‘Did someone speak to Benjy about Luke and his involvement with The Royale?’ Three hours after her date with Hendon Magistrates’ Court, Ruby raked her team with a beady eyeball of doom worthy of Thanos in Avengers: Endgame.
The staff were having a meeting in Matty’s flat to discuss the final prep for the talent show they were running in the lobby before the screening of About a Boy on the coming Saturday but first she needed to know what the heck had just happened in court.
Yes, Luke had been mouthy and irritable, but he was probably jet-lagged. And she wasn’t sure he had deserved to get shafted like that.
Three weeks ago, he’d stood beside her stoically through the whole ordeal in the police station without making one word of complaint, or casting any blame. He hadn’t even said ‘I told you so’, which would certainly have been within his rights because he had warned her they might get arrested. But more important than the arrest, he’d been there when she had needed someone. Not just to help get her over that gate physically, but also metaphorically. He’d stood beside her in the dark and sang a song he probably didn’t like so she could scatter Matty’s ashes without falling to pieces. And for that, he deserved better.
She’d had nearly a month to review the whole Titanic mess while waiting for their day in court, and there was one thing she’d figured out. Beneath Luke Devlin’s arrogance, his don’t-give-a-damn superiority and that mile-wide anti-sentimental streak there lurked a man of integrity. And that had to count for something.
Most of the team uttered denials, or looked confused but then she cast her beady eyeball on Beryl who had remained suspiciously silent.
It had to be her. Beryl knew Benjy much better than the rest of them, and she had voiced her dismay that Luke wasn’t going to save The Royale with his vast wealth, ever since the details of the will had become common knowledge among the staff … which was approximately twenty-four hours after she had sworn Jacie to secrecy on the matter.
Note to self: never trust a person to keep a secret, no matter how convincingly they fake the butter-wouldn’t-melt look.
‘Was it you, Beryl?’ Ruby asked.
‘I may have mentioned it in passing at the last Pensioners’ Matinee,’ she murmured, looking sheepish. ‘I didn’t know Benjy would be on the bench today. That was just surprisingly fortuitous,’ she added. ‘But I can’t say I regret it after the way Luke Devlin has treated us.’
‘But, Beryl, he didn’t do anything wrong,’ Ruby said. ‘He was only there to support me.’
‘That’s not the point,’ Jacie chimed in. ‘I’m with Team Beryl on this. I’m glad Benjy got creative – instead of just giving him some derisory fine. He’s Falcone’s son and he couldn’t care less about an institution which has idolised his father and everything his father stood for, for a generation. I mean, what’s he ever done to honour the guy’s legacy? Absolutely nothing. He’s never even admitted they’re related! It’s like he’s ashamed of Falcone. His own son.’
How would you know what a self-absorbed asshole he was, if you never actually met him?
Luke’s grudging comment echoed in Ruby’s head.
She had no idea what Falcone had done to his son to make him call him an asshole. But however much she idolised Falcone the movie icon, she had to believe Luke about Falcone the man. Because while she didn’t know much about Luke, she did know he was stoic, and guarded and almost pathologically pragmatic. He didn’t do emotion, fake or otherwise, or he would have made much more of a fuss about being dragged off to Hyde Park police station and then dragged back to Hendon Magistrates’ Court three weeks later.
If Luke said Falcone the man was an asshole, he probably was.
But she could see Jacie wasn’t interested in listening to that explanation. And Ruby wouldn’t have repeated Luke’s comment about his father anyway. Luke’s relationship with Falcone was personal and private.
‘He owns half the theatre and he won’t step in to save it,’ Jacie added.
‘Well, he made it clear he doesn’t intend to profit from it,’ Ruby replied. ‘There’s still a chance we could save it.’
‘We’ve got to find two million quid by the end of June,’ Jacie said, sounding exasperated. ‘Those odds aren’t exactly in our favour.’
‘I know.’ Ruby sighed, because to be fair, Jacie had a point.
‘I think a major charm offensive is in order when Luke Devlin comes to work off his community payback,’ Beryl chirped up. ‘If anyone can do it, you can, dear.’
Beryl’s rheumy grey eyes shone with a faith in Ruby and her charm capabilities which made her want to weep. ‘It seems to me Benjy has gifted us with an opportunity that we’d be foolish to waste,’ the older woman finished.
‘I very much doubt he’ll be working off his community payback, Beryl,’ Ruby replied gently. Surely his sharp suited legal team’s first objective would be to get the ruling overturned?
A pang of regret squeezed her ribs at the thought of never seeing Luke again, which was as delusional as everything else about this ridiculous mess.
‘But what if he does?’ Jacie said, her eyes sparking too now. ‘Quite apart from the repairs he could do, that’s three hundred hours of prime bonding time Benjy’s bought us. You never know, he might fall in love with the place despite himself.’
‘Are you actually serious right now?’ Ruby said, wondering when she had stopped being the only cock-eyed optimist in the village.
‘Hey, I know it’s a long shot,’ Jacie said, clearly warming to Beryl’s idea as the spark became a glow. ‘But with three hundred hours, you could totally Marcus him, Rubes. I have faith in you.’
‘Marcus him?’ Ruby said. ‘What are you even talking about?’
‘You know, Marcus, the dorky kid who shows Hugh Grant’s shallow wanker in About a Boy that the Will Show is actually an ensemble drama. We need Luke Devlin to become part of our ensemble drama, ASAP, if he’s gonna fork up two million quid to save us.’
‘Strictly speaking, it isn’t Nicholas Hoult’s Marcus who turns Grant’s Will Freeman into a good guy,’ Claire their main cashier said, ever the film pedant. ‘It’s Rachel Weisz remember, because he wants to shag her.’
‘No, that’s much later in the movie, at first he wants to shag the nice Irish neighbour lady with the baby, so he pretends to have a kid.’ This from Imran, one of their bar staff who was even more pedantic than Claire about movie trivia.
‘What about the school talent show?’ Gerry countered. ‘That’s when Will really turns into a good guy because he can’t let Marcus survive that humiliation alone.’
‘Yes, but—’ Claire began again.
‘Can we stop talking about Hugh Grant and all the women he wants to shag in About a Boy,’ Ruby interrupted the game of film-buff-one-upmanship. ‘This isn’t a movie. And Luke Devlin’s not Hugh Grant …’
Except …
She sat down heavily in an armchair, her mind racing. Beryl and Jacie’s idea was insane … Wasn’t it?
Even if Luke didn’t find some slick way to wiggle out of the community service order, or have Benjy arrested for being a bent magistrate, what were the chances he even knew what an ensemble drama was?
He’d helped her out at the Serpentine when he didn’t have to, but that had been under duress.
Her gaze fell on the posters Beryl had brought with her for the talent show they were arranging to go with their Matty Classics’ gala screening of About a Boy on Saturday.
Hugh Grant’s Will had been a hopeless cause, too – his inner ensemble drama buried under a whole movie full of super sarcastic voice-over narration – but Nick Hoult’s nerdy bullied Marcus had eventually inducted Will into his alternative family. And it had only taken him an hour and forty-one minutes. The Royale would have three hundred hours to work on finding Luke Devlin’s sentimental side.
‘Admit it, there’s a chance it could work?’ Jacie said, interrupting Ruby’s racing thoughts.
‘It’s a super slim chance,’ Ruby said, but for the first time in weeks, the tightness in her chest eased.
Maybe it was a super slim chance, but it was also their only chance …
The flat’s bell chimed the opening bars from Barbra Streisand’s ‘Memories’, making all six of them jump and interrupting Ruby’s desperate burst of hope.
‘Can you get that, Tozer?’ she said to the forty-something unemployed theatre dresser who Errol had taken on as an apprentice projectionist four months ago to help out when his arthritis was playing up. Tozer had been sitting glumly in the corner of the sofa during the whole debate, probably contemplating the possibility of being out of work again in a few months’ time.
‘It might be the supplier from Gourmet Snacks,’ Ruby added. Yet another person she owed money to. ‘If it is just sign for the order,’ she said. ‘And tell him I’ll transfer the money I owe him on Friday.’ Once she had established some cashflow from the ticket sales for their About a Boy event. Hopefully.
Tozer nodded and left.
Ruby was still trying to get her head around all the possible ramifications of Luke’s community service order while Beryl joined the how-many-women-did-Hugh-Grant-attempt-to-cop-off-with-in-About a Boy debate, when Tozer popped his head back round the apartment door.
‘Ruby, it’s him,’ he hissed. ‘He’s down in the foyer. He wants to see you.’
‘Who?’ she asked, but she was pretty sure she already knew who because a Mariachi band had started a set in her abdomen.
‘Luke Devlin, the Falcone Reboot, who do you think?’ Tozer said, but his sarcasm was not matched by the vivid blush setting fire to his cheeks.
Jacie bounced up. ‘No way? Already. He’s keen.’
Gerry swore softly. ‘Keen to tell us where we can shove our repairs, more like.’
‘Calm down,’ Ruby said, even as her own About a Boy fantasies took a hit. Had Luke come to tell them he wasn’t doing the community service? That had to be it, why else would he have turned up here so quickly. ‘Let’s find out what he wants first.’
After getting everyone to promise to stay put so she could scope out the Luke situation in private – which earned her a ‘you go, girl’ from Beryl – she took the flat’s stairs to the lobby area.
As she opened the door, she spotted Luke with his back to her, crouched in the corner by the main entrance, checking out the peeling paintwork.
The Mariachi band jiggled her tonsils.
She cleared her throat. ‘Luke, hi.’
He swivelled on his heels, then stood. The air thickened. He really was stupidly gorgeous, even when he was frowning, like now.
‘Hey,’ he said and walked across the threadbare carpet, his long legs in dark jeans eating up the space as he sucked what was left of the oxygen out of the foyer.
Until he told her he was nixing the community service order, there was still a chance he might do it, however slim. But Ruby wasn’t sure that was the only thing making her stupidly grateful to see him again, as she became a bit giddy from lack of oxygen.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I wanted to say yet again how sorry I am about everything that happened at the Serpentine.’
Even though she wasn’t that sorry …
As her gaze took in his fit figure and that incredible face, it occurred to her she wouldn’t be at all sorry to see Luke Devlin in a tool belt.
‘The community service order was a bit harsh,’ she said. ‘But …’ She swept her hand out to encompass the plasterwork he had been examining. ‘As you can see, we could totally use your help around here.’
‘I noticed,’ he said, the stern twist of his lips not all that encouraging. ‘Tell me something, did you know the magistrate?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said, as the guilty flush spread across her collarbone. Being sorry not sorry about the community service order didn’t make her a more accomplished liar, unfortunately.
‘Funny that, because the sentencing had inside job written all over it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, trying to channel Jacie’s butter-wouldn’t-melt face, but from the heat threatening to blow her head off, probably getting Guilty McGuilt Face instead.
‘The magistrate. It was like he was channelling the judge from Mr Deeds Goes to Town. You know, not even pretending to be fair or impartial.’
‘You’ve seen Frank Capra’s Depression-era comedy starring Gary Cooper and Jean Arthur? Isn’t it amazing?’ she said hoping to deflect the conversation from Benjy Gate before her cheeks burst into flames. ‘I have to say, I did not have you pegged as a vintage movie buff.’
‘I’m not.’ He shrugged. ‘But I was force-fed that stuff as a kid because my mom thought Capra and Spielberg could teach us more about life than Darwin and Shakespeare.’
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of the art form she adored, but the dry admission might be a positive. Perhaps a tiny chunk of Matty’s movie-loving DNA had been passed on to Luke, after all.
The door to Matty’s flat creaked open behind her and Luke’s oxygen-stealing gaze jerked above her head. The line of his lips hardened.
‘Hello, Mr Devlin,’ she heard Gerry’s voice say, and swung round to see all the staff – who were supposed to be holding tight until she’d got the low-down on Luke’s community service – crowding into the foyer.
So much for the No Interruptions on Pain of Death promise they’d given her.
‘We just wanted to say, we’re all really sorry you got slapped with three hundred hours of community service here,’ Gerry said, having obviously been elected Liar in Chief. ‘But we’re really looking forward to working with you.’
‘Thank you, Gerry,’ Ruby replied, wanting to die inside, because Gerry was an even less convincing liar than she was.
‘Are you going to duck out of it?’ Jacie asked, cutting straight to the chase as always. ‘Because this place belongs to you now, too, and it needs the TLC like, yesterday.’
Oh, for the love of …
‘Nope,’ Luke replied. ‘I’m gonna do the time.’
‘Really?’ Ruby gasped.
Everyone was holding their breath, all eyes on Luke. The hard line of his lips hadn’t moved. Was he joking? She couldn’t tell.
‘Isn’t three hundred hours of your time extremely valuable?’ she asked, then wanted to shoot herself. What was she doing? Trying to talk him out of it?
‘My time’s not cheap,’ he said. ‘But your friend is right, this place could use the work.’
‘Jacie’s our assistant manager,’ Ruby said. ‘Jacie meet Luke. Luke meet Jacie,’ she added, introducing them formally.
Jacie and Luke nodded at each other as the Mariachi band in Ruby’s stomach began mainlining coke.
‘Don’t look so concerned,’ Luke said, and she spotted a quirk at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but not entirely stony faced. ‘The Capra Nut Magistrate wasn’t wrong about my construction skills.’ He glanced over at the vintage refreshments counter and the ticket booth. ‘Luckily, the place looks structurally sound. I’ll get some surveys done to check that out first, but I can schedule at least a hundred hours of work in here alone once we know there aren’t any nasty surprises waiting for us.’ He cast his constructor’s gaze over the foyer, which looked a lot more shabby than chic in the daylight streaming in from the theatre’s glass frontage. ‘You’ve got the beginnings of wet rot in the wall over there.’ He pointed to the corner he’d been inspecting when she arrived. ‘I’ll have to hack back the top layer, most of which has already blown and install some damp proofing before I replaster and redecorate.’
‘That … that would be incredible.’ She hadn’t doubted his construction skills for a second; what she had doubted was his willingness to do something she had assumed he could easily get out of. But she was not about to correct his assumption any more than she was going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Having Luke here for three hundred hours, getting stuck into all the repair jobs she and Matty had neglected over the past decade free of charge, wasn’t just a gift horse, it was a gift unicorn.
Not only could they use the repairs, but there would be a Devlin in the theatre again.
‘Is there a bar around here with low lighting where we can talk without an audience?’ Luke said, kicking the Mariachi Band back up to coke speed.
Low lighting? Was he coming on to her? But just as the question threatened to torpedo the last of her lung function, Luke’s gaze flicked to her staff. The wary glance reminded her of the look he’d sent the poster of his father three weeks ago.
Whoa, girl!
She gulped down a steadying breath. Of course, he needed low lighting so as not to be harassed by any lingering Falcone nuts.
‘Absolutely. Jacie can you finish off the meeting while I take Mr Devlin to Brynn’s …’
‘We can handle Hugh Grant, dear,’ Beryl – who was supposed to be deaf but suddenly seemed to have better hearing than Sandra Bullock in Bird Box – said loudly. ‘You go on and have a nice time with Mr Devlin, I’m sure there’s lots you need to discuss.’ The twinkle in Beryl’s eye was bright enough to illuminate Greater London.
So much for discreet, then.
‘Okay, thanks everyone.’ Ruby grasped Luke’s arm, ignoring the renewed buzz in her fingertips as his forearm flexed.
All the better to cure wet rot with, she determined.
***
Five minutes later, they walked into Brynn’s Babes, the bar owned by their legendary local drag artist, Brynn Da Mood for Love. Round the corner from the cinema, Brynn’s had become a local hang-out for Matty and The Royale’s staff over the years and offered Royale customers two-for-one themed cocktails with daft names like Bridget Jones’s Daiquiri and Slumdog Martini. Luckily, it wasn’t happy hour yet, and the only clientele were a couple of tourists soaking up the local atmosphere.
‘Take a seat,’ Ruby said as she perched on one of the bar stools. ‘What’s your poison? It’s my shout,’ she added, as Brynn’s partner Thérèse approached to take their order.
‘I’ll buy,’ Luke said, then had a brief conversation with Thérèse about the beers on draft before settling for a bottle of Sam Adams.
‘Really, you don’t have to pay for the drinks,’ Ruby began. ‘I feel like we owe you—’
‘Ruby, just order a drink,’ he said, riding roughshod over her objections, but the quirk of his lips had practically become a smile, so she didn’t take offence.
‘I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow morning,’ he added. ‘And I don’t want to miss another.’
‘Oh, okay, absolutely,’ she said, quickly ordering a lemon-tini, because it was Matty’s favourite and right now she needed some Matty courage. Thérèse walked off to get their drinks after sending Ruby a conspiratorial wink.
‘I’m sorry to keep you, you could just email me about anything you need to …’ she continued.
‘Relax, Ruby,’ he said. ‘I was kidding about the flight.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, deflating. ‘So what did you want to discuss?’
Thérèse slid her the lemon-tini. As Luke paid for the drinks and thanked Thérèse, Ruby tried not to chug the fortifying cocktail in one go.
‘We need to work up a schedule,’ he said. ‘I can come by to hammer out a checklist of work that needs doing but I have to return to New York for a few days to rearrange my schedule first.’ He stroked his thumb down the side of the beer bottle, creating a trail in the cold droplets clinging to the glass, but his gaze remained fixed on her face. ‘How does Saturday sound? Then I can start work Monday.’
‘That would be beyond wonderful,’ she said, suddenly struggling to resist the urge to fling her arms round his broad shoulders and hug him.
He was actually genuinely serious about helping to repair The Royale. Surely that had to mean he might be softening towards West London’s Premium Art-House Institution? And even if it didn’t, it would give them time to work on him. Work with him, she corrected, trying not to get fixated on his shoulders.
Don’t hug him Rubes, you don’t want to scare him off.
Although Luke Devlin didn’t look like the type to be easily scared off by serial huggers, she wasn’t taking any chances.
‘What time is good, on Saturday?’ he asked, tugging his iPhone out of his pocket and making the cashmere of his sweater stretch across his chest.
‘Oh, any time you can make it we’ll be available …’
He frowned, looking up from his phone ‘Seriously? You don’t have screenings that day we should work around?’
Yes, they did. The fortuitousness of the date struck Ruby like a bolt of lightning.
Saturday night was the About a Boy Talent Show Gala. The second film in Matty’s Classics season.
It was a sign. She had to get Luke to that screening, because as her staff had pointed out ten minutes ago, it had to be a much better Get Luke On Board bet than The Wizard of Oz.
As much as everyone at The Royale had always adored the Judy Garland classic, the film had obviously been far too cute and sweet and idealistic to pierce Luke’s anti-movie cynicism. Surely the caustic Hugh Grant Brit-com would be much more Luke’s thing? Snarky and witty, with even the cheesy moments played for laughs, About a Boy also had the huge advantage that the only song in it was a piss take of Roberta Flack’s ‘Killing Me Softly’.
‘How long do you think the checklist will take to hammer out?’ she asked, as guilelessly as she could while she was frantically working out the logistics. If they moved the talent show to after the screening, she should at least be able to get him to watch the movie. He’d probably rather claw out his eyeballs than watch a talent show. Even if he didn’t stay for the gala, the movie was the important thing, with all it’s wonderful messages about not being an island and making your own family. The Royale was Ruby’s family, if she could just plant the seed in Luke’s head he didn’t have to be an island anymore like Will in the movie, they could start to—
‘A couple of hours,’ he said. ‘There’s a ton of stuff that needs work. I’ll arrange to get the surveys done first, but as I said, the structure looks good to me. They made these old buildings to last.’
‘Five o’clock would work for me,’ she said, hoping the guilty heat fanning out across her neck wasn’t visible in the bar’s low lighting.
‘That late?’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘I can make it earlier. I’ll be getting a red-eye from New York.’
‘No, really, five’s good, it’ll give you time to rest after the flight.’ And would ensure he was in the theatre when the screening started at seven. ‘Where will you be staying? At The Grant again? I could send Gerry round to pick you up?’ Gerry was the only one of them who had a car.
He sent her a suspicious look. And the flush intensified.
Dial down on the eager. For crap sake, he’ll think you’re hitting on him.
‘I can walk over,’ he said. ‘My assistant is renting me a space in Notting Hill for the duration.’
He was hiring a flat in Notting Hill? The rent on a studio flat in one of London’s most sought after neighbourhoods would cost him three grand a month at least.
‘That’s … Really? You’re hiring a flat for a whole month.’ Just to come work at The Royale?
Visions of Hugh Grant’s superfly noughties pad in About a Boy sprang to mind. More than three grand a month, because she doubted Luke Devlin would be living in a pokey studio flat.
‘It’s a house,’ he said without looking up, busy tapping the details into his phone’s calendar with his thumbs. ‘On a street called Chepstow Villas. It was the only rental Gwen could find at short notice,’ he finished.
A house? On Chepstow Villas? Quite possibly the most expensive residential road in the whole fricking country? Those Georgian piles were enormous. It would cost him an absolute fortune to hire a house in Chepstow Villas for a month. He wouldn’t get change from twenty grand.
Ruby gulped her lemon-tini to stop her heart exploding out of her chest with anticipation and astonishment as realisation struck.
Luke Devlin was already invested in The Royale. He just hadn’t figured it out yet.
‘That’s incredibly generous of you,’ she said, barely able to speak around the emotion threatening to close her throat.
His thumbs paused on the iPhone. She bit into her lip to keep the wave of gratitude below tsunami proportions.
‘Generous how?’ he said.
‘To be renting a house in Chepstow Villas so you can help us,’ she qualified. Was he being modest? That was so … sweet. The tsunami built again. ‘While you’re here, I mean. That’s above and beyond the call of duty.’
The blank look on Luke’s face turned into a frown. ‘I’m under court orders, remember.’
‘I know but …’ You could totally have got out of that. ‘I just mean, that’s going to be expensive. And we really appreciate it.’ Don’t give him ideas again Ruby. Be cool. Pretend like it’s no biggie.
‘I’m not paying for it personally; it’s a company expense. I’m going to be doing other work while I’m in the UK – I figure I can schedule in three to four hours a day tops at the theatre because we’ll have to work around your screening times and I’ll need to clean up each day before you open up.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said, not buying his qualifications for a second.
Luke Devlin might want to be all business. He might not even realise what was happening here. But The Royale’s magic was already working on him, a little bit.
She took a moment to study him in the half light. That fall of hair that had dropped back over his forehead, the lean lines and perfect angles of his face, the square jaw, and the dimple in his chin. Luke Devlin was breathtakingly handsome, but it occurred to her she didn’t even notice the physical similarities to his father anymore. Had it been their ‘Over the Rainbow’ duet, their arrest, their day in court, or the thought of the weeks ahead while they worked together that had turned him very much into his own person in her eyes?
‘Ruby, you do get that nothing’s changed,’ he said, carefully. ‘That me doing this court-ordered community service to help you fix up the theatre isn’t going to magically find you two million bucks to fill the black hole in your finances?’
Her lungs squeezed tight, the question suspended in time as she wondered if he was really as clueless about what was going on here as he was making out. Unlike his father on a movie screen, with Luke it was impossible to tell what he was really feeling.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Absolutely.’
Maybe Luke didn’t get it yet. But he would, or she wasn’t the smartest film buff in West London – with a string of classic movies chosen by a maestro to indoctrinate him with.
She took a sip of the lemon-tini, only to find her glass empty. How had she finished that so quickly? ‘I should probably get back to the theatre,’ she said reluctantly.
She needed to start plotting with her co-conspirators how they were going to get him to stay for About a Boy on Saturday night. And then figure out which of Matty’s other Classics might be useful to show Luke the healing power of cinema.
‘Not so fast,’ he said as she got up. ‘There is one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
Anything, anything you want.
‘It can’t get out, that I’m working at the theatre,’ he said. ‘Gwen has already briefed our press team, they’re putting out the story to anyone who wants to know that I’m in Alaska on a fishing trip. Luckily for us, the press in the UK don’t put reporters at Hendon Magistrates’ Court, so we’re good there. And when I’m working I’ll make sure I stay as low-key as possible while the place is open. I’ve got a lot of experience at being invisible so that shouldn’t be a problem.’ His brows lowered again and she realised this was another aspect of his life she’d never considered.
Why had it never occurred to her how tough it must have been to keep under the radar with Falcone’s face? But as she looked at him now, she thought again that he didn’t look like Falcone anymore. Not to her. Not at all. He looked like Luke.
‘So the only other possible leak will be you and your staff,’ he continued. ‘I’ll need you to promise me they won’t release the information to anyone. Not to any of their friends and acquaintances. And definitely nothing on social media. No photos, no Instagram, no Facebook, Twitter, TikTok. Nada. Get it?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Even if she had to cut out everyone’s tongue and chop off their fingers, she would make sure no one broke Luke’s cover. The Royale would become a safe haven for him, no matter what, the way it had always been for her.
‘I swear, no one who doesn’t have to will know you’re here.’ She stroked her fingertip over a spot on her left breast.
At The Royale, we look after our own, Luke. And we’re making you one of our own … whether you like it or not.