by Mia Sheridan
"I can agree to that."
She took a deep breath. "Okay, good." She held out her hand. "Truce?" She arched an eyebrow. I looked at her hand and held out my own from across the table.
"Truce. Come here so we can shake."
"You come here," she challenged.
I smiled slowly. "Meet in the middle."
She narrowed her eyes, but nodded, stepping away from her chair. I stepped away from mine, and we met next to the center of the large table. I took her warm hand in mine and shook it as we regarded each other warily. Finally, she smiled and I gave one in return. She returned to her seat and so did I. When Charlotte came over to refill Kira's wine, she regarded her not with disdain, but with a wary curiosity. Interesting that somehow our fighting had ingratiated Kira to Charlotte. Women were all a mystery to me. Kira gave Charlotte a small smile and thanked her for the delicious meal.
"Would you like to see the rest of the house?" I asked, trying to make a small peace offering.
Kira looked surprised, but nodded yes. We got up from the table, and Kira thanked Charlotte for dinner. Charlotte smiled a smile that seemed genuine but didn't offer me one.
I brought Kira back to the main foyer and we started from there. "My father had this place designed to mimic a French chateau."
Kira nodded as we entered the formal living room. "It really does. It reminds me of a smaller-scale fairy-tale castle. There's something . . . enchanting about it." She gasped when she spotted the large window overlooking the back of the house. The pool was directly below, down a set of steps, and off a natural stone patio. However, her head was lifted and I knew she was staring at the hedge maze just beyond that. She whirled toward me. "It's a maze!" she gasped. "And it's massive."
I clenched my jaw just as I did each time I looked at that hateful thing. "It's completely overgrown. If I had the extra money, I'd have had it mown down when I moved back."
"Oh why?" she gasped. "It's incredible! Can I go inside sometime—?"
"No. Absolutely not." I gentled my tone, though when I said, "It isn't safe." She didn't know why I hated it and she never would, but I had spoken the truth—it was too overgrown to be safe.
She was studying me with those bright, penetrating eyes. I could feel them boring into the side of my face. When I made eye contact, she raised one delicate brow. "The heart of your lair, I suppose?" She smiled prettily. "Where you were . . . hatched?" I narrowed my eyes, and tried to give her a scathing look, but I knew she was joking and I couldn't resist the smile that made its way to my lips. I chuckled softly.
"Perhaps." I raised my own brow. "But in all seriousness, just stay away from it."
After a short pause, Kira looked away and shrugged. "Well, okay, it's your house."
I took her through the rooms one by one and watched her reaction. This house had been a showpiece at one time, but signs of neglect were everywhere. Despite the now-sparse furnishings, Charlotte, being only one person, could hardly keep the whole thing spotless as it had once been. When I said as much, Kira looked at me and stated, "You grew up in a life of privilege." I knew what she wasn't saying: I had acted as if she was the only one who'd known luxury.
"Privilege isn't only defined by material wealth, Kira. I grew up in a fine home with lots of hired help, but I can assure you, I never lived a life of privilege. For all intents and purposes, I never had any parents at all."
She tilted her head, confusion filling her expression. "What does that mean, Grayson?"
I shook my head. "The specifics of my family dynamics don't matter. Suffice it to say, I'm used to hard work, and I won't let a dollar of the money you're so generously offering me go to waste. In fact, I'm considering the money you're giving me a loan. Once the vineyard is bringing in a profit, I'll pay you back."
She was quiet for a moment. Finally, she simply nodded. "We don't need to put that in the paperwork, but should you choose . . ." She waved her hand in the air as if I could do as I pleased on that front. Interesting. I wasn't sure what to think of her response.
When we walked through the upstairs corridor, Kira stopped at the picture of my father and stepmother. "They've both passed?" she asked softly, glancing back at me.
I shook my head. "Only my father. My stepmother lives in San Francisco."
She turned slowly toward me. "Does she have no interest in helping with the vineyard her husband loved? Or does she not have the financial means—?"
"She has plenty of money. My father left this vineyard to me. I won't ask my stepmother for a dime of the money my father left her. We have no relationship and we never have." I should have to tolerate you when your own mother couldn't even be bothered? she'd asked me when I was twelve. I could still hear the cold words echoing through my head. "I'd rather . . . well, I'd rather marry a stranger for money before going to her for a loan." I gave her a wry smile, but she didn't smile back. "Anyway, the vow I've made is to my father. It's for me to fulfill."
She looked at me, tilting her head. "I understand vows, Grayson. I've made them, too. I've vowed never again to depend upon my father." She turned back to the photo and looked at it for another long minute.
"You must favor your mother," she said, obviously noticing my father's very light coloring.
"Yes, to everyone's dismay," I said. She glanced at me, but didn't question that cryptic remark. I wasn't sure why I'd made it. I hardly wanted her questioning anything about my life.
She looked back to the wall of pictures, leaning closer to a photo. I studied her profile, the straight slope of her small nose, the gentle curve of her jaw, the feathery curl of her lashes, that long, silken hair falling around her face and down her back. "You have a brother," she said, looking at the picture of Shane and me.
"Yes."
"Does he live nearby?"
"No, he lives in San Diego."
"Are you close?"
"I haven't spoken to my brother in over five years."
She turned to me again. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," I said, my voice clipped as I led her away before she could ask any more intrusive questions. I was already feeling very uncomfortable with this tour. And I couldn't blame her—it had been my own idea.
"Well, I'll leave you with Charlotte. She'll get you settled into a room. I'm going out," I said dismissively once we'd descended the stairs.
She looked confused for a second. "Yes, okay, well, thanks. Have a good night."
I nodded curtly and started to walk away, narrowing my eyes when I heard her humming. I turned back and walked toward her. "Are you humming 'Puff The Magic Dragon'?"
Her eyes blinked, looking big and innocent. A clear act. "Is that what that song is? I never knew the name, or who exactly lived in Honali, just the tune mostly." She shrugged.
I glared down at her for several long moments. She held eye contact with me, that little chin tipped up. The air buzzed, pinpricks of awareness hitting my skin. Finally—finished with her little game—I turned away again, leaving her standing alone in my front foyer.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kira
God, that dragon ran hot and cold. As reptiles tended to do, I supposed. I almost preferred the fire he shot at me to the icy act he put on when he was finished with a certain topic of conversation, or when he looked at me with frigid disdain. I wasn’t precisely sure how I knew the iciness was an act, but I did. Deep down, he was all dragon. Barely contained heat . . . and probably passion, too. I shivered. I would not think of Grayson Hawthorn in those terms. I would only get burned. He had spelled it out for me himself. I was not his "type," whatever that might be.
I took a deep breath, my eyes lingering on the words carved ornately into the stone above the doorway: In Vino Veritas. I'd have to look that up. I went back to the kitchen where I found Charlotte still wiping down the counters. She looked up and offered me a smile—a much warmer greeting than she'd given me earlier tonight.
"Would you like some coffee?"
"Oh, sure," I smiled, "but on
ly if you'll join me?"
Charlotte hesitated, but nodded. I sat down on a bar stool at the counter while she poured two cups and then placed one in front of me with cream and sugar, put a pie dish and two plates with utensils next to her, and sat down with her own mug.
"Grayson went out," I said, taking a sip of coffee.
Her lips came together in a straight line. "Yes, so I heard. Salted caramel pie?" she asked, cutting a huge piece and plopping it on a plate.
"Oh, um, okay." I hesitated as she slid the plate in front of me, the delicious smells of caramel and sweet cream wafting to my nose. "I know this situation probably seems . . ." I shook my head, at a loss for a word other than ridiculous, inadvisable, disastrous.
Immoral.
"Unusual," was the word I finally uttered to Charlotte.
"Yes, it does," she said, cutting her own slice of pie. Despite her agreement, she smiled. "I had hoped for more for Gray. No offense to you. You seem like a spirited girl. I just . . . I hoped he'd marry for love, of course."
"Of course." I couldn't help blushing. I hoped to marry for love someday, too. "You care for him very much." I took a bite of pie, the sweet and salty flavors bursting across my tongue. I tried not to let my eyes roll to the back of my head.
She nodded. "I've been working here since Gray was first dropped off . . ." she seemed to catch herself, "that is, since Gray came to live here."
I wanted to pry, to ask her what she'd meant by "dropped off," but I didn't. This was the first time I was having a conversation with the woman. I didn't want to seem like a busybody.
"But of course," she continued, "I understand why your offer seems appealing to Grayson. He," she shook her head again, looking very sad, "will stop at nothing to bring this vineyard back to what it once was."
"It's his family legacy," I said. "I can't blame him."
She nodded, her eyes meeting mine again, her thoughts seeming to return from somewhere far away. "And what about you? Are there no other options than this?"
"This seems like my best option at the moment," I said quietly, for some reason, feeling shameful in front of this sweet-faced, older woman with the lilting English accent and the kind eyes. "Did Gray not tell you my situation?"
"He gave me the CliffsNotes." She looked at me for a moment, her stare assessing. "All I can say is this situation may have more ramifications than you're considering. I implore you to think this through before you do something you can't undo."
"I do understand what you're saying, Charlotte, and I appreciate the advice, but—"
"You've made up your mind."
"Yes, I've made up my mind. I hope you can try to understand."
"Well," she said, "then that’s that." I looked down at the piece of mostly eaten pie on my plate, not knowing why it mattered to me that I was disappointing this woman. She continued before I could say anything. "And perhaps you'll be good for him. I admit I haven't seen any fire in his eyes for . . . well, for far too long."
"Hmm . . ." I hummed, taking another sip of coffee, not knowing if that was a good or bad thing. It probably indicated we brought out the worst in each other already—and I'd only known him for a few hours. I finished off the last couple bites of my pie.
"Oh hey, Charlotte, can I bother you for some linens? I need some blankets and a pillow to take to the gardener's shed where I'm staying." Charlotte looked at me blankly.
"The gardener's shed? That's only been used for storage for decades. You can't stay in it. Surely, Gray was only joking when he put you there."
"Maybe," I took the last sip of my coffee, "but I like it. And it's a space of my own. I won't bother anyone that way."
"I can't abide by that," Charlotte said, shaking her head. "I don't like this idea of you and Gray getting married, but I won't see you living in a dirty, spider-dwelling shack."
I laughed. "Remember when I mentioned Africa? I lived there for a year. I just got back less than a week ago, actually. The spiders here would be shamed by the insects there. I can handle a daddy longlegs or two. And with a bed and some clean linens, it's a step above the mat on the dirt floor I've become accustomed to sleeping on."
"And why were you in Africa?"
Hiding. Escaping. Being banished. "To help a friend build a hospital of a sort." I smiled, the first one that felt really genuine since I'd arrived back in San Francisco. "It will help so many women and children. I'll tell you all about it sometime."
Charlotte patted my hand, that wary look in her eye seeming to have turned down several notches. "I would like that."
**********
An hour later I had swept the bedroom of the cottage with the broom Charlotte had given me, thoroughly cleaned the metal bedframe, and made it up with the mattress Walter had carried over. When Charlotte brought the blankets, she looked around in horror, asked me again to come back with her, and then left as quickly as possible.
I'd tackle the bathroom in the morning. I used the frigid water from the tap to wash my face and brush my teeth. I peeked behind the musty curtain over the shower and cringed when I saw the rusty fixtures, dirt-caked floor, and the thick cobwebs covering the ceiling. Blech.
Being late summer, the evenings were getting just a bit chillier, but I opened the windows wide anyway. The cool breeze wafted inside, carrying the very faint scent of roses and the wisteria covering the cottage, dispelling the smell of dust and oil.
Although it wasn't much to look at, the bed was comfortable, and I climbed under the covers with my phone, sending a quick text to Kimberly. I hadn't filled her in completely on what was going on, but I wanted to wait until after we'd met with Mr. Hartmann, the executor of the trust Gram had left me. I'd spring this on her once everything was official, and no sooner. She'd try to talk me out of it and Kimberly was persuasive. Likely, she'd have me doubting everything I'd already come to terms with. And I couldn't afford that. Literally.
I had four messages. I took a deep breath and hit play on the first one from my father.
Kira. I know you were inside when I was banging on your door, and I know you heard me. I sent James to your apartment with a key, and he said it looked like you had moved out. Call me immediately and tell me what you think you're up to. We need to sit down with Cooper and make sure we're all on the same page. Dammit, Kira, you knew enough not to disappear. I need you at my disposal. Has nothing changed since you left the country? I had hoped . . . just call me.
Click.
Hot tears filled my eyes. I need you at my disposal. Of course you do, Daddy. Because that's what I am to you—disposable. The next two messages were from my father's number, too. I deleted them without listening. Thankfully I'd thought to turn off the tracking on my phone so my father couldn't find my location—it was how he had to have known I was at my apartment packing my suitcases—unless he had spies in the building reporting in to him, which was just as likely.
The final message was from Cooper. I hit play tentatively, biting my lip until I tasted blood. I forced my body to relax.
Hey, Kira
Click.
You missed me? You bastard. Tears poured down my cheeks and I turned my face into my pillow, thinking back to that terrible day, the soul-stealing betrayal, the shock, the humiliation, and finally, only pain.
I eventually fell into a restless sleep, only waking once when I heard a vehicle on the gravel driveway outside the open window of my cottage. I turned over groggily and opened my eyes, but there was too much foliage outside the window to see the driveway beyond. I heard footsteps as the person I assumed to be Grayson, got out of his truck and walked directly to his house. My heavy lids fell closed, and I was back to sleep in moments.
**********
Morning sun shone through the ope
n window, scattering lemony light and causing my dreams to fade like mist. I sat up and stretched. After washing quickly in the frigid water of the bathroom sink and knotting my hair on top of my head, I pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a navy-blue tank top. I'd tackle the shower today and clean myself up before our appointment this afternoon.
The gravel crunched underfoot as I trekked to the main house and knocked at the door. Walter answered with the same remote look on his face he seemed to favor.
"Mr. Hawthorn is in the kitchen eating breakfast," he said formally.
"Thanks, Walter." I smiled and headed toward the kitchen.
Grayson was sitting at the same spot he'd sat at dinner, a wine magazine of some sort in front of him. I took the seat I'd occupied the night before as well—at the other end.
"Good morning!" Charlotte sing-songed.
"Morning," I said, nodding at Grayson.
There were plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns, so I loaded the plate in front of me. After several bites, I looked up to see Grayson watching me eat. When I caught his eye, he seemed momentarily surprised and looked away. "I have a lot of work to do today. What are your plans?" he asked.
