Modern Romance May 2019: Books 1-4 Page 2

  ‘They had you, though.’ It was the most honest admission.

  ‘So do you, Khalid,’ Jobe said, for having himself spoken to Khalid’s icy father he knew the young man would get no true support at home.

  Here in this study Khalid had wept for his mother.

  For a short while he had been sixteen and flailing, scared and desperately sad, and Jobe had allowed him to be.

  Jobe Devereux had been the only person ever to see him cry for, even as a child, tears had been forbidden.

  Khalid had been an only child until he’d been a teenager and his brother, Hussain, had been born, lifting from him the full weight of being the only heir. Now there were twins but no mother to love them.

  Yes, Khalid had cried.

  But by the time the royal plane had arrived the mask had been back on and it had never, to this day, slipped.

  ‘Khalid?’

  He realised that he had not heard Ethan come into the study and turned and offered his condolences to his business partner and friend, although they could never have been considered close.

  Khalid was not close to anyone.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Khalid.’

  ‘Of course, I was always going to be here for Jobe’s funeral.’

  ‘I meant tonight. It’s appreciated. How long are you here for?’

  ‘Till the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘You have to leave so soon?’

  ‘I am increasingly needed at home,’ Khalid said.

  ‘Well, it was good of you to come.’

  ‘Enough small-talk, Ethan.’ Khalid cut straight to the point. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘A lot,’ Ethan admitted. ‘And it cannot get out.’

  ‘You know it will go no further.’ Khalid was one of the few who could be trusted with bombshell news. He would never gossip—Khalid was far too remote and royal for that—and so Ethan told him what had been revealed since his father’s death.

  Jobe Devereux’s life had been interesting, to say the least, and had played out in the press for all to see. His sons, Abe and Ethan, had seen it all.

  Or had thought that they had.

  ‘There was an account we didn’t know about,’ Ethan told him.

  Khalid listened as Ethan revealed they had found out that Jobe had had a penchant for gambling and showgirls. As it turned out, those long weekends away that Jobe had frequently taken hadn’t always been spent at the Hamptons; instead they had been taken in Vegas.

  Sin City.

  ‘Are there debts?’ Khalid asked, for he always dealt first with business.

  Ethan shook his head. ‘No, he was actually ahead, but this wasn’t an occasional thing, Khalid. There were a lot of women, oh, and a marriage we didn’t know about.’

  ‘A marriage?’

  ‘Between his first wife and my mother, it turns out he was married to a woman named Brandy for all of seventy-two hours.’

  ‘Ancient history,’ Khalid dismissed.

  ‘Perhaps, but it’s ancient history that might resurface tomorrow.’

  ‘Jobe’s reputation can handle it.’ Khalid’s words were calm and measured as he poured oil on troubled waters. ‘And so can you. Of course, anything that is recent may prove hard on his current partner.’ Khalid checked his facts. ‘He got back with Chantelle before he died?’

  ‘Not really.’ Ethan held out his hand in a wavering motion. ‘But they were together on and off for quite a few years.’

  ‘Ethan,’ Khalid calmly responded. ‘Everyone has a shadow side. And that Jobe kept mistresses, and was married briefly, is hardly going to come as too much of a surprise, surely? Jobe led a colourful life and we all know how much he loved women.’

  ‘Women, yes,’ Ethan sighed, and Khalid could see his friend’s discomfort and knew he was about to hear the real reason he’d been asked to come by in advance of the funeral. ‘For the last four years my father has been sending a considerable monthly sum to an Aubrey Johnson...’

  Now Khalid frowned, for this indeed came as a surprise. ‘Jobe was having an affair with a man?’

  And on this dark sombre night Ethan actually laughed. ‘No, Khalid. Jobe wasn’t gay.’

  ‘But Aubrey is a man’s name.’

  ‘Not here it isn’t, it’s a unisex name. Believe me, Aubrey Johnson is definitely not a man.’

  Ethan handed him some photographs.

  No, Aubrey was certainly not a man.

  She was barely a woman.

  Aubrey Johnson had a curtain of blonde hair and china-blue eyes, but her pretty, delicate features were overwhelmed by elaborate stage make-up, with false eyelashes and painted red lips. Her petite, toned figure was shown to effect in a crimson, sequined leotard.

  And nothing else.

  ‘How old is she?’ Khalid asked, his deep voice hoarse with disappointment.

  ‘Twenty-two,’ Ethan said. ‘She’ll be twenty-three next month.’

  Jobe had been seventy-four.

  ‘She’s a dancer,’ Ethan said.

  ‘I’m assuming we’re not talking ballroom...’ Khalid started, and then answered his own question as he looked at the next image. From barely a woman to all woman, she wore a tiny, revealing dress and elaborate make-up and his jaw gritted at her provocative pose.

  ‘She’s also an aerial trapeze artist, apparently,’ Ethan said as Khalid flicked through the photos of Aubrey. ‘Though not a very good one,’

  ‘Why do you say she’s not any good?’ Khalid frowned.

  ‘Well, she’s not a big name or anything. Ms Johnson lives in a trailer park and does a routine over the gaming tables. And when she’s not performing it would seem she’s my father’s...’ Ethan couldn’t finish. ‘She was barely eighteen when the payments started.’

  What the hell had Jobe been thinking?

  Khalid could not stand to think that the man he had so deeply admired would be involved with someone so young. No, he could not accept that from Jobe. ‘Could there be another explanation?’

  ‘If there is, we’re doing our damnedest to find it.’ Ethan shook his head. ‘But no.’

  ‘Could she be his daughter?’ Khalid persisted, still not wanting to think the worst.

  ‘No.’ Again Ethan shook his head. ‘My father was a generous man and if he’d known he had a daughter she would not be living in a trailer park. If the money was for a benevolent reason he had trusts and charities set up for that but the payments to Ms Johnson came from the buried account—he didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘It’s better that you do,’ Khalid said. ‘Before it gets out.’

  ‘Look, if there’s scandal brewing, Abe and I will deal with it, we just don’t want anything to hit at the funeral tomorrow. We want our father to have a dignified send-off.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We’ve made security aware of the names of these women and they are to be kept well back—’

  ‘No, no,’ Khalid interrupted. ‘You are to let them into the funeral.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Ethan stated. ‘We are not turning Jobe’s send-off into a Vegas show.’

  ‘Ethan, I thought you invited me here for advice.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Do you want a scene outside with the cameras where you have no control?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then add these women to the guest list. If they arrive, have security watch them and my detail shall keep an eye out too. You focus on saying farewell to your father. And remember, if any of them do turn up it might just be to pay their respects. No one should be denied that chance.’

  ‘No.’ Ethan let out a long breath, but it hitched when Khalid spoke on.

  ‘If they are at the funeral they are to be invited back to the private wake.’

  ‘No way! That really is just for family and close friends.’

  ‘You don’t need me to tell you to keep your enemies close, Ethan.’

  ‘And risk his wake being turned into a circus?’ Ethan gave a shake of his head,
but he knew Khalid well enough to know that he never offered rash advice and so, rather wearily he nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Abe.’

  ‘This will all be sorted,’ Khalid reassured him. ‘Your father might have had some secrets, but he was inherently a good man.’

  ‘I know.’ Ethan nodded. ‘Look, thanks for being here. It would have meant an awful lot to Jobe.’

  ‘Your father meant a lot to me,’ Khalid said.

  With that out of the way, they went through the details for the next day. Khalid’s royal title had been omitted from the order of service at his own request.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ Ethan checked, as Khalid stood to leave.

  ‘Absolutely. That was always the best thing about being here,’ Khalid admitted to Ethan. ‘I wasn’t treated as a prince, or next in line to be King. Here I was just Khalid.’ He grew serious then. ‘Tomorrow you are to focus on remembering your father. Any problems are now mine to deal with.’

  Ethan gave a grateful nod, for he knew that Khalid would take care of things.

  As formidable as he was to outsiders, Khalid looked after his own.

  ‘What about you, Khalid?’ Ethan asked as he walked him out of the study.

  ‘What about me?’ Khalid frowned.

  ‘If everyone has a shadow side, what’s yours?’

  ‘You really don’t expect me to answer that, do you?’ Khalid said, and opened the door.

  Of course not.

  For no one really knew Khalid.

  Here the press described him as a playboy, but that was inaccurate for he did not play.

  At anything.

  His emotions were always kept strictly in check and he allowed no one close to him, even in bed.

  Especially in bed.

  For his own reasons he had chosen not to have a harem. He loathed how his mother had suffered when his father had taken himself there. How he had taunted her when another infant had been sired and he could tell her the ‘problem’ with her failing to provide more heirs was clearly not his.

  Those children had no status and were considered unrelated to Khalid, and he did not want those ways to be his own. So he had rejected the harem, but here in New York he dated sophisticated, experienced women who accepted there would be no feigned tenderness.

  It was sex.

  Khalid’s absolute lack of affection was paid for in diamonds, gifts and sometimes plain old hard cash.

  Tonight he had plenty with him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NEW YORK, THE CITY of Dreams.

  And for Aubrey Johnson, New York was also a city of might-have-beens.

  How she wished she were here under different circumstances, but instead of arriving in Manhattan to study music, as she had once hoped to, Aubrey was here to say goodbye to a man who had given her a chance.

  Only she hadn’t taken it.

  The day had only just begun and already Aubrey was tired. She was at the very end of an ear infection and the flight from Vegas through the night to JFK hadn’t helped matters.

  Jobe’s funeral was at midday and that it was a private, very high-profile funeral to which she hadn’t been invited didn’t deter Aubrey. She knew a few tricks and would try to get in, but if not, then she’d pay her last respects from a distance.

  It felt important to be here today.

  Aubrey headed for the restrooms and there her denim skirt, sandals and loose top were replaced with a black slip dress that she had borrowed from a friend.

  It was a little too big for Aubrey’s slender frame, but she had a shawl to wear over her shoulders. She pulled on black pantyhose and court shoes. The clothes that she had taken off were neatly folded and packed into her slim black shoulder bag. Aubrey would not be paying for storage.

  She took the AirTrain and then the subway and, following the instructions her friend had given her, found herself on a very busy street on a crisp spring day in Manhattan.

  Aubrey stood for a moment soaking it all in, her head tipped back as she gazed up in awe at the tall buildings, but she was soon jolted by the sea of people walking determinedly by. Aubrey headed into a large department store and headed up a level to an in-store coffee shop and bought a well-deserved drink.

  She had budgeted carefully for today.

  For the last few weeks, having seen on the news that Jobe was nearing the end, she had been trying to put a little away whenever she could. It had been hard. Her ear infection had meant her balance was off, and so she’d been unable to do trapeze, and the tips were less when waiting tables. Still, she’d saved enough to buy the cheapest return flights for her and her mom to attend the funeral.

  But Stella had refused to come, insisting she wanted to stay home.

  Aubrey’s mom was a Vegas lifer and loved it. Or she had loved it.

  Now she never went further than the porch of their trailer, and that was only after dark.

  Aubrey made her coffee last then, when it was done, she popped a mint and an antibiotic pill and took the escalator down to the make-up counter. There she tried lipsticks on the back of her hand until the assistant came over and asked if she could help.

  ‘I hope so,’ Aubrey sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for really. I don’t usually wear make-up...’ That wasn’t true, Aubrey wore several inches of it each night when she performed, but if her friend was right then the assistant should offer a make-over. Sure enough, she was soon invited to take a seat on a high stool, except Aubrey hesitated.

  It felt wrong.

  ‘I wear stage make-up,’ she admitted.

  ‘So you’re looking for a more natural look?’ the assistant asked.

  ‘Yes, but...’ Aubrey took a breath. The young woman was around the same age as herself, and no doubt relying on commission and hoping that Aubrey would make some purchases after the make-over. There was no chance of that and Aubrey admitted the truth. ‘I actually can’t afford to buy anything,’

  Their eyes met for a moment, but then the assistant gave her a small smile. ‘At least you’re honest.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me give you a make-over anyway. Hopefully we’ll pull in a crowd and both come out winning.’

  Soon she was sitting on the high stool. ‘So where are you off to?’ the make-up artist asked, glancing at Aubrey’s black attire. ‘A funeral?’

  ‘Yes, for a family friend.’ Aubrey nodded. ‘Though it’s going to be very well-heeled. I don’t want to stand out.’

  ‘It must be the day for funerals. Today’s Jobe Devereux’s—’ Her voice halted when she felt the heat sear in Aubrey’s cheeks. ‘That’s where you’re headed?’

  Jobe was New York City royalty and so, when Aubrey nodded, the make-up assistant knew exactly what her customer was up against. ‘Let’s get to work, then,’ she said. ‘I’m Vanda, by the way.’

  ‘Aubrey.’

  Vanda plugged in some flat irons and smoothed out Aubrey’s wavy blonde hair before taking a very close look at her face. ‘You have the most incredible bone structure.’

  ‘You should have seen my mother’s,’ Aubrey said. ‘She had the most amazing cheekbones.’

  ‘Had?’

  Aubrey didn’t answer. Her mom insisted that her injuries were kept quiet, and even far from Vegas still she didn’t reveal how her mother’s looks had been ravaged in a fire.

  ‘So...’ Vanda asked another question as she worked. ‘If you wear stage make-up, what do you do?’

  ‘All sorts,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘I dance in some shows and do a bit of trapeze...’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘Nothing too glamorous,’ Aubrey was honest. ‘Anything and everything really...’

  Anything and everything to avoid going into the oldest profession in the world.

  It beckoned to Aubrey, of course it did. When the rent was overdue, when the shifts at work dried up...when her mother, disfigured in a fire, needed her meds. But Aubrey had found other ways to make ends meet.

  Jobe Devereux’s money hit her account each and every month.

&
nbsp; And each and every month the very generous sum had been spent.

  Aubrey had let him think that she was studying music and Jobe, estranged from her mother and a busy man, had never checked.

  He’d trusted her, Aubrey guessed, yet instead of education the money had gone on surgery, doctors’ bills, medication, rehabilitation, more surgery...

  More medication.

  Even her mom thought that she was on the game. It was never said outright, of course, but it was Aubrey who took care of the bills and Stella never asked where the money came from.

  Aubrey had had serious offers—and some rather glamorous ones too—but she’d declined them all. In truth, she mistrusted men. Her mother had been an escort, that was how Aubrey had come about. Her mom had, for a brief time, been a showgirl, but when parts in the big Vegas shows had got fewer her mom had done what she’d had to to make ends meet.

  Until Jobe had come into her mom’s life there had been a parade of men through their home, and it had left Aubrey both cynical and scared of sex. Despite the skimpy outfits and provocative moves, she had never been so much as kissed, let alone anything else.

  ‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

  The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

  Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

  That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

  Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

  And it really was a transformation.

  Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

  ‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

  ‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’