Priceless: The Rothvale Legacy, #1

The floor plan of the National Gallery was something I knew like the back of my hand. A small blessing for which I felt supremely grateful, running as fast as my heels would carry me. I didn’t allow my mind to dwell on what I’d just done with a complete stranger. I fled. Get away first, figure out my horrifying lapse in judgment later.

Pray he doesn’t see you. Pray, Gabrielle. Pray very hard.

Security directed everyone out of the National Gallery with the command, “Evacuate the building without delay!” on constant repeat over the loudspeaker. I overheard the words “bomb threat” more than once, too. But none of that deterred me from my goal. I had to get out of here.

I didn’t even look through the crowds of people milling about on the steps to see if I could spot Brynne and Ethan. I knew Ethan would get my roommate out safely, and whatever was going on with the security of the paintings and the gallery itself was far beyond my control.

Just get away for now…

I saw Neil McManus, Ethan’s executive partner at Blackstone Security, and waved to let him know I was on my way out of the building so he could relay it to anyone who might wonder about me. I was getting the hell out of here and waiting around for a roll call wasn’t happening. I might see him again. Mr. Ivanhoe. I’d die if I had to face that man again right now. Just collapse and die right here on the steps of the National Gallery.

So I did something I’ve done before in similar situations.

I ran for safety.

Fleeing down the steps, I made my way up to the corner, hailing the first taxi I could. When a London black cab pulled up to the pavement, I pushed out a big breath of air in sheer relief, realizing I’d been holding it. I slid into the back seat and gave the driver my address, feeling suddenly exhausted. I kept my head down and wished I could disappear as he pulled quickly out into traffic.

“What’s all that then?” he asked.

“The fire alarm just went off and they told everyone to get out. I don’t know, but I heard the words ‘bomb threat’ as I passed by a security guard talking into his earpiece.”

My driver snorted in disgust, and mumbled something about the country going to “bloody hell,” and went back to navigating the streets.

I allowed myself to silently fall apart in the back of his cab, still in shock at what I’d done with a man I didn’t even know. What was wrong with me? How could I have permitted him to—touch me like that? To kiss me like that?

If the situation I found myself in wasn’t so horrifying I’d be far more concerned about the reason for the evacuation and the safety of the art in the first place. The sad truth was I didn’t give the alarm much thought at all beyond the fact it had interrupted something I shouldn’t have ever been doing. My head was so screwed up right now with thoughts of what’d just happened in a side room with Mr. Ivanhoe I couldn’t spare any more of my emotions on worry about the paintings, or otherwise. An orgasm happened, you freak.

What in the bloody hell was he about anyway? Who does that? Goes up to a random woman and seduces her in a closet?

The better question was what woman allows such a thing to happen with zero protest? That would be me. Slut. You’re such a slutty whore, and you have zero self-control, that’s why!

I tried to sort out the sequence of events but none of it made any sense. He’d walked up behind me and said, “I found you,” as if he knew I’d be there waiting for him. Mr. Ivanhoe hadn’t seemed confused at all, but acted as if our meeting had been planned in advance. He’d even mentioned my green dress. I wondered if Paul Langley had arranged for the VIP tour and forgotten to tell me. But that didn’t make any sense either because Mr. Ivanhoe was not about getting a tour of the museum. He’d been all about getting a blow job from me. And you had his cock in your mouth, and were giving him one when the alarm went off!

I slashed at the tears leaking from my eyes and stared out at the busy city traffic, wishing for the millionth time my life was different. That I was somehow different. But we are creatures of habit, and are who we’re born to be. This was me—the real Gabrielle Hargreave. And as disgraceful and abhorrent it felt to accept the idea, it didn’t make the situation any less true.

You reap what you sow, Gabrielle.

Yeah, I’d learned my lesson the hard way.

Ben called to check on me as soon as he saw the news on TV about the National Gallery being evacuated. I wasn’t surprised about the call, or the fact he knew something was up with me the minute he heard my voice. When he asked me if I was okay, I lied to my dear and caring friend. I lied and told him I was just upset about the possibility of a trove of priceless art being destroyed in a bomb blast, and further justified my “mood” about how fucked up the world was today with lunatics terrorizing in so many parts of the globe.

I was pretty sure he bought my story because he let it drop, but I couldn’t be certain. Benny was very perceptive, and he knows me well. He forced an agreement out of me to have dinner with him the following week. Ben was, quite simply, digging for information and figured if he couldn’t get anything out of me over the phone, he’d have more success in person. I loved him for it, though. Benny Clarkson was a rare gem of a person. We’d met at university photography class, gotten to know each other when we’d partnered together. As soon as I’d figured he wasn’t trying to put the moves on me, my walls went down and I made a dear, dear friend. I don’t know if he was more in tune with women because he was a gay man, or if it was just a connection we’d formed, but he sure understood me. Ben was very close to Brynne, too. He was like our older, protective brother who loved us unconditionally, always keeping an eye out.

As soon as we hung up, I shot a text to Brynne to let her know I was home. She hit me right back saying they were on the road to Somerset. Ethan was taking them to the countryside for a weekend away at his sister’s historic mansion, which she runs as an exclusive bed and breakfast. The bomb threat had convinced him to leave tonight instead of tomorrow.

Made sense. Ethan Blackstone was as serious about protecting Brynne as he was in love with her. Pity the fool who ever tried to get close enough to hurt her.

My dad was next to check in, which was as predictable as Ben’s call. The men in my life loved me, making their behavior easy to forecast. Can’t say I minded that though.

“You’re home already then?”

“Oh yeah, they kicked us out and I saw no point in sticking around. I caught a cab and decided to call it an early night,” I said smoothly.

My father is MetPol. Or in English, London Metropolitan Police. Chief Superintendent, in fact, and in charge of the Southwark division at New Scotland Yard. I am painfully aware he’s heard every lie and bullshit story ever put out for public consumption. He knows very well what I study in school. He knows the focus of my master’s program is the paintings of Tristan Mallerton. If art museums were being targeted for bombs, and I was working anywhere near then he would be all over it like white on rice. I know how his thought processes work. Having a cop for a father, I’d learned a few things through the years. Protecting me from harm was his number one priority.

“I sent Thorne over there to find you, and when he checked in to let me know you weren’t there, I worried, darling. You should’ve made contact,” he scolded me gently.

“I did, sort of. I waved to one of the security at Blackstone who knows me and let him see I was out of the building.”

Silence.

“And, you don’t have to send Desmond chasing after me every time, Dad.”

That last jab got me a heavy sigh, and I knew why. Desmond Thorne was my father’s unfailing answer to his paternal worries about me. A superintendent on the rise at Scotland Yard, and just perfect for me, according to my dad. Yep, Dad made no secret about how much he approved of Detective Superintendent Thorne as boyfriend-slash-husband-slash significant other, for me, either. Whatever name you put to it, Desmond was the man for the job in the eyes of my father.

It was hard too, because I did like Des. A bit on the serious side but he was easy on the eyes, and he wasn’t an ass. I’d give him props for making an effort with me. He’d made his interest known, and I wasn’t an idiot. I’m sure if I’d given him even the slightest bit of encouragement, I could have him any way I wanted, as often as I liked. Visions of sweaty sex appeared in my head and I closed my eyes in an attempt to push them back.

Now it was my turn to sigh, for this was the heart of my problem.

I couldn’t give in to those normal kinds of wants and desires that most girls have. Having a husband and two-point-four kids wasn’t in my future, no matter how much my dad wanted it for me, or how much Desmond Thorne would be willing to fulfill the role of making it happen for me, either. Let’s not be greedy, Gabrielle. You’ve used up your allotted credits.

Tonight’s fresh hell had showed me, yet again, how much that was true.

“I don’t want you going back there until the whole place has been given the all clear,” my dad said firmly, probably in an effort to change the topic.

Not a problem. Hell, I doubted if I’d ever be able to go into the National Gallery again and not think about what I’d done with a complete stranger.

“I won’t, Daddy.”

“That’s my good girl. I can’t have you putting yourself at risk. Think what your mum would’ve had to say to me about it.”

“Yeah…,” I managed to whisper.

Just the mention of her made a raw wave of pain rush at me. I struggled to hold back the flood ready to spill over.

“Now I’ve upset you, my darling, and I am so sorry.” My dad was straight-up hard line with most things, but when it came to his kids, and even the memory of my mother, he was very tenderhearted. He was a wonderful parent to me, and the fault wasn’t anything he did wrong.

Nothing other than the fact he wasn’t a woman. He wasn’t a mother. He wasn’t my mother.

My dad was a brilliant father, but sometimes a girl just needed her mom, and right now really felt like one of those times.

“It’s okay, Dad. I just miss her and sometimes I need someone to talk to abou—I mean—I just wish I could ask her for some advice—” I stopped blabbering, realizing how hurtful my words sounded. I didn’t mean to make him feel bad, but I’m sure I just had.

“And I’m no substitute, am I?” he asked quietly.

“No—Dad, it’s not you at all. You’re always there for me, and you always have been. I love you and you’re all I’ve got.”

“That’s never true, Gaby. You have your sister and brother, and your mum is still watching over all of you from heaven as she always will be.”

“I know—”

“And it’s normal for you to miss her, darling. I am very aware I’m just a useless old man but I am capable of listening…and I want you to know you can come to me to talk about anything at all. I might still be totally useless to you, but I do love you and want you to be happy.”

“I know you do, Dad. And you’re never useless. Forget what I said before. I’m the one that’s useless right now. I think I need to get more sleep.” I tried to make light of my situation.

“Now there’s something I can endorse. Get more sleep and I’m sure you’ll feel a great deal better in no time.”

Right, Dad. More sleep is so going to help me with my “problem.”

Spoken like a true man. I’d given him an out and he grabbed onto it as quickly as he could. My poor father was trying to be a rock of support to me, but he just didn’t have the right equipment, a vagina of course, to do it.

He did everything well, but again, he was a man, and he was not my mom.

Despite his sweet offer to help me unburden my worries, if he knew the real reason for my depression right now, then “sweet” would be the last thing my dad was. He would want Mr. Ivanhoe’s balls and probably his neck, too. Repeatedly.

There are many things I can share with my father, but tonight’s escapade was definitely not one of them.

And my tears were just that much closer to spilling over.

I hauled myself into the shower after saying goodbye to him. As soon as I was under the warm spray, I let the tears loose in a torrent that did little to cleanse the stains that shone on my soul. I had been weak tonight just as I had been weak before. Nothing much had changed in me. I was still the same.

And that dirt just wasn’t coming off.

My roommate was annoyingly early the following morning when she called. I woke feeling like the zombie apocalypse had found me in the night. Becoming a zombie might just be the answer to my prayers, I thought wryly.

“Hello?” I managed, fumbling to silence the shrill of Brynne’s ringtone drilling into my frontal lobe, having to do it by touch since my eyes weren’t going to function until I got my reading glasses on.

“You won’t believe what I’m staring at,” she gushed.

“Do you know what time it is—because I sure do and I’m sure it’s time for me to be sleeping.”

“Sorry, Gab, but I had to. You would be drooling if you could see this…oh…midcentury Mallerton looming not a foot from me. I could rub my hands all over it if I wanted to.”

“Better not do that, Bree. Tell me,” I demanded, suddenly somewhat interested in the topic that thrust me into wakefulness.

“Well, it’s probably about seven feet by four, and gorgeous as hell. A family portrait of a blonde woman and her husband, and their two children, a boy and a girl. She’s wearing a pink gown and pearls that look like they belong in the Tower’s crown jewels collection. He looks like he’s in love with his wife. God, it’s beautiful.”

My mind started processing what she described but it didn’t sound familiar to me. “Hmmm, I can’t place it offhand. Can you ask if it’s all right to take a picture and send it to me?”

“I will, as soon as I meet someone I can ask.”

“Can you make out his signature?”

“Of course. It was the first thing I looked for. Bottom right, T. Mallerton in those distinctive block letters of his. It is, without a doubt, the real deal.”

“Wow.” I tried to imagine what she’d just described and wished I could see.

“Is everything okay with you? Last night was insane and I never saw you after that alarm went off. I wasn’t feeling well and Ethan was in high-stress mode from some other stuff that happened.”

“Like what other stuff?”

“Umm, not really sure yet. Some weird message on my old phone came through when Ethan had it on him. The person sent a crazy text and the song from…ah…that video they made of me.”

“Shit, are you serious?” I felt for my friend. She’d been through hell because her douchebag boyfriend from years ago happened to be the son of the new running mate of the anticipated next United States president. Her ex had made a disgusting sex tape of them back when they were teenagers, and now Brynne was a potential target, because nobody wanted that video to resurface. Not the senator candidate, and not Brynne either. That video had nearly destroyed her at one time. Her boyfriend, Ethan Blackstone, ran a security company and had her well protected now, but I could only imagine how paranoid he was after the bomb threat last night, and now some creepy anonymous text to Brynne’s phone.

“Yep. I am afraid so,” she said dismissively.

“No wonder Ethan was stressed, Bree. Why aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just want to believe nobody is after me and that this is just some kind of blip on the radar that will go away when the election is over. Trust me, Ethan is all over it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s good someone is,” I grumbled.

“Hey,” she asked, “you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay? Last night was so messed up. I know we exchanged texts and no damage done, but still…”

I didn’t know what to say to her. And the truth was I wasn’t okay. I couldn’t very well tell her I’d gotten busy with a hot guy I’d never met before. She’d be horrified as she should be, and I just couldn’t make her uncomfortable by sharing. Brynne was too sensitive and sweet and she just wouldn’t know what to do with information like that.

“Gabrielle?”

“I’m fine, really. No worries.”

“Where did you go? I wanted to introduce you to Ethan’s cousin, but that obviously never happened.” She sounded slightly annoyed with me.

“I got…distracted, and then—then that alarm went off and I had to get out just like everyone else. Neil saw me and knew I’d made it out safely. And once we were outside the building there was nothing to do but stand around, so I grabbed the first cab I could and went home. I just wanted a shower and my bed. It was a weird night.”

“You’re so right about that.”

“Benny called, too. He saw it on the news and was worried about us. I talked to him for a long time. Really, Bree, I am fine,” I stressed, hoping she bought my story.

“Okay…if you say so.” She didn’t sound very convinced.

“I do want to meet Ethan’s cousin with the old paintings someday, though. Maybe you can arrange it,” I said by way of a peace offering.

“Yeah, maybe. Listen, I gotta go, Gab. Someone is here. I’ll talk to you later and I’ll see what I can do about sending a pic of the Mallerton. Love ya.”

“Love ya back.”

I powered off my phone after I said goodbye to Brynne. I needed to.

It was time for some serious introspection of my life. I couldn’t afford to allow myself to go off on an emotional bender right now. I had school and work to occupy my time, and as for family, well, there was plenty to focus on there, too.

My sister Danielle still lived in Santa Barbara and went to school there despite our dad wanting her to come live in London like I had done. I wished she would, too. I worried about her there without us because I suspected she wasn’t telling me everything that was going on. I had nobody I could really reach out to for accurate information, either. Our mom, Jillian, had lived in Santa Barbara with her husband, a man I refused to acknowledge as my step-father, until her sudden death three years ago. A man who wanted to get his claws into my sister and me, just as he had done to our mother. Garrick Chamberlain was no father of mine, and I didn’t trust him further than I could throw him. Which was not at all.

But he was the father of my nineteen-year-old brother, Blake.

If I called him to ask about Dani or Blake, he’d just guilt me into a tailspin for leaving and living in London when I should be home in the US where I belonged with my family. It wasn’t the true reason he wanted me home, but it didn’t matter to me. I didn’t allow Garrick to influence me, ever. Or at least I gave it my very best shot not to let him into my orbit.

My mother and father were married for only three years. They met at a Peter Gabriel concert when she’d lived in London with her diplomat parents who’d been assigned to the embassy there. They’d fallen into a passionate romance, which I suspect was something from which neither of them ever fully recovered. I was born when she was just nineteen, and I’m sure only because she never told her parents she was pregnant until it was too late for an abortion.

My grandparents may not have been able to stop me from being born, but they made sure my mom and dad never got the chance to make a life together. My grandmother swept my mom and me back to Santa Barbara and out of my dad’s influence until the marriage quietly ended. She was pregnant with my sister when she left England. Dani and I probably would never have had a chance to really know our dad if my grandparents hadn’t been killed in a car accident when I was six. My dad started enforcing his visitation after they were gone, and we began spending our school holidays in London with him. When we were little, his mother, my Granny Anne, helped him with us when we came to England to stay. I’ve always imagined how remarkable it was for my dad to have gone above and beyond in being a parent to two tiny girls when it must have been so scary for him trying to do it all alone, and while living on another continent to boot.

The death of my mother’s parents was the catalyst that changed our lives and set the path, though. My mother inherited their money, property, everything. That new-found wealth attracted the interest of a small-time Hollywood producer, Garrick Chamberlain.

I felt a stab of pain right in the gut and tried not to bring up the wretched past again. I told myself not to give into weakness, and not to allow the mistakes I’d made rule me. You’re stronger than that, Gabrielle. You make your choices and you control your own future now.

Easier said than done.

I sighed instead and reached for the card propped on my nightstand. I’d received it three years ago, only a week before she passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. I ran my fingers over the front image of a beach at sunset on the beautiful handmade paper. My mom had done sweet things like that out of the blue. Sent me a card just to tell me she was thinking about me and how much she loved me.

I brought it up to my nose to sniff the paper. It still carried the scent of jasmine and sea grass. My mom had always loved to buy unconventional things like scented greeting cards and artsy trinkets. She’d sent me a wire bracelet with a painter’s palette and paintbrush charm along with the card, too. The bracelet was lovely but, of course, it was her words that will always mean the most to me. I reached for my glasses so I could read it again.

Darling,

I know you’re deep into your studies right now and just wanted you to receive some love and encouragement from me. I miss you all the time but I know you are doing so many amazing things over in London and in school. Your father does send updates when he can, so I know you’ve been through some hard exams recently. If you get any time, I hope you’ll consider a visit. I so want to get you in my arms again and I know Dani and Blake do, too. I don’t think I would let go of you for at least a day. Gaby, I know you feel guilt for things that happened in the past, but you shouldn’t, my darling. You are a beautiful and remarkable young woman who did nothing more than countless other women have done since time immemorial. You know I believe there isn’t anything that can’t be overcome with determination and maybe some time. I would love to see you for any length of time you could spare. Just say the word and I’ll see that tickets are arranged for you. If you can’t, I understand, and will simply continue to love you from home. When I take a stroll on the beach at dusk I think of you and the wonderful talks we used to have, just the two of us discussing the mysteries of the universe. I know I would miss you whether you were in London or Los Angeles. Distance is just a number after all. I’m so grateful you have your father there to look out for you.

Love you always and forever,

Mom

For the millionth time, I tried not to read more into the letter than was there. That she’d wanted me to come home for a visit was apparent. But, was the reason more to do with her illness than just a longing to see her child? This was my worry and I knew I’d never know the answer. I’d called her and we’d talked for a long time after I’d received the card. She’d assured me she was just feeling lonely for me when she wrote it, and to please not worry.

That had been hard to do, though.

Of course I’d worried. My mom had been sick with a chronic illness that had the potential to kill her, and married to a man who probably didn’t mind if it did.

And then she did die.

It happened very quickly and without warning, because her general prognosis had not been dire. But the worst part was I’d not been able to get home in time to see her again. This card in my hand right now held the last words I would ever “hear” from my mother.

I pressed my eyes shut and thought of her. Of how good she was, and how determined she was to let me know how much she loved me in spite of what I’d done. It was my mother who had reached out to my dad and suggested I leave home and come to London to live where he could help me to find my way. After the mess I’d made, I’d needed some help. The two of them had kept an open line of communication about their children over the years, and I often wondered if Garrick hadn’t snatched up my mother and married her, would my parents have gotten back together in time?

That had been impossible with my step-dad in the picture. He was also Blake’s father and thus, I was stuck with Garrick Chamberlain as a family connection whether I liked it or not.

Garrick was solicitous of my mom when they were together, but I’d never seen any evidence of the love affair between them. He’d married her for her money I was sure, and she had stayed married to him because of Blake. And now that she was gone, Garrick wanted to control even the portions of her estate that had been left to me and to Dani.

It was very easy for me to blame Garrick for everything. After all, my great shame was in part, because of him. Whenever I did visit my sister and brother in Santa Barbara, I couldn’t wait to get away from Garrick and back home to London.

Home?

Where was my home, really?

I had family in London and in California, but I lived in London now. I couldn’t see myself leaving it, either. There was too much back in California to hurt me. There was also nothing to tie my heart to California now my mom was gone. I missed Dani and Blake terribly, but for now my imperative was pretty simple.

Avoid the hurt at all costs.