“Oh, really.” She played dumb. “Someone lose the key to an office supply closet? Oh, the tragedy.”

There was no value in letting him in on their financial reversal, after all. Certainly not before their marriage certificate had been issued.

He smiled, and for the first time, something close to joy truly hit his eyes. “Guess who called me today? A friend of mine at the Charlemont Courier Journal. And you want to know what she told me?”

“That they’re doing an exposé on penile implants and they want you to be a subject?”

“That’s crass.”

“True, but I think it might help.”

Richard sat back and crossed his legs, his jaw tightening. “First of all, it’s a she, not a they. And secondly, she told me that there are very serious issues at your company, Gin. Big financial issues. There’s going to be a story first thing in the morning about it all. So don’t try to play me with this ruse about needing a check made out to you for the reception so that things are equitable between as. Your father has died, and his will is being probated, your mother’s trust is tied up until she passes, and the BBC is struggling so your dividends are down. If you want to hold a fundraiser and expect me to contribute, you better declare yourself a five-oh-one C three so I can get the write-off. Otherwise, I’m not giving you a dime. Darling.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You don’t? Well, then, read up first thing in the morning and you’ll learn something.” He indicated the television. “Or better yet, come in here and watch this channel. I’m very sure you’re going to be all over the TV tomorrow.”

Gin lifted her chin, even as her heart went on a broken field run in her chest. “We have plenty of money here at the house, and I don’t feel it is unreasonable for you to pay for something—so if you aren’t prepared to share in the cost, then the reception is off.”

Richard nursed his bourbon. “A tip on negotiations. If you’re going to issue threats, make sure they’re backed up by an outcome the other party is compromised by.”

“You want to show me off. You want to prove that you got me. Don’t pretend I’m not a prize to you.”

“But as soon as the ink is dry, you’re mine. And that will also be in the newspaper. Everyone will read about it. I don’t need a cocktail party to prove it.”

Gin shook her head. “You are so shallow.”

The laughter that filled the room made her want to throw something at him again—and she eyed the sterling-silver lamp.

“This coming from you?” he said. “My dearest one, the only reason you’re marrying me is because of the favorable contracts that I agreed to give your father’s company. And I wish I had known about the downturn at corporate. I probably could have gotten you for nothing but that ring, given the financial state of things.”

At that point, there was a knock on the door, and then Mr. Harris came in with Amelia.

The girl had changed into a Gucci pantsuit, and her head was buried in her phone, her fingers moving over the screen.

“Miss Amelia, madam,” the Englishman intoned. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Gin dismissed.

“My pleasure.”

As the butler ducked out and the door was shut, the girl did not look up.

“Amelia,” Gin said sharply. “This is my fiancé, Richard.”

“Yes,” the girl said. “I know.”

“As you haven’t greeted him, I find that hard to believe.”

“It was on the net.” Shrug. “Anyway, congratulations, both of you. I’m just thrilled.”

“Amelia,” Gin snapped. “What the hell is so fascinating?”

The girl turned her phone around, flashing a screen that was lit up like an old-fashioned Lite-Brite. “Dymonds.”

“I find it hard to argue with that,” Gin muttered. “But you’re being rude.”

“It’s a new game.”

Gin indicated Richard. “Will you at least say hello properly.”

“I can see the resemblance,” Richard offered. “You are quite beautiful.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered?” Amelia tilted her head. “Oh, thank you so much. I’m in such a hurry to have anything in common with her. It’s my life’s ambition, to be like my mother when I grow up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather be in a virtual reality with fake diamonds than anywhere near her or anyone who would volunteer to marry her. Good luck to you.”

Amelia was out the door a second later, but not because she was running.

Amelia didn’t run from anything.

She sauntered places. Just like her father.

“Mission accomplished,” Richard said as he got to his feet and headed back to the bar. “The apple has not fallen far from the tree with that one. And allow me to reiterate, I will not be writing you any kind of check. Cancel the reception as you wish and we’ll just get married at the courthouse. It matters not to me.”

Gin focused on the TV screen, her mind churning. And she was still staring into space when Richard put himself in front of her.

“Just remember one thing,” he said. “You have a tendency to become creative when you’re quiet like this. May I remind you that I do not curry disrespect—and you may choose to recall the precise consequences of any insults to me.”

Oh, but you enjoy it, you sick bastard, Gin thought bitterly. You enjoy every minute of it.

“John, you came through. Atta boy.”

As Lizzie heard Lane speak, she looked up from her mostly empty refrigerator. Across her farmhouse’s kitchen, he was sitting at her circular table, talking to the laptop that was open in front of him, his brows locked together like two halves of a pocket door pulled tight.

“I’m sorry?” she said as she closed things up.

“John Lenghe. The Grain God. He told me he’d get me as much information as he had on the companies involved in WWB Holdings. And here they are.”

When he pushed the screen around, she bent down and looked at an e-mail that seemed long as a book. “Wow. That’s a lot of names.”

“Now we’ve got to find them.” Lane sat back and stretched his arms over his head, something cracking loud enough to make her wince. “I swear this is like a never-ending roller-coaster ride, the kind that doesn’t stop even after you get nauseous.”