Page 88 of Sins of a King

Ash snorted. “Nice deflection.”

“You do it, too,” I pointed out. “Whenever you don’t want to talk about John.”

“How about I don’t ask you about your feelings for Flynn and you don’t ask me about John?”

“Deal.”

By early afternoon, I was back in the lobby of The Rex, my hands full of grocery bags. I was determined to make Flynn’s suite more of a home and home meant cooking. I waved away an insistent bellman who wanted to help me and headed up to Flynn’s suite. Stepping into the living room, I noticed all the hotel wall art had been taken down. Lacey was in the process of unwrapping a large black picture frame.

She turned to me and smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hope you don’t mind. Flynn let me in,” Lacey explained. “I needed a project to keep my mind off of Dolinsky and Bridget.”

“Right. How is Bridget?”

“Recovering. She’s taking some time off.”

I hadn’t asked any more questions about Dolinsky—I was waiting, attempting patience when it came to Flynn and his secrets. He wanted me to go to London with him. That meant something. Didn’t it?

“I heard you met Malcolm last night,” she said with a large smile.

“Did you also hear that I was wrecked this morning?”

“There might have been some talk about it.”

I shook my head. “I liked Malcolm. For all his gruffness. There’s real affection between him and Flynn. It was…nice to see.”

She smiled slowly. “See what? That someone besides you loves him?”

Was I so blatantly transparent?

“You tell him yet?” she pressed.

I remained silent.

“Not going to answer me, are you?”

“Nope.” I walked toward the picture frame leaning against the wall, a black-and-white photo of a faceless man and woman wrapped around each other. Sensual. Beautiful. Bare.

“I love this,” I breathed.

“Knew you would,” Lacey said with a smile. “These are the art pieces I mentioned.”

“Who’s the artist?” I asked, moving around the room and looking at the four other pieces in the series.

“Me.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I took a photography class. Once,” Lacey said, shrugging. “A lifetime ago.”

I skirted past the regret I heard in her voice. What could we have been if life hadn’t gotten in the way?

“It’s all just a series of choices, isn’t it? What leads us to here?”

“You’re too young to be so philosophical,” Lacey admonished.