Lost in Love (24 page)

“Yes, it is.”

She smiled in relief. “Good.” She reached out and pulled Portia into a hug. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

As Laura released her, Portia saw her mother’s wistful expression.

This was one of Niamh’s windows.

Before any doubts, fears, or uncertainties could dissuade her, she reached for her mother and kissed her cheek. “Mother, I was thinking perhaps you and I could go to tea. Perhaps tomorrow?”

Jacqueline’s face shone in a way that Portia had never seen. Her mother reached out and touched her arm. “That would be lovely,” she said softly.

Portia nodded, swallowing the lump that’d formed in her throat. Then she said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

She made a call as she walked out.

The Weasel answered on the fourth ring. “I suppose we’ll see you here on Monday, with the tiara in hand.”

“No, you won’t,” she said happily, hailing a cab. “The tiara and I are going elsewhere.”

“But, I thought—”

“You were right,” she said happily. “There are other places that are eager to have us.”

She hung up as he sputtered, buoyant and confident and with a new plan that didn’t involve any rodents—only Martin Grey at Parliament Auction House.

Martin came out to greet her immediately after she arrived, kissing both of her cheeks and holding her hands. “I dreaded you finishing the work for the Waite group, certain you’d forget about me when you moved on to Wexler. Tell me what I owe this pleasure to.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“I love being propositioned, especially by lovely ladies I esteem.” He took her arm and led her to his office. Once ensconced within, he said, “Tell me.”

“I’d like to work here.” She leaned forward in her seat. “I realize I have no auction house experience, but I believe I can help make the lots come to life. For instance, I had an idea about the Stone Rose.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed. “What idea?”

“What if it was sold in a set? The Stone Rose, the painting with Jocelyn Summerhill, and the Summerhill tiara. Together, all three will bring in much more money than each item on its own.”

Martin studied her with his shrewd gaze. She couldn’t read his thoughts, and she began to wonder if she’d been overconfident about Martin and that he’d be willing to hire her. She ran her fingers over the pearls. Before she’d have waited for him to decide on his own, but she was a new woman now. She sat up and leaned forward. “Martin, you know I’d be an asset to you. Not only do I understand antiques but I have a pedigree.”

“And you have an open face that people trust, because they can see you genuinely care about the art.” Nodding, he extended his hand. “Welcome to the Parliament team, Portia.”

She took his hand, slowly, shaking her head. “Just like that?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to realize that you belong here instead of with that ass, Wexler.” Martin grinned at her. “It took you long enough. I was beginning to doubt your good sense.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said, in a daze.

“You’ve already said it all.” He stood. “You’ve made me a happy man.”

She stood as well. There was one more man she wanted to make happy today, and hopefully he’d be just as amenable.

The first thing she did after she wrapped up the details with Martin was call Meredith.

Her new friend answered on the first ring. “Where have you been? Are you with Jackson?”

“No.” Portia frowned as she walked toward the tube. “Is Jackson at the office?”

“He hasn’t been here in a couple days. I’ll ask Quinn and call you back.”

Her voice changed when she said Quinn’s name. Portia smiled. “Have you and Quinn finally come to an agreement?”

Meredith laughed, light and happy. “You can say that.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I know. Hold on, Quinn just walked in.” There was a muffled rustling, as though Meredith covered the phone. Portia heard the low murmur of voices, and then Meredith came back on the line. “Quinn says Jackson is at Suncrest Park.”

“Suncrest Park?” Portia stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Why is he at Suncrest? Is there a problem?”

“I have no idea.” Meredith paused. “Are you thinking of making a trip?”

“I think I have to.”

“I think you’re right. Portia? I can’t wait to be happy for you, too. Jackson is a good man, and you’re perfect for him. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” she said, hanging up as she descended to the underground. She was going to need it.

Once she was back above ground, she called the best person to help her get lucky.

Luca answered right away. “
Cara
, I was just thinking about you and your sisters.”

She didn’t need to ask which sister his thoughts focused on. But that was for later—she had a cowboy to lasso. “I need your help, Luca. How fast does your car go?”

Chapter Thirty-four

A airplane wouldn’t have made it to Suncrest faster than Luca driving his Ferrari. He screeched to a halt in front of the round gravel driveway and faced her. “You understand what I tell you?”

“Yes.” She felt a tinge of nervousness as she looked at her former home. Hopefully Jackson was somewhere in there. “Although I still think I should say more to him than ‘Take me,
mio amore
.’“

Luca shook his finger. “No, that is all you need.”

She leaned across the divide to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure,
cara
.” He smiled at her. “You are a sister to me. I want your happiness.”

“I’m about to go get it.” Smiling, she slipped out of the car and headed inside.

She had to ask several workers before someone knew where Jackson was. It was the last place she’d have expected: her attic.

The
attic, she mentally amended as she walked up the back staircase. She had to get over that.

The door was cracked open when she arrived on the landing. She started to call out to Jackson, but then she noticed the fresh coat of paint around the entrance. Curious, she pushed open the door.

Instead of all the boxes and clutter piled in front of the door, it was all clear. The floor had been polished, and the hinges on the door no longer creaked. She stepped in and gasped.

The entire room had been cleaned out and refurbished. The dusty old rug and pillows in the window had been replaced with new luxurious ones, and the panes were clean and sparkling. There were little details, like a table and a furry blanket, all making the space cozier. In one corner, there was a large daybed covered in pillows—the perfect spot to snuggle on a rainy afternoon.

She walked over to it, stopping to admire a pair of brand new red cowboy boots.

“Those should fit like a glove.”

She whirled, stunned to find Jackson standing in the doorway.

He walked in. “You look at my boots so covetously that I was afraid you’d steal them one day, so I got you your own pair.”

She sat down on the bed, slipped out of her shoes, and put them on. She walked in them, testing them out, and then turned to Jackson with a big smile. “I love them.”

“I love you,” he said.

She marched up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “That’s what I came to tell you.”

“That I love you?”

“No, that I love you.”

Tension melted from his body, and he clutched her to him. “That’s an awful big relief, duchess, because I redid this attic just for you.”

She gasped, looking up at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “So you could keep a little bit of your home, whenever you wanted it.”

“I thought I needed this place to make me happy, and that I would feel lost without it, but I was wrong.” She kissed his neck. “You helped me realize that. Now I’m just lost in love, with you. You’re my home.”

“Portia, you humble me.” He lifted her chin. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the tiara.”

She shook her head, putting a finger over his lips. “Your father brought me the tiara.”

He frowned. “What?”

“He gave it to me as an early wedding present.”

“That crotchety, old man.” Jackson shook his head. Then he hauled her up against him. “I guess this means that we need to get hitched.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re as romantic as your father.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He kissed her, a soft promise. “But he’s managed to keep my mother happy for over thirty-five years, so you have that going for you.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, sliding her hands under his shirt.

“Just to make sure, how about I start making you happy now?” he whispered, his voice whiskey and passion and everything else she adored. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the harem’s nest in the window. He set her down, following down to cover her.

“Does that mean you’ll give me your hat?” She sighed, the feeling of his weight on her and the watery, winter sun bathing them perfectly. “It matches my new boots.”

“Duchess, I’d give you the world,” he said, fervent as though his whole heart were behind the words.

She hugged him tight. “I don’t need the world. Just you.”

“You have me.” He pressed his lips right over her heart. “Always.”

Epilogue

Imogen watched Portia’s triumphant night from a dark alcove in an adjacent room. It played out like a movie in her head.

INT. PARLIAMENT AUCTION HOUSE - SHOWROOM - NIGHT

A large open room much like a museum. Dark gray walls lined with paintings. Glass cases full of precious jewelry. Antique furniture sets, roped off from the milling viewers.

In the middle of the crowd, PORTIA SUMMERHILL (32), glowing, resplendent in a shimmery peacock blue dress designed by her sister, red cowboy boots peeking from the hem.

Close by her side, JACKSON WAITE (34), tuxedo with cowboy hat, beaming with pride for his fiancée and boasting about her to everyone.

Portia smiles at her man, stars in her eyes. He kisses her, lingering.

JACKSON

Happy, duchess?

PORTIA

I can’t imagine being any happier.

JACKSON

Then you have a surprise or two coming your way, sugar.

Gigi sighed. She didn’t know any screenwriter who could have written a better ending for her sister.

Her own story, however, needed a lot of rewriting. The plot had gone off the rails, and there was one character who needed to be killed.

Do not think about Dirk right now.

Firming her lips, she turned around and forced herself to look at the escritoire beside her. It had elaborate carvings on its curved legs. The placard read that it was by Chippendale, but it looked too perfect to be anything off an assembly line. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find out it was as fake as her ex, Dirk Ranger.

Dirk was probably gloating in a posh bar, a blonde on each arm, congratulating himself for the brilliant coup he’d managed to pull off. In a phone call a few days ago, her agent mentioned that Dirk had received an offer for a big part in a Ron Howard movie.

Bloody wanker—using her to further his career. He claimed he had no idea who leaked the nude photos of her to the press—photos only he had on his phone.

The photos were bad enough that she’d needed to leave Hollywood for a bit, but the video that’d been subsequently released had turned her visit home into an exile. The press in London wouldn’t stop harassing her.

She put her hands to her head. What had she been thinking, agreeing to video having sex with him?

She knew what she’d been thinking: that she loved him, and that her success had been causing friction in their relationship, so much so their sex life had gone stagnant. She’d figured the video would put the fun back into the bedroom.

What bloody shite. She’d been wrong—on all counts—and she was still paying for her foolish decision.

Lowering her hands, she glared at the desk, wanting to kick it. She should have let Bea follow through on her offer to have him castrated.

“What are you doing, hiding here, Gigi?” Bea said as she strutted into the gallery.

Pasting the smile Imogen was famous for on her face, she whirled around. “Hello, darling,” she said as though her world wasn’t splintered.

“Are you all right?” Bea took her hand, studying her with uncomfortable intensity. “No one’s bothered you, have they?”

“Bea, the dragon slayer.” She smiled genuinely, feeling a rush of affection for the older sister she didn’t really know. Growing up, she and Titania had been on their own. But in the couple months since she’d been home, she’d started to become acquainted with the other four.

It was the only blessing from the whole mess she was in.

Bea frowned in concern. “Gigi?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. I just didn’t want to take a chance on being recognized and eclipsing Portia’s moment.”

“I don’t think even you could eclipse her tonight.” Bea looked over her shoulder, grinning proudly. “Tonight she outshines even Times Square.”

“Are we having a meeting here?” Rosalind said as she entered the room with three champagne glasses. She looked so lovely in a vintage dress made of Chantilly lace. Her hair was swept up in a messy topknot with waving tendrils framing her eyes, so bright with love. “Or a secret rendezvous?”

“We’re skulking,” Bea said, accepting one of the glasses.

Gigi rolled her eyes as she took the other. “I don’t believe one can skulk in sequins, sister mine.”

“If it were possible, Bea would be the one to do it.” Rosalind raised her champagne glass. “Should we toast to the woman of the hour?”

“You aren’t toasting without me, are you?” Portia said as she walked into the alcove, her arm through Summer’s.

“Of course not,” Bea said smoothly. “Your timing is impeccable. Shall I make the toast?”

“I will,” Gigi said impulsively. She smiled at Portia. “To complete happiness and complete success.”

“And lots of great sex,” Bea added with a wink.