“Ok, now you’re sounding dramatic.” Dahlia pulls off her skinny Rag & Bone jeans and throws on a robe, realizing she didn’t pack a swimsuit. On second thought, she’ll soak in the ginormous marble tub in the bathroom.
“Never mind. It’s just for the best.”
“Whatever, Vi.”
“Send my love to Thomas and remember, D, you can trust him. He means well. Besides, he knows if he does anything to you, he’ll have to answer to me.”
Chapter 20
“Since when do investigators bring their clients to Michelin star restaurants?” Dahlia asks when Thomas pulls out her chair.
“Only when their mutual friend threatens to cut off said investigator’s balls,” he replies, pushing in her chair.
He unbuttons his gray mohair jacket and sits across from her. “Vi gave me an earful the other day, telling me that I’d better be nicer to you. I apologize if I came off unprofessional or rude.”
Dahlia sits up straight and mirrors his stiff manner. She didn’t quite mind it all really. In contrast to this uptight and proper man in front of her now, the man the other day was far more alluring with his raw honesty.
“I didn’t complain really. I just expressed some concern about you being up for the job.”
She smiles at the maitre d’ who hands her a menu.
“I didn’t think my abilities were what you were questioning?”
Dahlia shakes her head. “Not at all. It was more about how long I could tolerate your crap. I’m sure you do your job well,” she says, waving her hand in the air, “Whatever it is that you do when you’re not on this case. But I can’t get a read on you. You say you don’t want a job that requires hand holding. I don’t want my hand held, but I want some level of understanding. I want to know that I can trust you.” She leans back and regards the waiter standing to her right.
She listens as Thomas inquires about the menu and wine pairings, momentarily showing some hint of his breeding. He’s not just some run-of-the-mill public school boy from London. When he looks at her to offer her choice for dinner, she orders the foie gras followed by the hake and then returns to studying him.
“I can tell you that I’m not as interesting as I look.”
“That self-deprecating thing is one of the qualities I like least about the English. It’s completely transparent.”
“So you think the American need for attention and praise is better?”
Dahlia shrugs. “Neither work I guess. They’re both pretty disingenuous, don’t you think?”
There’s that look again, she thinks to herself.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to for the past few days,” Dahlia says, changing tack. Now that she has a cell phone, she’s managed to catch the latest exhibit at the Tate and roam the rooms at the British Museum for hours. Being surrounded by crowds of tourists has helped her forget how alone she feels in this city. Besides, it beat waiting around for Thomas to call, which he did only once, and that was to invite her to dinner.
“Searching,” Thomas replies simply. “Contrary to popular belief, investigative work is quite boring. A lot can be accomplished online with a bit of footwork. But it can be tedious.”
“Based on Vi’s basic description, you don’t seem like someone who engages in boring and tedious things.”
He raises an eyebrow at her and lets out a low laugh. “No, not everything I do is boring.”
Dahlia bites her lip. The way he says that seems to hold some promise.
“Your case is particularly irritating because there are too many pieces of the puzzle missing that I find I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Their conversation is interrupted by the sommelier providing a glass of wine to pair with their first courses.
As soon as the servers lift off the silver plate covers, Thomas gently pushes away his dish and says, “Listen, Dahlia, compassion, emotions, all that sensitive crap can influence how I view things. I need to be as clear and objective as possible, or I’m not doing my job. But, per Vi’s request, I’ll try to be nicer.” He clears his throat and scoops his caviar onto a small biscuit, the murmur of surrounding voices fill the quiet between them. As soon as he finishes, he scoots back his chair and says, “I’m going to have a cigarette. Care to join?”
“No, thanks,” Dahlia replies. She watches as Thomas strides out of the room. She gazes up at the ceiling, admiring the intricate design.
“Excuse me. Are you Ms. Baron?” A valet asks.
Dahlia nods, her heart beginning to race. Other than Vi, Thomas and Lily, no one is supposed to know where she is. “Someone left a note for you.”
She looks around the room to see if anyone is watching her. “Did they give a name?”
“No ma’am,” the valet says apologetically. “It was left at the desk.”
“By whom?”
The young man shrugs.
Dahlia’s trembling hands make it difficult for her to open the envelope. Finally, she gives up and rips it open. It reads:
IF YOU LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER, STOP SEARCHING FOR HER. LET HER GO.
Dahlia turns pale and drops the paper onto her half-eaten appetizer. Her hands are still shaking. She brings them together hoping to control it.
Thomas returns and takes his seat across from her, but his expression becomes serious when he notices Dahlia’s complexion. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
She nods at the piece of paper, unable to unclasp her hands. It’s taking all her will power to not run out of the room. Dahlia wants to scream and punch a wall, but all she thinks she should do is sit quietly and wonder who in the hell is watching her.
“When did you get this?” He asks in a sharp tone.
“When you stepped away,” she says in a whisper. Fear, anxiety, and rage race through her all at once rendering her paralyzed.
Thomas looks back up, his gorgeous bow lips in a full smile. “You know what this means?”
“Enlighten me,” Dahlia says, reaching for her wine glass.
“We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
Chapter 21
“You know what time it is, don’t you?” Dahlia asks into the phone, yawning. The clock on her nightstand reads 5:08 a.m.
“Of course I do,” Vi replies. “So now you know if you don’t keep me updated I’ll be calling you at all hours.”
Dahlia sits up and wipes the sleep from her eyes. “You have such a little vindictive side, don’t you?”
Vi chuckles. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
“Thomas mentioned that he’s been sleeping over.”
“So you automatically assumed that I’m fucking him?” Dahlia pads over to the bedroom door and peeks out. She spies him sleeping on the sofa.
“No, darling. I wouldn’t presume anything. I just figured there was a chance.”
“Vi, why are you so quick to pair people up?” Dahlia’s eyes run over his long, sculpted torso. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s absolutely beautiful, but I can’t say I’m interested in anything other than finding Marissa.”
“Fine, D. Suit yourself. So what is he doing there?”
“I got a note from someone when Thomas and I were at dinner the other night. It suggested that I stop looking for Marissa. It completely freaked me out. No one is supposed to know I’m here. It just feels a bit safer to have him nearby.” Dahlia tip-toes over to the espresso maker and drops in a capsule.
“Does Thomas have any idea who wrote it?”
Dahlia shakes her head as if Vi could see her. “No. But he thinks it means he’s onto something. I’m trying really hard to be patient, but each day that passes feels like another day I lose with her.”
“I understand. He did warn this could take a while,” Vi pauses. “Listen, I’m thinking of popping over in a week or two. I have some stuff to deal with over there.”
“That’ll be great. Although, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope we’ve found her by then.”
“Oh, of course, D. I just wanted to mention it now. By the way, I know you have other things on your mind, but we do have your sister’s bachelorette party to plan. Lily and Alejandro moved up their wedding date to the end of December.”
“When did she do that?” Dahlia asks, her voice getting louder.
“Lily rang me yesterday. She said she couldn’t get in touch with you. Guess your pushing her to not hold back with Alejandro lit a fire under her.”
Dahlia downs the rest of her espresso and sighs. “Let’s hope everything is settled by then.”
Chapter 22
Thomas’s coarse morning voice startles Dahlia as she walks softly back to her bedroom. “What’s this I hear about looking beautiful?”
She spins around and sees Thomas stretching out on the sofa. Recovering, she says, “Why don’t you sleep in one of the other bedrooms? You’d probably be more comfortable.” Dahlia averts her gaze from the incredible bulge she just noticed in his pants.
“This sofa is quite comfortable. You should try sleeping outdoors on a cot with the sound of gunfire and rockets going off throughout the night. That gives you perspective on sleep.”
“So you spent some time in Afghanistan?” Dahlia ventures a guess, trying to keep with the conversation. It still bothers her that Thomas knows way more about her than she does about him.
His green eyes turn dull. Suddenly the mood in the room turns serious.
Dahlia nods at his shoulder. “That how you got that scar there on your shoulder?”
Reflexively, he moves his shoulder. “Yeah. Sometimes it feels like the shrapnel is still in there. I find myself checking from time to time.” He looks up and smiles, “You’re up bright and early.”
Dahlia smiles back, accepting the abrupt change in topic. Thomas is so much like Vi. Perhaps it’s an English thing—not wanting to share too much personal information.
Thomas grabs his shirt from the side of the rich, burgundy sofa and pulls it on, covering his scar.
Dahlia shifts her weight, feeling awkward all of a sudden, as if she breached some unknown protocol. She glances down at the table and notices scattered papers with scribbled notes and pictures. Staring right back up at her is Shane. Her hand reaches out and removes the photo from the pile. Dahlia can feel her heart pounding against her chest.
“That’s Marissa’s father, yeah?”
Dahlia nods absently. She hasn’t seen a picture of Shane since his funeral. The one in her hand is from a stock photo Thomas must have gotten off the Internet. Until now, Dahlia’s relied solely on her memory—which has become blurred by her anger toward Shane. She can hardly remember him without the truth of his betrayal hitting her like a battering ram. Now, as she stares back into his intense gaze, she wonders how he could have gone on with his life, knowing Marissa was out there. How he could have been with Dahlia all those months and not once mention he knew she was still alive.
Thomas clears his throat. “So this Shane guy never hinted at all that he knew about Marissa?”
Dahlia tosses the photo back onto the pile and shakes her head. “I told you, he never said a thing.” She leans against the doorframe and watches as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “Vi called. She said she’s coming to London in the next week or two.” Dahlia drums her fingers on the wall, anxious to see if that will motivate Thomas a bit more.
A smile spreads over Thomas’s face for a second. “It’ll be good to see her. Been a while.” He takes one last drag and stubs out his cigarette. Standing up he says, “Right, so I’ve got some things to follow up on and phone calls to make. Just go about your day. Hopefully I’ll have something to share with you later.” Thomas gathers up his papers and shoves them into a messenger bag.
Before Dahlia can ask when he’ll be back, the door closes behind him.
With that, Dahlia is left alone again, in a foreign city with its interminably gray, rainy weather and with nothing to do but wait.
“You think you can meet me at St. Pancras in an hour?” Thomas says in the same hurried voice he had the first day he called her.
Dahlia regards her A-Z guide, which the hotel concierge advised she buy last week after getting lost in Chelsea. Who knew the streets could have the same name but be in entirely different neighborhoods? She vowed then to never visit again unless it was absolutely necessary, like now.
“It’s not far from your hotel,” he prompts.
“Yeah, I see that,” she replies in a clipped tone. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in two days, since he left her hotel. Dahlia’s tired of the way Thomas doesn’t feel it necessary to check-in from time to time. If it weren’t for her friendship with Vi, she would’ve found someone else by now.
“Pack your bags for a couple of days.”
“Do I need to check-out of my room?”
“Don’t bother. You’ll be back.”
“You want to tell me where we’re going at least?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Chapter 23
Dahlia watches as the English countryside enters her view. She closes her eyes, committing the picturesque landscape to memory. She sighs momentarily, as she imagines sketching the burnt oranges, yellows and reds of early fall. When she opens her eyes, she catches Thomas staring at her.
“You feel like talking now?” She asks sarcastically. He’d been on edge since she arrived at the station. He said little when he handed her a train ticket to Paris and led her to her seat in the first class car. It was almost like spending an afternoon with her father.
Thomas nods and tucks his phone away. “You ever consider what you’ll do if you find Marissa?”
“Don’t you mean when, not if?” Dahlia asks.
“Right, of course.” Thomas clears his throat. “When you find Marissa.”
Dahlia shrugs. “I’ve imagined it so many times since I found out she’s alive. In my fantasy, she recognizes me instantly and hugs me.” Dahlia pauses and gazes out the window, trying to push back the tears. “But I know that it won’t be that way. Her parents won’t want to give her up. I get that they’re attached.”
“So why pursue this?”
“Why ask this now?” Dahlia snaps. “You’ve been looking for her for almost a month and you choose today to grill me about the what if’s?”
“What else are we going to do for the next two hours?”
Dahlia shrugs, angry at Thomas for bringing up what she knows will be the hardest part of this whole ordeal. She can’t blame her mother or Shane for what will come of this. Perhaps a little, but she accepts that going forward, whatever happens once she finds Marissa, is all Dahlia’s responsibility.
“Look, Dahlia. Wanting to find your daughter is admirable. But what if,” he pauses, leans forward a bit, and then continues, “It leads to more people getting hurt than you realize?”
“You mean like her adoptive parents?” Dahlia crosses her arms. “I considered that maybe they don’t know that her birth mother is still alive. God knows what kind of lies my mother spun about me to whomever she gave my daughter to, but I can’t let that stop me. Don’t I deserve to get to know my own daughter and somehow be a part of her life?”
The train begins to descend into darkness in the tunnel. “Yes, I suppose so,” Thomas admits ruefully. “Just remember that this isn’t about you anymore.”
Dahlia nods. “Noted.”
Dusk descends over the Seine in beautiful vermillion and purple hues. The lights have begun to flicker on as the Mercedes sedan whisks them through the city. Dahlia relaxes in her seat, happy to be back in a city she came to love when she was a child. It was one of the few places she ever felt at home. Aesthetically it was far more pleasing than New York could ever aspire to be.
“So this is where Marissa calls home?” She asks Thomas.
Thomas looks up from his phone. “Perhaps. It’s a slim lead at best.” He rubs his index finger over his bottom lip.
“How did you figure she could be here?”
> “Good old-fashioned deduction.” He smiles slyly.
“You flatter yourself.” Dahlia chuckles.
“I merely looked at all of your parents’ friends and associates, focusing primarily on your mother’s relationships. Then I looked at which of them or their children had a child roughly seven years ago. Even though she was technically adopted, I don’t know if they went through any channels to make it look legitimate. They could’ve just had a birth certificate drawn up. It took a long time to filter through the information. Your lot seems to enjoy breeding trust fund babies.”
Dahlia nods. “Tell me about it. It’s an unwritten rule that you have to be engaged and pushing out babies before thirty or you’ve failed your family.”
“I know what you mean.”
Dahlia shifts in her seat to get a better look at Thomas. “You face the same issue?”
He lets out a loud laugh. “Dear God no. My trust is secure. My father couldn’t care less about what I do.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I’m a man, Dahlia. The world, sadly for your kind, tilts in my favor. I’m expected to continue the bloodline, which is bluer than I’d prefer it to be. But I’ve got loads of time.”
Dahlia doesn’t get a chance to reply as the car pulls up in front of the Shangri-La. She steps out and takes in the ornate façade. “This isn’t just a bit flashy for you?”
“For me, perhaps. I’ll be at my flat just across the bridge in the Champs de Mars. But you’ll find it charming I’m sure.”
“I thought you knew me better than that,” she retorts.
Thomas closes the door and lowers the window. “I booked the room under Isadora Wing. I plan to follow-up on a lead tomorrow so I’ll catch up with you in the evening. Have a good night, Dahlia. Take care of yourself.”
Dahlia’s taken aback by his last four words since it was uncharacteristic of Thomas to show any concern for her well-being.
The Dahlia Trilogy (The Gilded Flower Series) Page 17
