Three Fates by Nora Roberts Page B

and the half gods. I had absolutely no talent for the family business, so I turned an interest into a career.”
    “Then you have Henry to thank for that.”
    She’d always thought the same. “You’re right, I do.”
    He lifted his glass, tapped it to hers. “To Henry, then, and his pursuit of the Fates.”
    He let the conversation wind into other areas. Damn it, she was pleasant company when she loosened up. The wine added a sparkle to her eyes, a pretty glow to her cheeks. She had a mind that was quick enough to jump into any area, and a subtle and dry wit when she forgot to be nervous about what came out of her mouth.
    He gave himself an hour to simply enjoy her company, and didn’t circle back to the Fates until they were in the cab heading back to her apartment.
    “Did Henry note down in his journal how he planned to acquire the other statues?” Idly, Malachi toyed with the ends of her hair. “Weren’t you curious if they existed? If they were real?”
    “Mmm. I don’t remember.” With the wine spinning gently in her head, she relaxed against him when he slid an arm around her shoulders. “I was thirteen, no, twelve, when I first read it. It was the winter I had bronchitis. I think it was bronchitis,” she said, lazily now. “I always seemed to have something that kept me in bed. Anyway, I was too young to think about heading off to England to find some legendary statue.”
    He frowned. It seemed to him that was precisely what a twelve-year-old girl should have thought of doing. The adventure of it, the romance of it would have made a perfect fantasy for a housebound child.
    “After that, I was too steeped in gods to worry about artifacts. That’s my father’s area. I’m hopeless at business. I’ve no flare for figures or for people. I’m a crushing disappointment to him.”
    “That’s not possible.”
    “It is, but it’s nice of you to say it isn’t. Wyley Antiques paid for my education, my lifestyle and my piano lessons, and I’ve given nothing back, preferring to write books on imaginary figures rather than accept the weight and responsibilities of my legacy.”
    “Writing books about imaginary figures is an art, and a time-honored profession.”
    “Not when you’re my father. He’s given up on me, and as I’ve yet to latch onto a man long enough to produce a grandchild for him, he despairs that on his retirement, Wyley’s will pass out of the family.”
    “A woman’s not required to birth a child for the sake of a bloody business.”
    She blinked a bit at the temper in his voice. “Wyley’s isn’t just a business, it’s a tradition. Oh my, I shouldn’t have had so much wine. I’m rambling.”
    “You’re not.” He paid the driver when they pulled to the curb. “And you shouldn’t worry so much about pleasing your father if he can’t see the value of who you are and what you do.”
    “Oh, he’s not . . .” She was grateful for the firmness of Malachi’s hand as she climbed out of the cab. The wine made her limbs feel loose and disconnected. “He’s a wonderful man, amazingly kind and patient. It’s just that he’s so proud of Wyley’s. If he’d had a son, or another daughter with more business skills, it wouldn’t be so difficult.”
    “Your thread’s been spun, hasn’t it?” He led her into the elevator. “You are what you are.”
    “My father doesn’t believe in fate.” She shook back her hair, smiled. “But maybe he’d be interested in the Fates. Wouldn’t it be something if I research and manage to find one of them? Or two. Of course, they don’t have any serious significance unless they’re complete.”
    “Maybe you should read Henry’s journal again.”
    “Maybe I should. I wonder where it is.” She laughed up at him as they walked toward her door. “I had the best time. That’s twice now I’ve had the best time with you, and on two continents. I feel very cosmopolitan.”
    “See me tomorrow.” He turned her into him, slid a hand up