My eyes moved from the posh artwork and sculptures and went back to the girl in the picture. Then I didn’t look away. Just as I wondered who she was, the stairs creaked. My eyes snapped up.
Brown hair.
Brown eyes.
Long legs.
Olive skin.
The girl from the picture froze on the stairs, her eyes widening when she saw me. My eyes dropped to her clothes. She was wearing pyjamas. The white top was sleeveless, and the bottoms were shorts with pink polka dots all over them. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders.
I watched silently as she searched around the foyer, her cheeks blazing red. She came further down the stairs until she was stood on the black-and-white tiled floor of the hallway. “W-who are you?” Her posh accent sailed into my ears. A proper Chelsea girl. No doubt brought up with a silver spoon in her mouth. And what a fucking mouth she had. Full, dark pink lips that seemed to permanently pout. Eric, one of my best friends, called those cock-sucking lips.
In this bird’s case, I had to agree.
She folded her arms across her chest but edged closer. “Who are you?” she asked again.
I leaned back against the couch. “Arthur.”
“Arthur,” she echoed and came closer again. She was only a few feet away. Her skin was lightly tanned and smooth, and her shorts showed off her perfect thighs. Posh birds never really did it for me. But by the twitch of my cock, this one seemed to be the exception. “Arthur …” she said again, her posh accent wrapping around my name. Suddenly, the sound of raised voices came from upstairs. Her head whipped in that direction.
“Daddy? That’s Daddy’s voice.” She faced me, panicked. “Who’s up there with him?”
“My old man.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Business.”
She frowned, then said, “You don’t give much away, do you?”
“What’s your name?” I asked, ignoring her question.
“Cheska.”
“Cheska … ?”
“Cheska Harlow-Wright.” She tilted up her chin—she was proud of her name. My eyes found a picture I’d seen on the wall, one in front of a factory, “Harlow” written on the signage.
All the wealth suddenly made sense.
“Harlow Biscuits.” I suddenly knew how they could afford to live in a house like this in the best postcode in Chelsea. There wasn’t a home in all of England that wouldn’t have had a pack of their biscuits in the cupboard to dunk into cups of tea.
“Yes.” She followed my gaze. The picture on the wall was old. An elderly geezer was stood outside the biscuit factory. There was a younger man there too, and a little girl, no more than about four years old, dressed in a bonnet and a red coat. “My mum,” she said and moved to the picture. She pointed to the little girl. “When she was little, with my granddad and great-granddad.”
I didn’t look at the picture. I was too busy looking at her. Cheska the Chelsea girl. “Where is she now?”
Cheska’s face fell. When she met my eyes, hers were shining. “She died two years ago.” My chest twinged at the sadness in her voice, but I kept my expression straight. My dad taught me from a young age not to show any emotion. To be neutral at all times. To not let any fucker get a read on me. To always be the grey man in the room.
Cheska cautiously sat down beside me. She smelled of roses. When she looked at me, I saw her eyes weren’t as dark as I’d thought. They looked green at times, when her head caught the light at a certain angle. She folded her arms over her chest. Her tits were on the small side, but on her, it didn’t matter.
“Is your mum at home?” she asked.
“She’s dead,” I said plainly and glanced to the stairs, then through a set of glass doors to another room where the butler was busying himself cleaning. The raised voices had stopped.
I wondered what Dad had on Cheska’s old man. Or what he’d done to deserve my dad’s personal attention. My head snapped to the side when I felt a hand on mine. I moved in a flash and gripped Cheska’s wrist instinctively, holding it in the air. She gasped, eyes like fucking saucers, and I slowly released her wrist. Cheska’s eyes were still huge as she rubbed her skin.
“I just wanted to say sorry,” she said. “About your mum.” My cheek twitched. I schooled my features and straightened the collar on my coat. “I know