The Dahlia Trilogy (The Gilded Flower Series) Read online

  “Now why would I do a thing like that?”

  “Because I’m your daughter and somewhere buried deep in that cold heart you care enough about me to give me something this important.”

  Her mother cups Dahlia’s face in her hands. “My darling, everything I do is out of love for you. Now hear this: I will never tell you where Marissa is.”

  Dahlia opens and closes her fists, resisting the urge to strike this woman who dares to call herself her mother. “Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”

  Poppy adjusts her updo slightly and says. “Let’s not threaten each other tonight, Dahlia. You don’t want to battle with me. Now I must find Lily.”

  Chapter 15

  “What was that with your mother?” Rodrigo whispers into Dahlia’s ear when he rejoins the party, this time wearing a charcoal gray Givenchy suit and light blue shirt.

  “What’s with that suit? You look like you’re going to a board meeting,” Dahlia replies, trying to deflect. She doesn’t want Rodrigo knowing about Marissa. The last thing she needs is his sympathy.

  “It’s Alejandro’s. He brought over a few for tonight. It’s a bit tight in the shoulders actually.” Dahlia nods absently, remembering the feel of his shoulders. She snakes her way through the dancing crowd with Rodrigo on her heels, watching her mother from a distance as she charms more of the Cruz family.

  Dahlia stops and looks up at him. “Why didn’t I know that you played the guitar, Rodrigo?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

  Dahlia sighs. “This was never going to work, was it? I mean . . . we weren’t going to work. There was still so much we didn’t know about each other. How could we have convinced ourselves it was more?”

  Rodrigo replies, “Perhaps it was more, and we just weren’t ready.”

  “Were you always this insightful?” Dahlia smiles.

  He chuckles. “Recent experience has forced me to examine my life a bit.”

  Rodrigo follows Dahlia’s gaze and nods toward her mother. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

  Dahlia nods. “If you mean in a sociopathic kind of way, then yes.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Rodrigo holds up two fingers to a passing waiter who hands them two cocktails.

  “I didn’t think you’d drink this.”

  “They’re for you. You look like you could use it.”

  “We’re cool, Rodrigo. There’s no reason for you to get embroiled in my family’s mess.”

  “Who’s Marissa?”

  “Were you eavesdropping?” Dahlia takes a step back.

  “No. Well, it wasn’t intentional. I couldn’t come down the stairs without interrupting you again. Why are you looking for this Marissa?”

  “Just stay out of this, Rodrigo.” Dahlia looks around, searching for Vi. “Look, I’ve got to go.” Kissing his cheek she says, “Thanks for everything.”

  “You’re lucky I like you, D,” Vi says to Dahlia as they get into the car.

  “You’ll see Diego again. I just needed to get out of there.”

  “Mommy dearest reared her pretty head again.”

  Dahlia nods, rubbing her hands over the goosebumps on her arms. “She doesn’t just show up like that without a reason. That woman always has an angle.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to throw off the scent.”

  “Please tell me your contact has some leads.”

  Vi nods. “I was waiting until tomorrow.”

  “You mean you’ve known?”

  “Relax, D. You couldn’t leave Miami until you got through this party. Now that it’s done, you’re free to go.”

  “Go where?” Dahlia asks, the car pulling onto Old Cutler Road.

  “London.”

  Chapter 16

  “Ms. Baron?” An unfamiliar male voice asks in a distinctively upper-class British accent.

  “Yes?” Dahlia breathes into the phone. Her heart begins to pound.

  “Do you have a pen and paper?”

  Dahlia nods like a robot as if he can see her through the phone. “Shoot.”

  “Take down this address.” The mysterious voice starts to rattle off a bunch of street names and numbers. “Be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “But wait. How do I get there?” Dahlia asks anxiously. She’s only been to London a couple of times. She couldn’t get past the terrible weather and the obsession with royalty to ever enjoy it. To her it was more of a stopover to the rest of Europe.

  “Take the Central line from Holborn to Marble Arch,” he says a bit too impatiently. “When you get out, head north on Great Cumberland. Take a right on Seymour and go down until you reach Portman Square. You can figure out the rest yourself.” He hangs up.

  Dahlia returns the receiver to its cradle and takes a deep breath.

  “You’re late,” the same voice says a half hour later.

  Dahlia, still trying to catch her breath from having to walk-run the last few blocks, turns to find the source of the voice.

  She sets her eyes on someone she couldn’t possibly have imagined to be an investigator. When Vi mentioned she had a contact, she didn’t mention that he could’ve very well stepped out of some magazine. In Dahlia’s mind, he would be in his late fifties, have a large gut, a receding hairline and be wearing a cheap polyester blend suit. Instead, he’s wearing a perfectly-tailored navy blue Edward Sexton suit and custom-made light purple shirt. He couldn’t be more than thirty, standing at least six foot two with a chiseled jaw line, full lips curled into a wry smile, and the most brilliant green eyes she’s ever seen. Dahlia quickly looks down at the floor, realizing she was probably staring a bit too long. She nervously adjusts her Fendi tote bag on her shoulder.

  “Fifteen minutes was hardly enough time at this hour of the day,” she replies firmly, trying to hide her nervousness. Attempting to get anywhere on the Central line in fifteen minutes during rush hour was a colossal joke. Vi swore, however, that if anyone would be able to find Marissa and be discreet, it would be him. Dahlia doesn’t want to piss him off, but she can’t stand arrogant assholes.

  “Just enough,” he replies with a hint of a smile. He walks over to a small desk to the right and signs a book. Turning back to Dahlia he says, “Come this way.”

  Dahlia takes in her surroundings. The opulent setting has an old world feel, from the silk wall treatments and the priceless artwork that adorns them to the plush furnishings and chandeliers. Sadly, it all reminds Dahlia of her mother. She would love this place.

  He leads her to a formal drawing room and sits on a chair with his back to the fireplace. Dahlia pulls out a chair and sits across from him. She waves her hand when he offers her a cigarette.

  “That’s right, you Americans and your anti-smoking thing.” He leans back in his chair, one arm hanging off the side and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out of the right corner of his mouth.

  Dahlia bites her lip, his rude demeanor getting under her skin. She folds her hands on the dark wood table, uncertain of how to proceed. Does she ask the questions? Does he? Fortunately, she doesn’t have to wonder much longer. After a few more drags from his cigarette, he asks, “How much has Vi told you about me?”

  “Not much,” Dahlia replies. She clears her throat realizing that her words had come out as a whisper. “She said you’re to be trusted. And since she’s one of my closest friends, I’ll take her word for it. Although she didn’t mention that you’d be an asshole.”

  He regards her carefully, casually taking a few last drags and finally throwing his cigarette into the fireplace. Dahlia watches as the flames flicker a bit brighter. “Yeah, well, Vi never reveals much, does she?”

  Dahlia shrugs. “As much as she wants. Can’t say there’s anything wrong with that. Can you?”

  He cocks his head to the right and chuckles. “Not at all.”

  Dahlia shifts uncomfortably under his intense gaze. “So you want to tell me why I’m here? My cell phone has been turned off per your instr
uctions, which means I’ve been sitting in my hotel room for two days waiting for your phone call.”

  “It’s not as if the Garden Wing at the Rosewood is a prison.”

  “It would’ve been nice to get out for a bit.” Dahlia was hoping to make a visit to the Tate Modern, but waiting for the phone call was far more important.

  “Yeah, well,” he says, running his hand through his wavy brown hair, “I had a few things to do. But I’m all yours now Ms. Baron.”

  The way he says that makes the hairs on her arms stand up. “You know who I am. Why haven’t you introduced yourself? Isn’t that what gentlemen who belong to private clubs like this are supposed to do?”

  “Ms. Baron. I’m no gentleman. Vi should’ve at least mentioned that.”

  “Ms. Baron makes me sound like my mother. Call me Dahlia.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dahlia. I’m Thomas. Thomas Squires.”

  Chapter 17

  “Let’s walk for a bit.” Thomas stands and points Dahlia to the way out of the drawing room.

  “Just for the record, Dahlia, I don’t usually take cases such as yours.”

  Dahlia stops short and turns to face Thomas. “Please don’t tell me I’m wasting my time here.”

  Thomas pushes his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m merely explaining that I’m doing this as a favor to Vi. Missing persons cases can get ugly and messy, and I’m not quite into holding clients’ hands and babysitting them. You follow?”

  Dahlia crosses her arms. “Perfectly. Listen Thomas, if this is a waste of your time, I’ll find someone else. I’m not quite feeling this whole James Bond with a bad attitude act you have going.”

  Thomas laughs, revealing shockingly white, straight teeth. “You’re funny. I like when girls know how to take the piss.”

  “How observant,” Dahlia quips. “I don’t have the time to be played with. It’s really important to me that I find . . .,” she looks around and drops her voice to a whisper, “my daughter.”

  Thomas lightly grasps Dahlia’s arm and leads her up a narrow staircase two flights to a darkly lit room. It takes a minute for Dahlia’s eyes to adjust.

  “Where are we?”

  “My home.”

  “You live here? In this club?”

  “Not so much live as sleep,” he says, drawing open the shades, letting in what little afternoon light the London rainfall allows. “It’s more of a home away from home.”

  “Where’s home then?” Dahlia quickly regrets the personal question.

  “Anywhere but London. I really despise this place.” He puts another cigarette between his lips but doesn’t light it.

  Dahlia pauses to make sense of this, but decides against it. She’s not interested in unraveling another man’s problems, which usually boil down to mommy or daddy issues. She just wants to find Marissa.

  “Take a seat. I’m going to show you something.” He leaves the sitting room for what she can only assume is his bedroom and returns holding a piece of paper.

  “You recognize this?”

  Dahlia looks down at the page. She feels like she just got her stomach kicked in. “Where did you find this?” She stammers.

  “It wasn’t easy. I know the scanned copy is a bit blurred. It was the best my source could do.”

  The words on the page appear jumbled at first. Dahlia shakes her head trying to clear away the cobwebs. She doesn’t remember signing this, let alone seeing it, but she recognizes her handwriting. Next to it in the box marked “Father” is Shane’s signature.

  Thomas’s voice breaks through her muddled thoughts. “Birth certificates aren’t usually that difficult to find since they’re a matter of public record, but this was like searching for the holy fuckin’ grail. Whomever went to such lengths to hide this really doesn’t want it found.”

  “How did you find it?” Dahlia asks, her fingers running over Marissa’s name.

  Thomas shrugs. “Persistence and money will get you pretty much anything.”

  Chapter 18

  Dahlia leans back into the soft blue velvet sofa and covers her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Thomas. Last thing she needs is to reinforce his prejudice about having to be her babysitter. Dahlia takes a deep breath. “What now then? This doesn’t explain why I had to come to London.”

  “You came to London because I prefer to not have to fly. Now as to your first question, that’s what you’re here to discuss.”

  “There was no way you could do it over the phone?”

  Thomas shakes his head as he lights his cigarette. “Looking for this birth certificate had me thinking . . .” he pauses and looks out the window. “You said your mother knows where your daughter is but can’t be convinced to reveal her whereabouts.”

  Dahlia nods.

  “And I’ve tried to trace everyone’s steps from the time you entered the hospital, but that was nearly seven years ago. I keep coming up empty-handed at every turn.” Thomas stubs out his cigarette and looks Dahlia squarely in the eye. “It doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “You’re still not getting to the part where you tell me we’re that much closer to finding Marissa. If her birth certificate isn’t any help, then what’s the point?”

  “It establishes that you, Dahlia Baron, and this,” Thomas searches the paper for a minute, “Shane Walker, gave birth to a baby girl named Marissa Pearl Walker. Proof of your parentage right there.”

  Dahlia’s hand flies up to her mouth as she chokes back a sob. Never before had she heard her name spoken along with Marissa’s in a sentence. Hearing it aloud for the first time stirs up Dahlia’s pain over losing her. Damn Shane for signing away their daughter’s life. Damn her mother for assuming she had any right to make this decision for her.

  She gets up and begins to pace the room nervously. “So now you tell me that you have to find adoption papers or some paper trail? Maybe there’s some money transfer or something.”

  “Or something,” he replies in a slightly patronizing tone.

  Thomas stands and leans against a bookcase full of leatherbound classic novels that Dahlia presumes he’s never read. “Your mother and the people she had helping her cover their tracks. It’s useless trying look because you may only find just a few breadcrumbs. So I had to think of another way.”

  “Which was?”

  “Find out who she knew who may have wanted your baby.”

  Chapter 19

  Dahlia throws herself onto her bed close to midnight. She rolls over to stare out the window, too exhausted to move. This whole day has her drained. For the past five hours Thomas drilled her about her family—their habits, their friends, the clubs they belonged to, charities they underwrote, political leanings, homes, travel destinations, affairs—anything and everything she could possibly dredge up about everyone. Thankfully, he skirted the more personal details of her relationship with Shane. She really didn’t want to talk about him. His betrayal stings all the more with every passing day.

  When she asked him if it is was all so necessary, he merely looked at her with those dangerously beautiful eyes. No words required. So she pressed on, divulging every piece of Baron dirt she could. Perhaps this will come back and hurt her family one day if it ever came out, but it couldn’t possibly hurt as much as being robbed of her own child. Perhaps, Dahlia thinks to herself, she’s finally getting her karmic balance.

  It turns out that Thomas had already obtained some of the information on her family. It’s not too difficult to find considering her family’s public life. But he wanted as much insight into their backroom dealings as she could offer since a secret adoption like this could only be carried out by people with lesser scruples than say, your average street thug.

  Dahlia pulls out the cell phone Thomas said she could use. He told her that under no circumstances should she turn on her cell phone since she could be tracked. She suggested that he was being overly cautious considering no one would be following her. But again those green eyes told her
otherwise.

  She sighs as she dials a number. After two rings, Dahlia breaks down when she hears the friendly voice answer. “D, is that you?”

  A few minutes of silence pass between them, Dahlia slows her breathing and wipes her tears. “Please tell me that Thomas is the right guy for this, Vi.”

  Vi lets out a throaty chuckle. “So he decided to go with the less than charming version of himself.”

  “Is there any other version?” Dahlia asks incredulously.

  “Of course, D. Nobody is one dimensional.”

  “Then tell him to play nice. I won’t tolerate his bullshit for long, even if he’s your friend. By the way . . .” Dahlia begins but stops short.

  “What?”

  “You and Thomas. Anything there? He doesn’t seem like your type, although I can’t say that I really know what your type is.” Dahlia gets out of bed and walks out on the terrace. The rain has managed to stop for at least an hour.

  Vi laughs. “Oh my God, D. You’re interested in him!”

  “Oh please, no,” Dahlia replies, almost too quickly. “You have to admit, he’s pretty damn hot. It’s just that you seem to have a close relationship, but you’re not involved.”

  “That would be almost incestuous. Thomas is like a brother to me. His mum and my mum are friends from their modeling days. We used to get thrown together a lot when they had parties or when his mum would leave him at our place while they went out since we had a live-in.”

  “So I can trust him like you do? He asked a lot of questions about my family.” Dahlia closes her eyes and breathes in the cool night air. Something about digging through her family’s past is beginning to scare her.

  “He knows things about me that you and Lily don’t. That’s how much I trust him.”

  “That says a lot about how much you don’t trust us.” Dahlia walks back into her room and tosses the throw back onto the bed, suddenly wired. Maybe she’ll take a swim in the hotel pool.

  “Hardly, D. It’s just that . . . Thomas exists in another world. He’s kind of untouchable. Not much can really get him. You and Lily mean everything to me. I wouldn’t want you guys to ever suffer because of me.”