He side-eyes my outfit. “Ah, now the safari Barbie getup is making sense.”
I look down at my clothes, cursing my khaki. I say, “Well, what’s it like there?”
An amused look dances on his face. “I’ll let it be a surprise. Just like you.”
I don’t have time to overthink the Parish, or John’s words. I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs of the plane, and they want me to board. The attendant who’s stored our bags holds his hand out to me, smiling warmly. “Miss Bachman.”
I give him my hand, climb aboard the jet. It’s a luxury aircraft, all soft tan leather, plush carpeting, crystal glasses of champagne awaiting us. I slip into my seat and sigh with relief. This is so much better than the debacle John had described of flying commercial.
In my old life I was too poor to travel anywhere, let alone buy an airplane ticket. Then I became a Bachman and was suddenly too rich to fly the usual way. It’s amazing how fast you get used to luxury. How quickly you become accustomed to comfort. Forgetting how desperate you once were, wondering when your mom was going to pay the light bill.
I just hope there’s enough of the old, broke, scrappy Tess to make it through this little wilderness retreat. I take a sip of champagne, the bubbles tickling my tongue. John says, “Relax and try to get some sleep. It’s about a nine-hour flight. Then we’ll have a boat ride over to the Parish.” He reaches into his breast pocket, producing a little white pill. “Here. A gift from Mary. She knows how keyed up you get and said you’d need this. She took this last time she and I visited the Parish and she said she slept like a baby the whole way and woke up rested.”
I take the pill from him and swallow it down with the last of my drink. “Mary’s been to the Parish? When? Why? Have any other Beauties been?”
“Don’t worry about it, honey. Just rest.”
The unanswered questions threaten to raise the anxiety I already feel about flying. Stirring my mind, making me restless and unable to sleep. But as soon as we leave the tarmac, that magic pill begins to calm me. A smile stretches across my face and I drift off to sleep.
When John wakes me, I have no idea what time it is. We must have already landed, because the engines are quiet. Unbelievable—I’ve slept the whole trip. I look to John, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”
He looks down at his Rolex. “It’s eight in the morning in Athens. We’ve got an hour boat ride to get to the Parish. So we’ll be there just in time for a late breakfast. Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
I crunch the numbers in my mind. We left around five. Nine-hour flight. Internet research told me there’s a seven-hour time difference. In the Village it’s one in the morning, but I’ve slept so long and well that I feel totally rested. Ready to take on my mission, though beyond showing up and professing my infatuation to Rockland, I don’t have much planned.
We leave the plane. We’re at a small airport, about the size of the one in the Village. There are a few well-groomed men, milling about. I must be a sight because they are all staring at me. Ignoring them, I follow John, climbing beside him into a waiting Jeep. The sight of the big, rugged wheel reminds me of the difficult terrain we are taking on. Of how isolating my surroundings will be. My stomach knots and I force myself to take a deep breath.
A massive, well-groomed man with his head completely shaved is putting our bags in the back. When he takes a seat, I recognize the top of the tattoo peeking out below the sleeve of his skintight black t-shirt. A member of the Brotherhood of the Parish. He shoots me a smile, flashing white teeth against tan skin.
And we’re off.
John takes glances at me every so often to see if I’m alright with the bumpy isolated roads. I don’t even notice the jostling because my surroundings are breathtaking. Mountains roll in the distance as we make our way. Thick, gnarled tree trucks line the road, their branches twisted and turning into each other beneath their green canopies. The air is dry and the sun shines down through the trees, warming my skin.
My sight lands on the Aegean Sea.
A beautiful teal, darkening to a royal blue over the deeper regions. “It’s something, isn’t it?” John asks, leaning over me to get a better view. “Mary loves it here. Never wants to leave.”
“How often have you been coming?” I ask. But of course, he doesn’t answer, and I don’t really care because all I can do is stare.
After about a ten-minute ride, we pull up to a small road that leads to an isolated white sand beach. Just off the beach is a dock. And a gorgeous boat is waiting for us. The term doesn’t do the craft justice. The sleek white vessel must be a small yacht.
“I guess they knew we were coming?” I ask, incredibly grateful for John’s interceding. I never would have been able to navigate the journey on my own.
“Your timing couldn’t have been better. I actually have a delivery to make to the new, ah... storage area out here. It’s in the cargo below the plane. Also, I have a few loose ends to tie up in a pretty big business deal with Rockland. One he, I, and Carter are working out. I’m arriving under the guise of all that. Don’t worry, you’ll still be quite the secret.”
The driver takes my hand, helping me down from the Jeep. I can’t help it but his build, his skin, his tattoo, they make me think of Rockland. Knowing how near I am to him—how soon I’ll see his face after being away from him so long—my nerves shoot through the roof. The sensation is akin to having too much to drink and feeling wonderful yet wanting to throw up all at the same time. I hold the driver’s hand tight, to steady myself. Sensing my instability, he gives me a warm smile. His eyes are green. His smile, beautiful. He says, “Lovely to meet you. You must be Tess.”
Surprise widens my eyes. “Oh! You’ve heard of me? You knew I was coming?”
“No, I only knew of John’s arrival. But when we saw you step off the jet, me and my brothers knew you must be the mystery woman with the hair like fire. The one that’s captured the heart of our leader.”
I lose my breath. My heart stops beating, falling into my stomach with a dull thud. The words escape my lips though I don’t mean for them to. “He’s spoken of me?”
“He speaks of nothing else. Except business of course.”
Suddenly, my knees are no longer weak, my head no longer cloudy.
I’m here for one reason.
To tell him how I feel. And ask if he feels the same.
I give the driver a smile. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Dante.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dante.” His words have given me the confidence I needed to complete my task. I let go of his hand and say, “Thank you.” You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.
The boat is not what I was expecting. I had images of flagging down a local. Renting his time and having him transport me in his rusted-out dinghy. My hand clutching to the rim of a tiny fishing boat, my life vest snapped tightly around my chest—there’s one in the bottom of my suitcase—my hair blowing in the wind as we zip over the water to the shores of the remote Parish.
What I’m experiencing is nothing like that. The boat is a large white, pristine vessel. There’s wide leather benches across the back and the bow of the boat. Plenty of room to walk about as we travel. Not a speck of rust in sight, in fact the thing is spotless. I sit down, clutching my purse to my chest as the engine roars to life. We wait while they load the cargo from the plane to the ship. We slowly pull away from the dock, then begin to gain speed. The first few minutes are a bit bumpy as we leave the shore and glide over the crashing waves. But then the beautiful aqua water is as smooth as glass.
I’m beginning to wonder if the Parish isn’t quite as backwards as I’ve imagined it to be. As if reading my thoughts, John looks at me and asks, “Tess, did you bring... any other attire with you?” Before I can answer John, the white top of a tall building peeks out through the tree-covered land and catches my attention. I sit forward in my seat, crane my neck, and shield my eyes from the
sun. Damn, those sunglasses are in my suitcase, not my purse.
What I think I’m seeing is the roofline of a mansion, or a castle, peeking out from above the lush canopy. The trees hide too much of the structure for me to decipher what it is exactly, but I can see enough to know one thing... it’s no hut.
Slowly, I turn my head toward John, all the pieces coming together at once. His face is red, his hand covering his mouth and half his nose. His eyes are shut tightly. His shoulders shaking.
He’s laughing. So hard, in fact, he’s not yet made a sound.
I cross my arms over my chest and shoot daggers out of my eyes. “John...”
He throws his head back, slapping his knee as he finally releases a great laugh from within his belly. There are tears—actual tears—streaming from the corners of his eyes. He tries to speak but his laughter makes it almost impossible. “Your face... oh, my gosh—you should have seen—” a few more loud laughs burst from within him, “your face, Tess.”
“He told me he lived in a remote village! He has a simple life. That they build their homes with their own hands. I just assumed that they all ran about naked sleeping in some kind of thatched roofed—”
“Oh, my God, Tess. This is too much. And the outfit? Oh, man. It’s all coming together. Did Rockland ever tell you that they live in huts?”
I frown. “No, I just kind of filled in the blanks for myself.”
“You know what they say about making assumptions.”
I roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, “Never make an assumption because men are asses?” I know he’s in too good of a mood to correct my sass.
He wipes tears from his eyes, throws a heavy arm over my shoulders. “Rockland always did have a bit of a prankster side to him, didn’t he?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Though he does love to tease me. Mercilessly.” I remember the ongoing banter that ran between us when he was living under my roof. I’d never had that with anyone before and I’d loved every minute of our verbal sparring.
My gaze travels to the building. Now that we are closer, more of it is exposed. I can see that the three-story beauty is made of stone. Has verandas overlooking the ocean on every level. And huge walls of windows facing the water.
It’s fit for a king.
The words slip from my mouth before I can think them, “Don’t tell me that’s Rockland’s... house—”
“Oh, yes. That’s his little hut. But don’t be expecting running water or electricity on the island.”
I give him a side glance. He’s trying to keep a straight face. “Ha ha. You got me good. I guess I may have stereotyped the islanders, just a bit. A little New York City snobbery might be deeply ingrained in my blood.”
John’s collected himself now and he’s able to carry on a conversation once more. “Don’t feel bad, Tess. I think showing up in that outfit is penance enough.”
I groan. I’d forgotten my ensemble. “What am I going to do? I look ridiculous!”
“I’m sure the Beauties have something you can borrow.”
“They call themselves Beauties? I thought that was just a nickname Paige brought with her when she came to the Village.”
“Mary and Sasha brought the name with them on one of their visits and it stuck.”
“Sasha’s been here too! Am I the only one who hasn’t been extended the invitation—”
John interrupts my rant by pointing over my shoulder at the island. “Look, we’re here.”
The boat glides up to a pristine wooden dock. The crew busily docks the boat, anchoring it and tying ropes to metal fasteners.
I stare past them.
It’s nothing like I imagined.
White sand beaches. Children playing on the shore, running and chasing, their skin brown from the sun. White smiles gleaming. Laugher pealing as they splash and play in the shallow water. The mothers dot the sand. All dressed in elegant lightly colored loose clothing. Linen and silk billowing behind them in the breeze as they talk and laugh while watching the children adoringly. My gaze rises and I see Rockland’s home. It’s even more breathtaking up close. There’s a terracotta-colored patio dotted with black metal bistro tables much like those we have at the Village. The woman are serving dishes, the men standing and watching them as they chat with one another over drinks. I feel a pang in my heart for my own Village. I scan the crowd, desperately searching for Rockland.
Dante comes to me, offering me his hand and helping me off the boat and onto the dock. I wait, wringing my hands, for John to come escort me to the house.
I can’t speak. I can’t think. Suddenly, my knees are jelly. My face feels hot, but my hands and feet are icy. I look to John, my bottom lip trembling.
He reads my face, his gaze soft. He takes my hand in his. “Come on, honey. Let’s go on and find him. The anticipation is the worst part. Once you see him...” His words trail off and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
I take a deep breath. Though I’m nervous, I’m ready to see him.
As we approach, there are stares. I seem to be the only redhead in the group. I fear the sun is reflecting off my pale skin blinding everyone. I try to paste a friendly smile on my face but the crowd of eyes is too overwhelming. I decide to focus on the houses instead. They are all beautiful. Similar style of white stone with big windows and verandas. All facing the ocean. But each having its own details, much like we do at home. One has a red roof. Another one, black shutters and colorful flowers in wooden window boxes. Another, several trikes and bikes parked haphazardly before it.
Too soon we have arrived at the patio of Rockland’s home. Curious eyes begin to lock on me but before anyone can call out a greeting, Dante quickly makes his way over to the group of brothers. After a few whispered words from him, all attention seems to be off me.
I shoot him a grateful smile. John leads me to a side door.
We enter a black and white tiled foyer. Beyond it is a large room with a tall black fountain in the center of it. I stand in place. Look around. Gaze over dozens of people. Crane my neck. Rockland is nowhere to be found. Maybe my impromptu visit was a bad idea. Maybe I should have called before I invited myself to his home, trekked halfway across the world in my—what did John call it? Safari Barbie getup and fire engine red braid and—
There he is.
My breath leaves my body like a child who’s had the wind knocked out of them at the playground. I want to crumble to the floor but John’s arm locks tightly around me.
I can’t believe what I am seeing. My heart falls to the bottom of my heavy soled hiking books. The words come out in a desperate, wounded tangle. “What... is t-th-that?”
John’s muscles tense beside me. “I—ah, I’m not sure.”
We’re hidden in the shadows of the foyer. Rockland doesn’t see us. He’s standing so casually, no tension in his shoulders, or that jaw so notorious for being locked tight. Dressed in tan pants and a white linen shirt, only halfway buttoned, showing his tattoo. The sleeves rolled casually to his elbows. A drink in his hand. A laugh rumbling from him. A wide grin on his face.
And next to him. The thing extracting that gorgeous smile from him. Making him laugh that infectious laugh...
An Amazonian goddess.
She’s five foot ten at least, and half of that height is long, willowy legs. Jet black hair as shiny and soft looking as silk runs down her back. She gives her mane an expert flip over her shoulders with her long, perfect fingers. The bone structure of her face is that of a Madonna. Dark perfectly arched brows, cheekbones to the high heavens, gliding down to draw attention to her red, full lips. Her regal posture draped in white silk.
A classic beauty. The perfect woman.
And he’s enthralled with her.
She makes another charming witty comment, drawing another laugh from him and as she does, she puts her hand on his shoulder in such a way that I know she is familiar with him—a way that rips my gut from my stomach. I fear I’ll retch and before I can think it through, I’ve untang
led myself from John and am tearing out of the building. I’m running as fast and hard as my stumpy little white legs can carry me.
My breaths come heavy and fast in my chest as my boots slam against the ground. I’ve passed through the cleared yard, reaching the tangle of forest behind it. I’m tripping over roots and brush. I’ve no idea where I’m going. I can’t think clearly. All I can seem to see is that image that’s been burned into my brain.
Not just her perfection. Not just her beauty that I can never compare with.
It was the happiness on his face. Put there by another woman. Devastating me. Making me run harder, faster.
And seeing him happy with someone else made me realize the truth of what I’ve been feeling for him. It’s not lust. It’s not infatuation. This is no schoolgirl crush.
I’m madly in love with Rockland Bachman.
And he, with another.
The woods are growing thicker, branches snapping at my face and scratching up my arms. My long braid becomes tangled and I tug it free, losing a few strands as I do. Frantically I look to my right, my left but there’s no path. I can’t seem to stop running.
There’s a bit of a path now, and I’m going so fast, I feel as if I’m flying. For a moment I forget my sorrow and think that all that jogging with Rockland paid off but then the thought of him makes my eyes squeeze shut tightly in pain. The toe of my boot hooks into the root of one of the beautiful tangling trees and I go crashing to the ground. My hands fly forward to break my fall but I’m too late and my head hits something hard.
I gasp in shock from the pain.
Blackness.
* * *
Rockland
Unbelievable.
She comes here to profess her love for me and then takes off running through the woods and winds up with a concussion? If I wasn’t so worried about her, I’d flip her over on that bed and spank her ass into consciousness.
Damn.
We still don’t know what set her off. John thinks it was the fountain that stands in the center of the receiving room. It’s tall and black and has a few gargoyles on it. It’s new since John’s last visit and when she asked him what it was, he said, “I’m not sure,” then the next thing John knew she was tearing off into the woods.
Rockland: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 13
