, he rose, put his still-damp winter coat back on, then reached into his inner coat pocket to pull out something. He moved his hand over the review and opened it. Al looked into Lou’s stony face, hoping for some softening. Instead, she turned her face from him. She would give him no break. When he pulled his hand away, a small, square, red leather box with gold trim sat next to the knife, still wobbling from being thrust into the table. With another nod, Al turned and walked to the door.
Before pushing it open, Al turned and said, “I’m so sorry, Lou . . . about everything.”
Then he walked out into the blizzard. Lou watched him disappear into the whiteness and wind, a shadow figure, then gone. Gertrude and Otto raised their faces to Lou. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the little box, staring as if it were a rat in her kitchen.
“What in the hell just happened?” Harley said.
Sue grabbed his arm, then pulled him aside to explain.
“What’s in it?” Gertrude asked with her soft voice.
Lou looked at her blankly; her lungs stopped working. As if it might bite her, she picked up the box. She hesitated, not sure she really wanted to know. If she never opened it, she could pretend it contained a pair of earrings. Gertrude interrupted her thoughts.
“Open the box, Lou. You know what it is. He loves you.”
Using her thumb as if she were opening a mussel, Lou popped the box open. Her eyes widened and Gertrude leaned over to see the contents. A brilliant round diamond hung suspended in a platinum band. The simple band emphasized the modest gem. It was simple, romantic, and elegant. Lou slumped in the chair, head in her hands, and wept. Gertrude rubbed her back with a delicate hand and whispered soothing yet ineffective words.
What could she say?
Lou thought she knew loss after ending it with Devlin and her restaurant failing, but that seemed pleasant compared to right now—watching the beautiful ring sparkle, taunting her with its promise of a perfect future. Instead, she had to watch it disappear into the snow. Lou put her head on the table as Gertrude rubbed her back, wishing she could disappear into the storm, too.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR •
The frying pan made a spectacular sound as it hit the brick, a solid thwunk followed by a pattering, magnets flying off like firework sparks, carving out a chunk of wall from the impact site. Al threw the empty whiskey bottle at the same spot, missing it by three feet. Glass rained down, adding glittering specks to the rainbow-hued detritus. He staggered across the room to admire the effect. The destruction felt good, but it didn’t lighten the chains hanging around his conscience.
Karma had found him, and he’d paid the price for his arrogance. He walked back to the kitchen to search for another bottle. Behind his wineglasses, he found a half-empty bottle of vodka. That’d work. While unscrewing the cap, he leaned against the counter. Al didn’t think he could stand straight and tilt back the bottle at the same time. Better be safe than sorry. Before drinking, he listed his head to the side and studied a trail of red marks on the floor, difficult to see against the rosewood. Huh, it looked like blood. He dropped his head to see his feet, which were smeared with scarlet streaks.
“Bloody hell. Ha, bloody,” Al said to himself.
Al sank to the floor, the counter supporting his back, sliding his feet until his bum hit the wood, leaving a long stripe of red. He reached for a towel hanging on the oven door and started wiping the blood off his foot, smearing more than removing. Must have stepped on some glass. Probably not too bright to be barefoot. He took a long swig from the bottle. This should be enough to knock him into oblivion.
He leaned his head against the counter, closing his eyes. He needed to get new lights; these were much too bright. Everything blurred anyway. The whiskey and vodka were almost doing their job. But Lou’s face, red with anger, wet with tears, was still displayed crystal clear on the back of his lids. He would never forget her face, the hurt so plain. He could have tried to explain, but he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her.
He pulled a slightly bent white note card from his shirt pocket, the note card he’d received months ago from an anonymous source. It suggested he review Luella’s. He had held it in his hands when he first encountered Lou at the newsstand. It was an unexpected gut punch when Sue set its twin next to the Polish dictionary. When he sobered, he’d give some thought to who wrote them.
He took another swig, staring at the white spot where the frying pan had hung, and waited for the liquor to knock him out.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. A tiny part of him, buried deep, hoped Lou had come to talk, to forgive him. Instead of her pale face framed in soft brown hair and kissable lips, he saw his parents. Bugger. He had forgotten about them sleeping off their jet lag in the guest bedroom.
“Alastair, what are you doing on the floor, I thought you were at a party, is that blood?”
His mom said it as one long question, her pitch rising as the interrogation morphed into panicked inquisition. This did not help the situation. His dad walked past the progressively hysterical woman. She was decidedly un-British when it came to her children. James stood in front of Al, sizing up the situation.
“He’s pissed. Best get him cleaned up and to bed,” James said.
“But why is he bleeding? Why is my baby bleeding?”
“Calm down, Katherine. He’s fine. Can you get a bowl of water and some clean towels to clean up his feet?”
Katherine began digging through cupboards, searching for the requested supplies.
“Has he been burgled? Should we call the police?” Katherine continued her stream of questions.
“He’s sloshed, drunk, arseholed. He’s done this quite on his own. No one’s attacked him.”
Al’s brain whirled like a Sit’n Spin in his head from moving it back and forth, trying to follow his parents’ conversation.
“Why would he do this? He’s never done this,” said Katherine.
That wasn’t entirely true, and his dad knew it. He did it once before, during university. He’d fallen hard for a daughter of a minor royal—Portia. They went to pubs, checked out movies, cheered at polo matches for his brother, Ian, and appeared at all the right parties. He thought about proposing, even took Ian ring shopping with him. He knew he couldn’t afford the kind of ring a girl like that expected, but she loved him and he loved her. He’d buy her a better one when he could afford it.