Chapter 5 - Tatianna

Hunter Cocker's Love Story - Book 31 in Cocker Brothers

TWO HOURS EARLIER

The bell above the door jingles softly as I step into Edward’s shop, familiar scent of polished wood and precious metals familiar to me now. This is his latest cover, having left England for somewhere. Anywhere. I am the one who talked him into Portugal. The birth-home of my mother, my grandmother, our ancestors before us.

Light glints off display cases, illuminating exquisite pieces that someone else curated for Edward Thornton. He had to learn everything about stones and metals in the past year to prepare for this, his retirement. He said he always loved gems — why not turn a hobby into a comfortable way to maintain his extravagant lifestyle now that criminal activity is no longer bank-rolling his life.

I scan the shop, my heart racing as I spot him rising from behind the counter, his back turned to me. The man who built an empire of secrets back in England. Russia. Czech Republic. Then England again. Until recently, always larger than life, a charismatic figure who draws people in with his charm and wit. But beneath that wilting polished exterior lies a darkness I cannot forget.

My heels click along the tile.

“Tatianna,” he says without turning around, his London accent thick. “I’d know your scent anywhere.”

“You bought me the perfume,” I smile, adding a pointed, “Dad.”

He turns, offers a disarming smile that makes his pale face look less tired. “To your mother I always gave rose. You, jasmine. And I’ve never smelled another woman wearing it since I’ve been in Portugal.”

“I don’t want to talk about my mother, Edward.”

“We’re back to Edward, are we?” Baggy blue eyes sparkle with mischief. “You’re so like her. Aloof. I miss her so.”

“You are to blame for that.”

Forcing patience he replies, “Divorce was better than cheating, Tatianna.”

“You divorced her when she was sick,” I snarl, dragging a hand through my long hair, adding under my breath, “I don’t know why I’m even helping you.”

We stare at each other. His face softens, but it’s clear that it’s an attempt at looking paternal. “You have her heart, that’s why.”

“I don’t have yours.”

“You have mine.”

“Inherited, I mean.”

Edward smiles, “And the world is luckier for it,” but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, eyes bluer than the ocean that lines our shores. The color I did not inherit. Not his eyes, nor his skin, so sensitive to sunlight. Nor his lips, tight and lined from years of scheming. But I don’t know if he’s right about the world. I just know I’m lucky for not inheriting his cold heart.

“I didn’t come for this.”

His accent is thick on his reply, “Indeed. It’s a surprise to see you. Though I am grateful for it, as always. An engagement ring, perhaps?”

I cannot help but roll my eyes and hold back a smile at his joke. “Not quite.” My mind flashes back to the American, though I do not know why. I drop my volume to warn my father, “I met someone who knows you.”

His exterior shifts to intense caution. “Someone who knows me.”

“I met him just now. I came here right away.”

“Who was he?”

My mind returns to the American, the one with eyes a kaleidoscope so green they hypnotized. That must be why I felt calm under his gaze. Even though part of me knew something was off, and I must go, I did not want to leave. “He was… very charming.”

“I know many charming men, Tatianna. You’ll have to be more descriptive.”

“He said he came here to Portugal looking for a ring.”

“And I am a jeweler.” Suddenly Edward flinches. “What was the color of this charming man’s hair?”

“The color of rust. Do you remember meeting him here?”

“Hard to forget a ginger,” Edward dryly replies. “However, I gave him my card. It’s not the least bit surprising that he knows me.”

I inhale impatience, but keep my exterior cool. Reserved. Because I hate it when my father looks at me like I’m stupid. “Yes…I saw your card! But he said your name as he held it out.” I lower my chin, holding his gaze. “Your true name…Dad!”

Again he flinches, this time at my sarcasm. “He held out my card yet said…” Silver eyebrows knit tighter. “That changes everything. I remember him. He said his name. Caden Wilson. I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t bother worrying.”

“Edward…”

“Edward again? You give me whiplash, Tatianna. Mind yourself. Frowning will mar your beauty.”

I huff through my nose. “But what can you do? You said you are retired!”

“Do you know where this ginger is staying? Did you make plans to see him?”

I blink. “No. I turned down his invitation.”

“Pity.” Edward stares off. “No matter.”

Worried about the American I press, “Maybe he is a friend. Maybe he knows your name because…”

“Shh.” Edward sneers. “Let’s not be naive, shall we?”

“What will you do to him?”

“I’ll simply ensure he is no longer a threat.”

“You’ll learn more about him but you will not…hurt him?”

Edward stares as if he does not want to remind me, but has to. “My daughter. I am not one of…how do the Americans say it? One of the good guys.”

“I know that! But you promised me you were coming here to retire. I invited you to my country to help you hide.”

“And he knows I am here. That must not be.”

“How will you find him?”

“I have friends.”

I nearly spit, “Friends?!”

He raises an eyebrow. “You must be careful with charming men, Tatianna. They often come with their own set of complications.”

“Yes, Mother warned me.” I see him bite back a sneer, sniffle, and glance to a drawer. I storm around the counter and yank it open. “You promised you’d quit the devil’s powder!”

Silence hangs between us. Do I see shame in his eyes? That would be new. “I’m just a man, Tatianna. I can only quit so many things without feeling like I am no longer a man at all.”

“That stuff does not make you a man! It makes you the devil’s bitch.”

He hardens, raises his hand, and slaps me hard across the face. “Remember who I am! I am tired of your insolence. Respect me or you will regret it.”

Grabbing my burning cheek I back away from him. “I am sorry.”

He says nothing as I leave.

Tears sting my eyes as I hurry up the cobblestoned street away from him. He promised to never hit me again. He promised many things.

Too many things.

My mind races to the American.

What have I done?