Katie finally fell asleep as dawn approached. When she opened her eyes, the room was bathed in sunlight, and standing beside her bed was Victor, smiling down at her.
“I waited for you all night. Where were you?”
“My little one, see? Nothing’s happened to me. Get dressed, let’s go have breakfast somewhere,” Victor said.
Outside, the summer warmth clung to the air.
“Want an ice cream?” Without waiting for an answer, Victor walked to the kiosk and bought Katie’s favorite—vanilla in a wafer cone.
“You’re in a good mood. Did you win at cards?” Katie asked, licking the top of her cone.
“Guess again. I’ve got an idea. And I’ll need your help to pull it off.”
“But you’ve never taken me with you before. What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. Just be there. But if you don’t want to, I can manage alone.”
“No, I’ll come,” Katie said quickly.
“Knew you’d say yes. Go pick out a white dress,” Victor replied, indulgent in his good humor.
“Really? Are you proposing?” She beamed, even forgetting the ice cream dripping in her hand.
Victor had never let any woman so much as whisper about marriage—but Katie was different. She’d become his lucky charm. A year ago, he’d rescued her from three thugs.
Katie had lived with her mother in a small town. After her father left, her mother turned to drink. Things got worse when a man moved in. He’d leered at Katie, and one night, tried to force himself on her. She ran—straight onto a train, to London, with no money, no family. Lost and frightened, she caught the attention of a group of lads loitering at the station, always hunting for easy marks. It could’ve ended badly—had Victor not heard her screams and beaten them off. Since then, they’d been inseparable.
Katie had fallen for him. Tall, strong, well-dressed, handsome—trust came easily when he smiled. He made her feel safe, even though he never hid that his work wasn’t exactly legal. But he kept her out of it.
They sat on a bench by the Thames. The ice cream melted fast, the wafer soggy, sticky syrup spilling onto her wrist, then her dress.
“Damn it!” Katie jumped up, holding the cone away from her.
“Just bin it,” Victor said, squinting lazily in the sun like a contented cat.
She tossed it, licking her hand clean. “Still such a child,” Victor thought fondly.
“This job’s a sure thing, but we can’t slip up. A bloke with a fiancée’s more believable than me alone.”
“A fiancée?” Katie sat back down.
“That’s you.” Victor pulled her close, and she leaned into him.
“Yesterday, I heard about this batty old woman. No family—husband dead, son killed in Afghanistan years ago. She forgets, keeps waiting for him to come home. Wears this ring, never takes it off. Reckon she’s got more where that came from. Husband was loaded.”
“You want to steal her jewelry?”
“Nah, too messy. She’ll hand it over herself. We show up as her grandson and his bride. Got it? Your job’s to get her to gift you the lot.”
Victor had his principles. Katie pitied the woman. Cheating officials was one thing—but a lonely old lady? She hesitated.
“Buy a modest dress, something she’d like,” Victor said, oblivious.
“What if she realises? Doesn’t believe you’re her grandson?”
“Memory’s shot. Doubt she’d recognise her own son anymore.”
Two days later, they stood before a wrought-iron door on the third floor of a red-brick house. Victor gave Katie a final once-over—demure, perfect. He, as always, was polished and charming.
“Keep quiet, yeah?”
She nodded.
The door creaked open. Instead of a withered crone, a petite elderly woman stood there, dressed in a vintage frock with a lace collar. Silver hair pinned back with a black bow.
“Can I help you?” she asked, squinting.
“You—if you’re Margaret Elizabeth Hawthorne. This’ll sound strange, but I’m your grandson,” Victor said gravely.
“I don’t understand… My son never married. You must be mistaken.”
“Mind if we come in?” Victor flashed his disarming smile. It never failed.
“Of course.” She stepped aside.
Victor strode in, pausing before a framed photo of a young man in dress uniform. “Mum’s got a different one—him as a cadet.”
“I still don’t…” Her voice wavered.
“I’m from Manchester. Your son trained there, right? Mum met him months before graduation. When he left, she was pregnant. He never wrote, never called. She thought he’d abandoned her. Only just told me the truth. I found you, learned he’d died a hero…”
Margaret gasped, sinking into a chair, tears welling. “Daniel, my boy…”
“Mum named me Daniel too.”
Katie watched, wide-eyed. Victor lied so convincingly, even she nearly believed him. Margaret, under his spell, fetched an album, flipping through photos of her son.
Katie fought tears. What if she’d had a father like that? A grandmother like this? No drunk mother, no strangers in the house. She noticed Victor barely glanced at the pictures. Of course—this wasn’t his family. He wasn’t here to mourn.
Suddenly, she couldn’t do it. Every instinct rebelled. She wanted to protect this woman who’d lost everything. Victor caught her look and understood.
“Oh, where are my manners? You’ve travelled all this way—where are your things?”
“At the hotel. We’re only here a couple days,” Victor-Daniel said.
“Nonsense! My grandson, staying in some hotel? I won’t hear of it.”
“Work calls, Gran. Only child, like Dad. And the wedding’s soon—so much to do. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Such a shame Daniel never knew he had a son. And your mother?”
“Remarried, then divorced. She thought he’d abandoned her.” Victor smoothly painted his “father” as flawed—but himself as worthy of love.
“Of course.” Margaret stood. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“We brought cake and biscuits,” Katie said, fetching bags from the hall. “Let me help.”
“No, no, rest. I’m not decrepit yet.”
“Don’t feel sorry for her,” Victor hissed when Margaret left. “It’s just a job. Saw that ring? Get her to show you the rest. Understood?”
Over tea, Margaret spoke of losing her son, asked about his time in Manchester. Victor-Daniel spun tales, delighting her with the “grandson” she’d never known.
“Were you a teacher?” Katie blurted.
“Yes. Forty years at St. Mary’s—English lit.”
“You remind me of mine. She wore a big emerald ring. And a brooch—round, with a sapphire centre, little diamonds around it. I always stared at it.”
“My husband gave me the ring. Never take it off. But the brooch…” She left, returning with it.
“Like this?”
Victor’s eyes gleamed. “May I?” His fingers trembled as he took it.
“Too heavy, I rarely wore it. This is for you.” She handed Katie a ring. “Should fit. A diamond. My wedding gift.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Take it,” Margaret said, as Victor’s glare burned into Katie.
It slid on perfectly.
“Thank you. I’ll never take it off.” Tears spilled.
Victor’s look said, *See? Just the start.*
“You rest. I’ll pop to the shops.” Margaret reclaimed the brooch.
“Let us go,” Victor said.
Outside, Katie asked, “Why not stay? She’d leave us alone to search.”
“And have her tell the neighbours about her ‘grandson’? Someone’d call the police. No—once we’re gone, we’re ghosts.”
Back inside, Margaret cooked while Katie chopped salad. From the living room came whispers, cupboard doors creaking. Margaret heard nothing.
After dinner, Victor “went for a walk.” Alone with Margaret, Katie talked until the older woman brought out a jewellery box. Gems glinted—rubies, sapphires, pearls.
“My husband’s gifts. Where would I wear them? Take them, dear.”
“No, please—” Katie backed away.
“I’ll die, strangers will take them. Better they stay in the family. Don’t tell Daniel. Wear them at the wedding—surprise him.”
Katie hid the box in Daniel’s old room, stuffing the jewels into a boot, the empty box behind linen.
“Got them?” Victor whispered that night.
She nodded.
“Good girl. OnceAs the years passed, Katie never took off the ring, and though she sometimes caught herself glancing over her shoulder, the only shadow that followed her was the memory of the man who once made her believe in luck—until she chose a different kind of magic, the kind built on kindness and an old woman’s forgiveness.
