She laughed.
I blew on my hot coffee. “Did you ride the bike all the way from South Beach?”
“Uh-huh. Took me about five hours. I visit my mom on the weekends.”
She went on to tell me a little history of the market and how she loved to visit each Sunday. Her mom lived round the corner so this was an easy trip for her.
“So glad you could make it,” she said.
I sipped my drink and savored the creamy coffee. “It’s good to get out.”
It was even better to be out of what was my temporary home surrounded by all those memories.
“How are you settling in at the lab?” she asked.
“Great.” I sat back. “I’ve gotten to know where everything is so that’s half the battle.”
And since she worked for Astor I’d have to be cautious in case she reported our conversation back to him. I knew Taylor’s loyalty would rest with him.
“How long have you worked at The House of Beauregard?” I asked.
“Five years.”
“So you like it?”
“Yes. Astor’s a great boss…generous and fun. He puts on this stern demeanor but that’s only because he’s got a big business to run. He’s nice to me, anyway.”
“I’m glad, especially as you see him so much.”
“I know, right? I’ve worked for some real assholes.”
“I worked for myself for years before getting hired there.”
“What made you come back to the corporate side?”
“Got divorced—” I bit my lip, considering where to take this. “And when Astor offered me the job I saw it as a great place to grow. There’s less stress when you don’t have to worry about managing a store.”
She removed her coffee lid to dip a finger into the frothy layer and taste the cream. “Astor really cares about his employees.”
“That’s good to know.”
“When Arabella’s son became sick he rushed off to join her at the hospital.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I leaned forward. “Are they in a relationship?”
“No, she’s married. About a year ago she called him from the hospital in a panic because her little boy was covered in bruises and she was being questioned by social services.”
“Oh, no, really?” And then the scientist in me kicked in. “Bruises?”
“It was leukemia.” She gave a nod. “Astor was right there and ended up paying their medical bills.”
“That was kind of him.” A lump of guilt wedged in my throat when I thought about how I’d been snooping around Arabella’s office.
“Astor’s been through a lot himself, too,” added Taylor.
“How?” My breath stilted as I waited for her to continue.
She stared down at her coffee. “Why do they make it so tepid?”
“I think someone sued a fast food restaurant once,” I said. “You were talking about Astor?”
She looked around as though checking to see if anyone was listening. “When he was thirteen, he was sent away to live in Cuba.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “He never talks about it.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think it’s connected to his dad but I’m not sure.”
My heart flinched for him. “I was expecting someone older when I met him.”
She agreed with a nod. “His last name, right?”
“Yes, Beauregard is so…”
“Grand.” Her smile faded as she leaned forward and whispered, “Something happened in that house when he was a boy. It was so bad he was sent to live in Cuba in a monastery.”
“Not with a relative?”
“No.” She shook her head. “His sister stayed behind.”
“Penelope? Maybe his mom couldn’t cope with two children?”
“They had a nanny.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Don’t know, but his dad died and then the next day he was gone.” She raised her hand in defense. “Before I accepted his job offer, I thought it was a good idea to do some research on him.”
I hadn’t read anything about these details, and assumed it had happened so long ago I’d not dug deep enough. “What did you find?”
“I shouldn’t gossip.”
“You never asked him what had happened?”
She looked horrified. “No.”
“And his sister?”
“Penelope’s stuck up. I hardly talk to her.” Taylor took a sip of coffee. “I think she’s afraid of him.”
“Astor? Do you know why?”
“She once warned me that Astor’s willing to go to any lengths to protect what he loves. It was during my annual report. I think she was trying to scare me.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I was getting on great with him.”
“How great?”
“You know, we respect each other. Strictly professional. ” She lowered her voice. “He’s certainly not the marrying kind.”
“I got that impression.”
Taylor leaned forward. “Penelope was in the house, too, when the thing went down.”
“What thing?”
“The reason Astor was sent away. She would have been eleven.”
I wondered just what it was that had changed their lives so irrevocably.
“Don’t tell Astor we talked,” she said nervously. “He’s deeply private.”
Something happened in that house. Taylor’s words hung in the air
What probably happened was Astor’s mother was so wracked with grief she couldn’t cope with a strong-willed son. My heart ached for him, losing a father and then being sent to a monastery at such an impressionable age.
Still, why Havana? Why so far away?
Taylor gestured to the door. “Wanna take our drinks and go for a walk?”
“I’d love that.”
We strolled through the center of the market, perusing the stalls on either side as we sipped our coffee. There were so many things to capture our attention, from the local painters who were selling their art, to jewelry makers and carpenters showcasing their skills. There seemed to be something for everyone.
From somewhere came the sound of cheering and clapping and it reminded me of those lazy Sundays back in England when I’d watched my dad play cricket. I tried to cling to those happy memories of him instead of remembering how he’d walked out on us. I’d forgiven him, but that didn’t mean he was welcome in my life.
Taylor had stopped and was conversing with a middle-aged woman behind a stall. She paid for a small picture frame and the lady put her purchase in a paper bag.
“What’s that cheering?” I asked as we strolled away.
Taylor flashed a smile. “How are you with horses?”
“Love them.”
“There’s a match.”
“Match?”
“Polo.”
Vaguely, I recalled Astor mentioning something about his fondness for the sport. I wondered if Vedado was a polo horse—his thoroughbred stature certainly qualified him and he was agile enough. Not that I knew very much about it…though somewhere I’d read that the horses needed to be able to turn on a dime.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she said.
We made our way around the corner and beyond us lay a wide-open green. Eight horses were galloping around each other, all ridden by men who were driving them hard. I marveled at their tenacity to navigate so fast around each other, all of them wearing helmets and kneepads over their jodhpurs.
Cheers rose from the spectators as one of the polo players made a mad dash for the other end of the green. The other riders galloped after him.
We continued toward an impressively large white tent and after five minutes of trudging down a path made it to what was clearly a private event. A few hundred people mingled about, all of them sipping from flutes of champagne and making lively conversation. It was a contrast to the family atmosphere we’d just left.
But I wasn’t in the mood
to make small talk with obviously affluent strangers showing off their glitzy clothes while I was wearing a sundress from Target.
I reached for Taylor’s arm. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Of course. Want some bubbly?” She swept two flutes off a passing waiter’s tray.
I glanced around nervously. “Where do we pay for it?”
“It’s complimentary. This is a charity event.”
I followed her gaze toward the noise of hooves striking the turf and drew in a sharp breath at the speed and tussle of men and animals all fighting over a small white ball.
This wasn’t a bad afternoon…spending time watching those masterful men on their well-bred horses. They were literally halfway off their saddles leaning down with their long-handled mallets as they swept low to strike a ball that they then catapulted in front of them—a bit like hockey, but way more dangerous.
I knew that polo was considered the sport of kings and reserved only for the ranks of the privileged who had an appetite for peril and a desire for glamour. It was invigorating to watch.
I was mesmerized. “How did you know there would be a match?”
“The boss is playing.” She frowned toward the green. “Crazy.”
I spotted Astor riding one of the horses and my breath caught in my throat.
He was galloping toward two goal posts and beside him another horseman was right up against him—both of them making a run for the other end of the pitch.
Taylor gestured towards them. “They gallop up to thirty-five miles an hour.”
“Is it safe?” Because it didn’t look it.
“They fall off the horses, break things, and worse, sometimes.”
“What’s worse?”
“Astor got knocked out once.” She tucked her arm through mine. “Let’s get closer.”
Astor wouldn’t notice me amongst all these people, so I could enjoy watching him from a safe distance. He looked fearless and was clearly a competitive player.
Taylor’s words from the café found me again and I wondered how all those experiences had shaped this man. There was so much more to him than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t the only one riveted; many of the guests had lined the far side of the tent to watch the controlled chaos of horses and men all striving for the win.
When the match ended I didn’t expect Taylor to wave aggressively at Astor to get his attention. I cringed when he looked our way from atop his stallion.
Oh, no.
He nudged his chestnut horse in our direction, unclipping his helmet as he neared the edge of the tent where we stood. I tried to hide my embarrassment.
Astor pulled on the reins and peered down at me with a curious expression. His high-spirited stallion didn’t want to stop, but Astor masterfully controlled him with a squeeze of his heels and a tug of the bit. The earthy scent of horse and leather wafted over me.
“Hey, boss.” Taylor shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him.
“You two friends now?” he asked.
Taylor swapped a glance with me. “Well, hello to you, too, Mr. Beauregard.”
Astor stared at me. “How are you, Raquel?”
“Fine, thank you.” I avoided his gaze.
He dismounted and I couldn’t help but ogle his tight butt in the dusty jodhpurs. He looked even more ruggedly handsome.
Astor brought the reins over his horse’s head and led him closer. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He directed the comment at me.
“Wasn’t expecting to be here,” I countered.
“I invited her to the market,” Taylor said. “Doing a bit of shopping.”
Astor looked down at Taylor’s bag. “What sort of crap did you end up buying?”
“A photo frame,” she answered, looking sheepish. “Was considering putting your photo in it and then I remembered I see more than enough of your smug face at work.”
He smiled. “So…having fun so far?”
Taylor looked over at the other players. “Just got here.”
“You want me to take you up on that offer?” he asked huskily.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She grinned.
“Come on, then.” Astor smiled at her fondly and gestured for her to follow.
She turned to me. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
“I’ll be fine.”
She smirked, giving me a mischievous look.
They ambled off down the green and Astor’s gorgeous horse walked beside him, its hind legs impressively tall as it swaggered along beside him. They both looked magnificent—two thoroughbreds out for a stroll. From the way the other guests followed them with their admiring gazes, I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Let’s not make the same mistake twice.
Fuck-boys are a no-no.
Astor got the attention of another player, a handsome man who looked just as striking in his polo get-up. I watched as he introduced Taylor to him. The man was a little older than Astor, though from the way Taylor swooned before him, he was just as charismatic. It was fun to see her enamored, and I had to give credit to Astor for being kind, since this looked prearranged between them. I hoped he wasn’t introducing her to an asshole.
I turned and went back into the tent, making a beeline for the long table decadently displayed with an assortment of food laden on silver trays. My mouth watered at the thought of the chocolate-covered strawberries that I’d glimpsed from a thousand feet away. They were just like the ones I’d not gotten to tuck into on Astor’s boat. No way was I denying myself this time.
I halted abruptly, my heart sinking and my heels snagging on the grass as I saw them through the crowd. I cringed as I watched Damien wrap his arm around Embry. They were both dressed to the nines to fit in with the crowd. It looked like life was treating them well—not kicking the shit out of them like it was me.
My breath stuttered at seeing the man I’d once been intimate with during years of marriage now being affectionate with another woman. A range of emotions swept over me, from disgust to jealousy, and then that deep-seated heartache returned and I feared it would never lift.
Rubbing my chest didn’t help.
I had to get out of here…
Yet all I could do was stand still and watch them as though I deserved this slow torture. They looked at each other like they were the only two people in the world and all they needed was their love.
Don’t punish yourself with the memory of it…
The night I’d learned that everything about my marriage had been a lie. The first clue had been an expensive Burberry handbag on my kitchen counter. Embry’s perfume had hung in the air as though she’d marked her territory…and it was one of my creations that Damien had given her. The realization still hurt, though the pain of that was not as bad as recalling them in bed together.
I set my glass down on a linen draped table and stepped back, hoping not to be seen as I turned to go. I was weaving my way through the crowd when I heard a shrill voice.
“Raquel! What are you doing here?”
Shit.
Embry had recognized me.
I turned and forced a polite smile. “I came for the market,” I called back.
Embry navigated through the crowd toward me, as tall and striking as a model, pulling Damien behind her and drawing the attention of the onlookers.
I glanced in the direction of the stalls. “There’s some great art for sale around the corner. You should check it out.”
“Not here for the polo, then?” Embry looked amused. “You gotta admit it’s kind of hot.”
Damien glared at her and then focused on me. “You look good.”
“You too.” My lips failed at a smile; this was hell and I glanced around trying to look for a way out.
“I did the catering,” explained Damien, pointing toward the lavish display.
Jesus. I’d nearly scarfed down his chocolate-covered strawberries. That would have been the equivalent of siding with the
enemy.
“Want to join us?” asked Embry.
Or preferably, I could run into the center of the polo match when it started up again and have those horses trample me. The outcome would be the same.
“Hey, beautiful!” Astor called out. He was walking through the crowd carrying two champagne flutes and wearing a smile I didn’t recognize.
I searched the faces around us for the lucky girl who’d won his heart, feeling a spark of jealousy that she’d made him beam with that level of happiness. My gaze snapped back to Damien, not wanting to see Astor’s type. Embry’s stunned gaze seemed to be following him, too.
Astor sidled up to us and offered me one of the tall flutes. “There you are.”
I took it from him and vaguely noticed Embry’s mouth twitch uncomfortably when Astor wrapped his arm around my waist.
“We won.” Astor grinned. “Though having the best horses helps, obviously.”
“Obviously,” said Damien. “Well done.”
Astor pulled me against his side and raised his drink to take a sip. “You’re as stunning as always, Raquel. So glad you made it.”
“Thank you?” It came out as a question.
“If you’ll excuse us,” he said to Damien, “I want to introduce her to my friends. They’re curious to meet you, sweetheart.”
I was feeling both relief and confusion as I was led away from Damien and Embry. Astor guided me all the way to the other end of the tent.
“That was impressive horsemanship.” I wasn’t sure what else to talk about.
He smirked. “Thank you.”
“Must have strong thighs for that.”
“Well, you know I do.”
I clenched my teeth. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You are delightful when you’re thrown.”
“I’m merely enjoying a Sunday off.” I grimaced. “Well, I was until I saw them.”
“You didn’t know they’d be here?”
“No. Damien did the catering. This is a charity event?”
“For a children’s hospital in Palm Harbor.”
“That makes up for the pomp and ceremony.” I flinched. “Sorry, didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. On the surface polo is a spoiled man’s sport and the wealthy pay well to watch as they enjoy their hors d’oeuvres. But out there…” He turned to look back at the field. “…it’s the most dangerous sport in the world. It’s war. There is nothing that rivals the adrenaline of winning against such remarkable competition.”
Perfume Girl Page 11
