The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

Da brought two rickety chairs from the kitchen table for me and Olivier to sit on. He brushed dust off the leather and gestured. “Sit. I’ll get tea.” He then sliced his gaze to Olivier. “And you are?”

Olivier put out his hand. “Olivier Valady. I’m Niamh’s…” He hesitated. “Companion.”

My da grunted and, after shaking Olivier’s hand, disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned with tea, he gave us both steaming mugs before sitting on the futon across from us. He pulled out a cigarette and said, “You mind?”

“It’s fine,” I said. At least the one window I could see was open.

Da smoked and looked at me. I kept bouncing my foot against the floor, feeling my armpits get sweaty again after our staircase climb. I hoped I’d put on enough deodorant today.

“So, you found me,” Da said after blowing out a puff of smoke. “How’d you manage that?”

“Olivier helped me. That’s why we’re here together.”

Silence. Then I forced myself to ask, “How are you? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He shrugged. “Been better. Sorry about the state of this place. If I’d known I’d have company, I’d at least have taken out the rubbish.” He laughed, the sound turning into a deep cough soon after.

He drank his tea in quick gulps. “Fucking bloody hell,” he muttered. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve had this cough as long as I can remember.”

I couldn’t help but notice that Da looked very thin. His skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. As he lifted a cigarette, I could see his hands shaking a little. Although he wasn’t much older than sixty, he looked at least ten years older than that.

As I struggled to know what to say, Olivier interjected into the silence. “I’ve actually accompanied your daughter for a specific reason. You see, I’m in search of a particular antique.” He pulled out the documents he’d carried across the Channel and back again. “This clock. We were given information that you possessed it.”

Da took the papers without his expression changing. He pulled on his cigarette before finally putting it out against the coffee table. “Why do you want to know?” he said.

“That clock was—is—my mother’s. You see, I sold it a few years ago for a very selfish reason, and I’ve been searching for it ever since. It would mean everything to my mother if I were to return it to her.”

Da narrowed his eyes at Olivier. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He leaned back into the futon. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“He’s French,” I said. I didn’t look at Olivier, but I really didn’t want Da to know about the whole prince thing. “We were just in Paris, actually, searching for you.”

Da had no response to that. He eventually rose from the futon and went around the corner to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with the clock we’d been searching for in his hands.

“Oh my God,” I said, because it was hard to believe the thing existed. But when Da placed it on the coffee table in front of us, we all knew it was exactly the antique Olivier had been searching for. The hands of the clock ticked the time, which was two hours off from the current time.

“So you went to all this trouble to find me for a clock,” said Da. “It must be very important to your mother.”

There was an edge to those words that I didn’t understand. Olivier caught them, too, his brow furrowing. “It is, yes. And I’ll pay you any sum if you’ll sell it to me.”

“Any sum? My boy, that’s no way to barter. Now I’ll fleece you silly and you’ll go home with a smile on your face.”

“The sum is inconsequential.”

Da’s gaze turned to me. “So this one has told me why he’s here. Are you here for the clock, too, daughter o’ mine?”

My stupid heart squeezed inside my chest. I’d warned myself not to get my hopes up. But sometimes the heart was a stupid organ, and it could cling to hopes like that poor woman who’d fallen off the Cliffs and gotten called a nag for her trouble.

“I’m here because I wasn’t sure you’d even speak to Olivier without me. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Da let out a gruff laugh. “Who said you were wrong? No, no. I’m glad you came.” His green-eyed gaze took in my face, and for one split instant, I could see his expression soften. “You look just like your mam. A spittin’ image of her.”

But the tender moment ended as soon as it had occurred. All business, Da said to Olivier, “I’ll consider your generous offer, but I’ll make no decision this evening.”

He turned back to me. “Come back tomorrow to see me—alone. Then I’ll make my decision.”

Chapter Nineteen

I was frazzled when I arrived the following day at Da’s. I’d woken late, my phone not going off for some reason. Olivier had gone for a walk, so he hadn’t been there to wake me. I’d hurried through my shower and had almost forgotten my wallet. I had to run back inside the estate, nearly mowing over poor Cara in the process.

Now sitting once again in Da’s apartment, I waited for him to make me a tepid cup of tea for a second day in a row. The clock still sat on the coffee table. I had the urge to wipe down the surface of the table. Surely the clock was too valuable to sit on a bunch of cigarette ash and wrappers.

Da handed me my cup of tea that tasted like dishwater. After lighting a cigarette, he said, “Do you know who your companion is?”

The question startled me so much that the tea sloshed in its mug. Luckily it wasn’t too hot, but I had to dab at my jeans with a stray fast-food napkin as my mind whirled.

I decided that honesty was my best bet here. “Yes, I know who he is. How do