Love to Hate You: Three's a Crowd

Chapter Twenty-One - Shoulder to Cry On

'God, I needed that,' Rudy sighed, as he rolled onto his back, his torso damp with Vicky's perspiration (princes don't sweat – according to Prince Andrew, anyway).

'Me too,' Vicky grinned, as she lay naked and panting.

'Remember to let me know next time; day or night,' Rudy told her, with a lopsided smile. She'd have called it smug, were he capable of such ego.

'I will,' she promised, brushing his hair back from his face. 'I love you. So much,' she said, with a dreamy, post-orgasmic smile. Then she sobered. 'Seeing Mattie and Rafe so... separate... when they love each other so much, it just makes this feel...' She sought about for the words, her finger moving between the pair of them. 'So precious. More fragile, even.'

'Well,' Rudy told her, taking up her hand and kissing it. 'Life is fragile, but my love for you isn't.'

'Nor is mine for you,' she promised. 'Especially not if you make me come three times in a row like that.'

'Not bad for a Tuesday. Just wait until the weekend,' he teased, before rolling onto his side and propping up his head with his hand. 'I wanted to talk to you, though,' he said, falling serious.

'Yeah?'

'About Byron.'

'Alright,' Vicky agreed, clutching the sheets to her breasts and rolling so that she was facing him.

'I know probate is going to take an age, but there are those accounts that are already in my name.' She nodded. 'And I know I said I wanted to give it all away, but –'

'Oh my God!' Vicky gasped. 'Have you changed your mind? Are you keeping it?' Her eyes were wide with excitement. It was an obscene amount of money by anyone's standards. She could have holiday homes all over the world. She'd never have to work. Isla would never have to work. She could just be a low-key agony aunt and spend her life shopping, and Isla could skip her homework and use a ghostwriter to become a famous author if she wanted to.

'No.' Her hopes crashed and burned.

'Oh,' she said, reining in her disappointment. 'Alright then. What did you want to say?'

'Just that it feels very... impersonal – almost disrespectful – to just transfer the lot to a big, anonymous charity.' Vicky nodded. 'And I'm not quite sure about how they spend their donations.'

'Fat cat bosses and all that,' Vicky concurred. 'And there have been several scandals.'

'Exactly,' Rudy agreed. 'But it's not just that. It's about us, too. I want to help the people I care about, and I want to have a bit of input. Byron entrusted this money to me, and I feel as though I ought to take that responsibility seriously.'

'What do you want to do then?' Vicky asked. She was interested, but not as interested as she could have been, had he been about to tell her that they could buy several mansions and a yacht.

'Well, first off, I think the girls ought to have a decent trust fund. It's my prerogative to say that I don't want the money for myself, but they are his granddaughters – biologically, speaking – and I'm not sure I have the right to deny them.'

'How much are we talking?' Vicky asked matter-of-factly, because she certainly approved of Isla receiving a fat wad of cash.

'I'm not sure. I could speak to a financial advisor, I suppose. But a million. Maybe two or three? Inflation, the job market, the housing market... I just want to future-proof.'

'You manage to make what should be an exciting conversation sound very... pragmatic,' Vicky sighed, no longer picturing her daughter with a beautiful home and wardrobe, but with a paid-off student debt, a basic, but functional property, and a department store's own-brand wardrobe. All very good, but no need to change one's knickers.