• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“I wasn’t conscious when it happened, right?”

“You were out cold.”

“Then that’s probably the only reason she survived. This little legacy from my mother is goddamned deadly.” As he clenched up a fist, his voice became hard, his words clipped into place. “And she’s claimed my future as well.”

“How so?” When he didn’t answer, some instinct had her saying, “Let me guess, an arranged marriage?”

“Marriages. As it were.”

Jane winced. Even though his future meant nothing in the larger scheme of her life, for some reason the idea of him becoming someone’s husband—a lot of someones’ husband—made her stomach roll.

“Um…like how many wives?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

About ten minutes later an old man in an English butler’s uniform came in rolling a tray full of food. The spread was right off the Four Seasons’ room service menu: There were Belgian waffles with strawberries, croissants, scrambled eggs, hot chocolate, fresh fruit.

The arrival was truly a thing of beauty.

Jane’s stomach let out a roar, and before she knew what she was doing, she was tucking into a heaping plate like she hadn’t seen food in a week. Halfway through her second helping and her third hot chocolate, she froze with her fork to her mouth. God, what V must think of her. She was making a pig out of—

“I love it,” he said.

“You do? You actually approve of me wolfing back food like a frat boy?”

He nodded, his eyes glowing. “I love seeing you eat. Makes me ecstatic. I want you to keep going until you’re so full you fall asleep in your chair.”

Captivated by his diamond eyes, she said, “And…then what would happen?”

“I’d carry you to this bed without waking you and watch over you with a dagger in my hand.”

Okay, that caveman stuff shouldn’t be so attractive. After all, she could take care of herself. But man, the idea someone would look after her was…very nice.

“Finish your food,” he said, pointing at her plate. “And have more cocoa from the thermos.”

Damn her, but she did what he said. Including pouring the fourth cup of hot chocolate.

As she settled back in the chair with the mug in her hands, she was blissfully replete.

For no particular reason, she said, “I know about the legacy thing. Father was a surgeon.”

“Ah. He must be psyched about you, then. You are superb.”

Jane dipped her chin down. “I think he would have found my career satisfactory. Especially if I end up teaching at Columbia.”

“Would have?”

“He and my mother are dead.” She tacked on, because she felt as if she had to, “It was a small plane crash about ten years ago. They were on the way to a medical conference.”

“Shit…I’m really sorry. You miss them?”

“This is going to sound bad…but not really. They were strangers who I had to live with when I wasn’t in school. But I’ve always missed my sister.”

“God, she’s gone, too?”

“It was a congenital heart defect. Went quick one night. My father always thought that I went into medicine because he inspired me, but I did it because I was mad about Hannah. Still am.” She took a sip from the mug. “Anyway, Father always thought medicine was the highest and best use for my life. I can remember him looking at me when I was fifteen and telling me I was lucky I was so smart.”

“He knew you could make a difference, then.”

“Not his point. He said given my looks, it wasn’t as if I would marry particularly well.” At V’s sharp inhale, she smiled. “Father was a Victorian living in the seventies and eighties. Maybe it was his English background, who the hell knows. But he thought women should get married and look after a big house.”

“That was a shitty thing to say to a young girl.”

“He would have called it honest. He believed in honesty. Always said Hannah was the pretty one. Of course, he thought she was flighty.” God, why the hell was she talking like this? “Anyway, parents can be a problem.”

“Yeah. Get that. So fucking get that.”

When they both fell quiet, she had a feeling that he was doing the family-album flip-through in his head,