Married Under The Mistletoe

“Meaning?”

“John phoned earlier, fretting over her as usual. Which is very bad for his heart, by the way, and she well knows that. Says Louise is planning to leave for Meridia tomorrow for some nonsense. A make-over, I think he called it, for Emma.”

Daniel searched his memory banks but came up empty, sighing in resignation. “Am I supposed to know Emma?”

“Cousin. Yet another of Uncle Robert’s numerous offspring. Emma’s the chef. Quite a renowned one, I hear. She was commissioned for a king’s coronation. That’s why she’s in Meridia though who knows why Louise thinks she needs a make-over.”

“Ah.” Not that Daniel comprehended any of this. After living a lifetime with a handful of family to his name, he was now swimming in relatives he didn’t know. From Dominic, he knew that their father John and his half-brother Robert were at odds. He also knew that the recent death of their grandfather William had increased the rivalry and battle for control of the restaurants. Beyond that, Daniel was lost. Even if he cared, which he hadn’t yet decided if he did or not, sorting out all the Valentines would require time and exposure. “So how does this relate to our sister?”

“Our father thinks Louise is going off the deep end and needs him more than ever.” His nostrils flared. “I think she’s an attention seeker, drumming up sympathy to keep a wedge between John and his blood children.”

“You and me.”

“Right. She’s on the defensive, trying to hold John’s allegiance. After growing up in the wealth and society that actually belonged to us, she’s unwilling to share. I, for one, think it’s time you and I reaped the benefits she’s had all her life.”

The answer bothered Daniel. Though he didn’t necessarily feel the same, he could understand his brother’s emotional need to embrace their birth family. But he and Alice were well set. They didn’t need the Valentine “benefits”, either social or financial.

Settling back against the plush office chair, he studied his twin. They had always been different, but in the years since they’d spent any real time together the differences had increased tenfold.

Daniel wasn’t sure he liked the changes.

CHAPTER THREE

FEET propped on a chair, Daniel slouched in broody silence on the too-small red sofa. His belly growled, but the half-eaten fish and chips on the table had long ago grown cold and greasy. Papers, phone numbers, business cards and other evidence of a budding business venture lay strewn around him in the darkness. He should be satisfied. But he wasn’t.

Except for a few, brief conversations Stephanie Ellison had avoided being alone with him since his arrival. She was friendly enough when he went into the restaurant. She even smiled indulgently at his feeble jokes and brought him a drink. But long after the restaurant closed, she remained downstairs.

And he wanted to know why. This was her flat. She should be comfortable here even with him present. Worst of all, he didn’t enjoy feeling like an interloper. He’d had enough of that when he was a kid and Mum brought friends to their hotel.

So tonight he’d waited up for little Miss Manager.

When her key turned in the lock and she walked in, Daniel was ready for her.

Light flooded the room.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Stephanie looked up, manicured fingers on the light switch, clearly startled to find him still awake, sitting in the midnight darkness. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she took one glance at the flat and started her incessant tidying up.

“Leave it,” he growled, annoyed that once again she was trying to sidestep him.

She kept working. “My goodness, you’re in a mood tonight. What’s wrong?”

“You.” Actually, she wasn’t the only problem, but the one he wanted fixed first. The others could wait.

Her fidgety hands stilled on the fish and chips wrapper. “And just what have I done that’s so terrible?”

“You skip out of here at pre-dawn, seldom come up to your own flat throughout the day, and then sneak in long after I’ve gone to bed.”

“Managing a restaurant requires long hours.” She tossed his forgotten dinner into the bin and then turned on him, green eyes flashing. “And I do not sneak.”

“Have you always worked eighteen-hour days? Or only since taking me on as a flatmate?”

She gathered the papers from the floor and made a perfect stack on the table. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Just answer the question. Are you avoiding me?”

“Of course not. How ridiculous.”

“Good. Then stop clearing up my mess and come sit down.”

“I’ve worked all day and I’m very tired.”

“You are avoiding me. All I’m asking is a few minutes of your time. We are flatmates, after all. We live together, but one of us is not living here.” Daniel didn’t care that he sounded like a nagging wife. He wanted to know what her problem was.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine. I’ll sit.”

And she did. Like a gorgeous red-plumed bird, she perched on the edge of a chair opposite him ready to fly away at any moment. Her hands twisted restlessly in her lap. He had the strongest urge to reach over and take hold of them.

“I haven’t ax-murdered you in your sleep, have I?”

Her lips twitched. “Evidently not.”

At last. He was getting somewhere, though why he cared, he couldn’t say.

“So stop being so jumpy.” It irritated him.

“I am not—” But she didn’t bother to finish the denial. “What do you want to talk about? Is there a problem with the flat? A problem with the new business?”

“Do you ever relax? Maybe read a book or watch the telly?”

“When I have time.”

Which he doubted was ever.

He pushed. “How much of London have you seen since you’ve been here?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like, but I love it. The museums, the history.”

“We’re steps away from some of the finest museums in the world. Which ones have you seen?”

“The Royal College of Art,” she shot back.

No surprise there. He knew from looking at the walls in the flat and in the restaurant that she fancied modern art, the kind he couldn’t begin to understand. There wasn’t a realistic picture anywhere in the place.