Page 68 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

AVERY

T hough my first, instinctive reaction is to run, I force myself to stay still. I’m proud of how steady my voice is. “What do you want, Victor?”

Time has not been kind to Victor Lowell. The lines around his eyes have deepened. His hair is gray and thinning, and his cheeks are too red. Too much drinking. He’s fifty-six, only a couple of years younger than my father, and he looks every year of it.

He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why don’t we discuss the matter over dinner?” He puts his hand on my elbow, as if to steer me in the direction he wants me to go.

I wrench away. “If it’s all the same with you,” I reply, “I’m going to pass. Thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking, Avery.” There’s a note of steel in his voice.

One I remember only too well. At nineteen, I hadn’t known how to defend myself against his icy reprimands and his manipulative control.

But ten years later, I know how to deal with men like Victor Lowell.

If I rage and storm, I’ll be playing into his hands.

Polite indifference is the way to handle this situation.

He raises an eyebrow. “And before you tell me to go to hell, ask yourself one question. How badly do you want to help your mother?”

The hits. They just keep coming. I stop dead in my tracks. “You know about my mother’s illness? How?”

Damn it, Avery. Give him nothing. No curiosity. No surprise. Your emotions are a tool that will be used against you.

I don’t know why I expected him to answer my question.

“The concierge at the hotel told me that there’s an excellent French restaurant not too far from here.

” He starts walking toward a waiting car, not bothering to see if I follow.

Clenching my hands into fists, I trail after him, and he flashes me a mocking smile over his shoulder.

“Time has made you more reasonable, I see.”

I can’t resist. “Time hasn’t made you any less a controlling jerk, I see,” I reply blandly.

His eyes darken. I shiver instinctively, and then remind myself that I’m not nineteen. I’m not married to him anymore. He can’t make my life miserable in a thousand little ways, the way he did ten years ago.

He holds the door open for me, and I slide in. He follows, leaning forward to give the driver instructions. “To Marcel’s.”

At least I’m hungry.

Once Victor chooses a bottle of wine, participates in the ridiculously fussy swirl-inhale-sip ritual, and orders for both of us, I straighten my shoulders. “Once again,” I say quietly. “What do you want, Victor?”

“For the moment, the pleasure of your company.”

This is the same man who gave me the silent treatment for a week because I’d worn the wrong hat to a garden tea party. He might want many things from me, but my company isn’t it.

“And once this moment is passed?”

He tilts his head to a side. “Is the wine not to your satisfaction?” he asks obliquely.

“It’s fine.”

“Really? You’ve barely touched it.”

I ignore the implicit rebuke. Count to ten, Avery. Don’t let him push your buttons. “Are we going to talk about wine all night?” I give him a tight smile. “How very civilized .”

Victor is playing with me like a cat with a mouse, but I’m not a fool.

I can see where this is going. I have no doubt that the cops will eventually conclude that the ring is, in fact, mine.

But I also know that if my ex-husband chooses to do so, he can drag out the process.

To prove ownership of the engagement ring, I’m going to have to hire a lawyer and take him to court.

That’s going to take money I don’t have, but even more importantly, it’s going to take time.

And as my father told me on the phone earlier today, time is the one thing that my mother doesn’t have.

Which is the only reason I’m sitting here, playing his game.

The walls are closing around me once again, the way they did ten years ago. Then, it was my father’s debt to the mob. Now, it’s my mother’s cancer. And both times, Victor’s conveniently at hand, waiting to take possession of me.

Our food arrives. We eat in silence. The meal is delicious, but I might as well be eating sawdust for all the attention I’m paying to it. My nerves are on edge as I wait for Victor to present his list of demands.

It’s not until dessert that he brings the topic back to the ring. “I could make your life exceedingly difficult,” he muses out loud. “Your engagement ring cost almost half a million pounds. I do believe that we’re looking at jail time.”

“We both know I own the ring. I sent it to you, you returned it. I still have the note that you penned. Remember that? It was a gift. Keep it. ”

“You mean the unsigned, undated note?” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

“Do you think that’ll stand up in court?

” He bares his teeth in a smile. “Everyone knows you married me for money, Avery. I’ll get character witnesses that’ll testify about your materialistic nature.

The judge will hear about your sex club membership.

By the time I’m done, your credibility will be shattered.

” He gives me a look of mock concern. “You’re a therapist, right?

Your clients expect discreetness from you?

Let’s see how they react when they find you in the spotlight. ”

He even knows about Club M. How long has he been watching me, waiting for an opening? I grow cold, and my palms are clammy. With great difficulty, I keep my expression neutral. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that I’m afraid. “So that’s the stick,” I say evenly. “What’s the carrot?”

“I would have thought it’s obvious, Avery. You return to England with me, of course.”

I always suspected that Victor Lowell had a coldly ruthless side. He’d shown me hints of it when we were married. But this… He must have reported the diamond missing as soon as I left him. For eight years, ever since I got into my car and drove away, he’s been laying the seeds of his revenge.

Victor wants me contrite. Docile. Submissive. He paid for me ten years ago, and he intends to get his money’s worth.

I take a small sip of my mostly-ignored wine. “Jail sounds like the more pleasant option.”

“We both know your defiance is just for show,” he replies. “Or have you forgotten your mother’s illness? I’m quite fond of Maisie. If we were married, I would obviously pay for my mother-in-law’s treatment.”

Earlier today, Rina talked about the social contract between the generations, about her duty to her parents. Now I have to ask myself. What matters more? My mother’s health, or my own happiness?

Once the dinner-from-hell is over, I get back home, change into my most comfortable, most ragged t-shirt, and pour myself a glass of wine.

I’m wiped out. Completely drained. Ready for this day to be over. Tomorrow morning, maybe I’ll get some kind of clever idea about how to deal with my problems. Right now, I just want to forget them.

I’ve downed the first glass, and I’m pouring myself another when my intercom buzzes. “You have visitors,” the doorman says, his voice tinny and crackly through the speaker. “Dr. Bowen and Mr. Wake.”

Kai and Maddox? A trickle of excitement runs through me, followed by a wave of nervous dread. As if this day hasn’t been hard enough.

I rest my head against the cool wall and contemplate refusing to see them. Only for an instant. “Send them up.”