23. Butterfly

Brand hadn’t said anything about when his mission would start, but I sensed it was soon. He also hadn’t said anything about when we’d return to New York, and I somehow knew when the time came, I’d be traveling alone.

“We don’t have to go tonight,” I said when he seemed preoccupied. “Or I can go on my own.”

We were sitting on the sofa, and Brand pulled me into his arms. “I want to spend every minute I can with you, Butterfly.”

“You have to leave soon, don’t you?”

He raised his left eyebrow just slightly and said, “I’m not certain.”

“Don’t,” I snapped, wriggling out of his hold.

“What’s this about, Pen?”

“You just lied to me.”

“I didn’t. I’m truly not certain.”

“But you have some idea,” I said when I saw his left eyebrow move again.

“I fear it’s imminent.”

“Will you be returning to New York?”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ll be able to.”

“Will this happen before Christmas?” I knew the work he was about to do was important, and as soon as the words left my mouth, I felt selfish and childish.

“It will not be. However, I’m anticipating it will be shortly after the new year.”

I tried not to let him see how relieved I was that we could spend New Year’s Eve together.

“I hate having to leave you at all.”

I snuggled back into him. “I know.”

“At least you’ll be safe. I couldn’t, in good conscience, allow you to go where I’m headed. It’s far more dangerous than I originally thought.”

“Again, if you’d rather not go tonight, I’ll understand.”

“Actually, I’m looking forward to a change of pace, even if just for dinner. As one would expect, the people working for the coalition are among the best agents in the world, which means they’re quite intense. Truth be told, like the first time I visited London on my own, I feel quite out of my element.”

“If they didn’t think you were cut out for this assignment, they wouldn’t let you do it, Brand.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He chuckled. “I’m not the cocky kid who believed he was invincible anymore.”

I understood. I’d changed too. Thinking back on running the gallery, it felt like I’d been pretending more than truly possessing any knowledge in the business of art. I accepted the forgeries had duped some of the best collectors in the world, but I still felt like I was out of my element, as Brand had said. Based on how I felt now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue in my role at the Catarina Benedetto Gallery, and until Brand left, I wouldn’t make any decisions.

We madearrangements to meet Eliza at a pub close to where we’d have dinner, given Brand and I would not be admitted without her escort. When we walked in and I waved at her, I heard Brand groan.

“What’s wrong?” I asked before taking another step.

“The man she’s with is an advisor to the coalition. His name is Typhon.”

I understood why. He was well over six feet tall. Maybe even seven feet and had dark wavy hair that was loose and cascaded past his shoulders. When he looked our way, he smiled, but a second before, his expression was best described as angry. When we stepped closer, I could see his stormy dark eyes were flecked with green, blue, and gold.

“Penelope!” exclaimed Eliza, and we embraced. “Is it ever good to see you.”

I pulled back after we cheek-kissed. “Likewise, and wow, you look amazing.” The teenaged version of her’d been pretty, but as an adult, she was beautiful. Gone were her braces, replaced by a wide, bright smile. Her blonde hair was sandy, like Brand’s. In fact, the two could be siblings—the possibility jarred me when I really thought about it. However, if Eliza were one of Richard Emsworth’s offsprings, surely, he would’ve claimed her by now.

Eliza was taller than me by several inches, but she was still dwarfed by Typhon in the same way Brand and I were.

“Let me introduce you,” she said, leading me over to where Typhon and Brand stood chatting.

“Leviticus Marras, meet Penelope Ramsey.” His big hand engulfed mine.

“I’m Brando Ripa,” he said, reaching over to shake Eliza’s hand.

“Typhon said you two know each other,” Eliza said, looking between them.

“That’s right,” Typhon responded, glancing at the other people standing within hearing distance.

“We’ve just arrived also, so rather than order anything here, let’s head over to Five Hertford.” Eliza leaned into me. “You’re in for quite a treat.”

I would’ve walkedpast the unmarked maroon door bearing a stark number five, but Brand appeared to know the place.

Rather than open the door, Eliza pressed a button, seconds after which a doorman appeared and welcomed us inside.

“Oh my gosh,” I said under my breath as he led us beyond the foyer.

Brand squeezed my hand, winked, and smiled, watching me take it all in.

The boho-chic interior was quintessentially English, with clashing patterns and prints on the carpets and walls reminiscent of what I’d expect in an eccentric, upper-class, English country home.

Eclectic art lined the walls of the various living and sitting rooms the doorman led us past, which were lit by cabaret-style table lamps and warm fires.

“We’ll have a drink in LouLou’s first,” Eliza said, motioning for us to follow her down a set of stairs and into a room that looked more bohemian-Parisian than English, including a life-size head and neck of a taxidermied giraffe.

“Have a seat,” said Brand, pointing to a zebra-print bar stool.

“This is an interesting place,” I whispered, leaning closer to him. “Have you been before?”

He nodded. “Only once.”

“What do you fancy?” Eliza asked.

“The lady will have Booker’s straight up,” Brand responded. “And I’ll have mine on ice.”

I nearly laughed out loud. He really did know me so well. Booker’s was definitely my favorite bourbon, and unlike him, I’d never bastardize it by having it over anything that would eventually melt and water it down.

After we’d finished our drinks, the same man who’d escorted us inside appeared to lead us to the dining room. Admittedly, I was a little uncomfortable that Typhon hadn’t said a single word and Brand hadn’t said much more.

“I’m sorry Eliza and I are monopolizing the conversation,” I whispered as we made our way up the same set of stairs we’d come down.

“Don’t be,” he said, kissing my cheek.

We walked into a room where a fireplace was lit and the lone table was set for four.

When the man walked out and closed a set of pocket doors behind him, both Brand and Typhon looked as though they let out a breath they’d been holding.

“I understand you were one of the galleries affected by the bloody Sicilians,” said Typhon.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brand flinch.

“That’s right,” I said, rather than react to the news Brand hadn’t shared. I doubt he’d thought he could, so I’d hardly hold it against him.

Brand pulled out my chair and, as I took a seat, leaned in. “I love you, Butterfly.”

When he sat beside me and scooted closer, I reached for his hand.

“How nice that they have a private dining room,” I commented.

“Yes, quite convenient. Particularly when one doesn’t want to run into adversaries,” Typhon mumbled.

Eliza nudged him, his cheeks flushed, and he smiled. Later, when we were alone, I’d ask Brand if he knew what they were referring to.

“I was happy to hear you’d be joining us this evening.” Typhon spoke directly to Brand, who was seated across from him.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Eliza asked.

“Something quiet at the flat.”

“You could join us if you’d like. It’ll just be the four of us.”

“Four?”

“My cousin, his wife, Typhon, and me.”

“Do you mean Saint?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could swear Typhon grimaced.

“They don’t get on,” Eliza leaned forward, cupped her mouth, and whispered.

“It’s hardly a secret, El,” said Typhon.

“But they’ve promised to try. For me. An armistice, if you will.”

Eliza smiled, but based on her date’s reaction, there wasn’t anything amusing about his lack of a relationship with her cousin.

“I wantyou to know you’ll have our support,” Typhon said later in the evening when we were getting ready to leave our private dining room.

“Much appreciated. I wasn’t informed your unit would be involved,” Brand responded.

“That’s because it’s no one’s call but mine. Who’s going in with you?”

“Blackjack and Tank.”

Typhon’s lip curled. “Bloody Americans.”

Eliza slapped his arm, and he looked over at me.

“My apologies, Penelope. Present company excluded, of course.”

My friend put her arm through mine and led me toward the door. “Don’t take it personally. Typhon doesn’t like anyone.”

“I beg to differ. I like you very much,” he said, walking up behind us and putting his arm around Eliza’s waist. At the same time, I let go and waited for Brand to catch up.

“Very interesting evening,”I commented once we returned to the flat.

Brand raised a brow and nodded.

“You were—are—very quiet.”

“Given Typhon didn’t hesitate to say more than I thought he should, I don’t feel too out of line telling you he’s the commander of Unit 23.”

“What’s that?”

“The most secretive, elite, and deadly team in SIS.”

We both chuckled at his emphasis of the word that seemed to be more the antithesis of the man we’d dined with.

“He didn’t reveal that much.”

Brand raised a brow a second time. “I suppose, in his position, he really doesn’t give a damn what he says or who hears him say it.”

“I wonder how he and Eliza met.”

“I’m not certain, but Typhon’s and Saint’s animosity stems back to long before they did.”

“Interesting.”

“I wish I could tell you more, but when the conversation veers away from the mission, I stop listening. It’s all a bit too much, you know?”

“I suppose, although I don’t actually know.”

“You’re better off. Believe me.” Brand poured a glass of Port and held it out to me.

I would’ve refused, but he appeared to need someone to share a nightcap with. “I’m worried about you.”

He downed the wine in his glass. “As am I.”

My eyes scrunched, and I studied him. “Brand?”

He set the glass down and took me in his arms. “Let’s go to bed, Butterfly.”

When we made love, it felt different. Brand was more subdued, gentler. Afterwards, I lay with my back to his front so he wouldn’t see the tears running down my cheeks. Whatever Brand wasn’t saying was beginning to scare me.