Too late for breakfast, I make my way to Marigold’s office to see if there are any messages from Chuck or Bob. As I suspect, there are none. The sobering truth that I’ve been abandoned creeps in and hits me hard. I was holding onto a tiny shred of hope that it was all a mistake, that they didn’t intend to leave me behind. But unless they’re still in the dead zone and have no signal, Chuck must have received all my messages by now. Against my better judgment, I dial Chuck’s number one more time. The phone rings several times.
“Hey, uhhh… this is Chuck. You can leave a message but I probably won’t check it. Peace.”
Hanging up, I realize that Chuck is probably relieved to be free of me. I take a few breaths before admitting to myself that I’m stuck here. I’ll have to work for Marigold just like I promised I would. But for how long? I don’t know.
This is all Chuck’s fault.
Walking off the frustration, I make my way through the empty house. I don’t even know where anyone is. I can still smell the scent of cooked eggs and fresh-squeezed oranges wafting from the kitchen but there’s nobody there. The downstairs parlor is empty. Stepping out into the backyard, I finally see a sign of life when I spot Marigold pruning the rose bushes.
“Ah! There you are.” She’s wearing a big sun hat and a flowing purple caftan. A basket of roses is hanging off her arm. “Did you sleep well?”
I nod. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”
“All is well,” she says. “A troubled soul needs a lot of rest. And the flower moon brought such heavy energy this cycle. I think we all felt it.”
“Mmhmm, indeed,” I say, nodding along as if I understand. “You know, I think I need some chores to keep my mind off this heavy flower moon energy.”
“Good thinking. The upstairs parlor needs to be dusted. I want everything to look spotless!”
Collecting the supplies I need from the pantry by the kitchen, I make my way upstairs. Becoming a glorified maid in the middle of the woods isn’t exactly the ideal summer job but what other choice do I have? This is the only way I’ll make enough money to afford a ride out of this place.
The upstairs parlor is one of the most beautiful rooms I’ve ever seen. It’s a sitting room and a library. More than a library—it’s basically a museum of old props and instruments. As I dust, I can’t help but look at all the beautiful things Marigold has collected over the years. I see Mexican sugar skulls, Taiwanese silk-stitched art, and multiple instruments including hand-painted flutes, violins, and Spanish guitars that are works of art all on their own. In the corner, there’s an old sewing machine and a basket of fabric. I do my best to make everything look pristine.
Taking a break, I head to the washroom. As I pass the large bay window at the top of the stairs, I catch a glimpse of Gabe working in the backyard down below. His work table is all set up. His jeans are hanging low on his hips and he’s shirtless again. His muscles move in a rhythmic motion as he sands down a slab of wood. I watch in a trance as he works. He moves with such care, touching the wood with his fingertips as if he’s trying to find its pulse. As I watch him, I think about our interaction last night. I was right about him. He’s a smarmy, preppy jock. But he’s not the insufferable attention-seeking egomaniac that I expected him to be. Well… he’s still attention-seeking, but he’s cute enough to get away with it. Plus, he makes delicious ham and cheese sandwiches. I smile to myself. He liked my music. A floorboard creaks downstairs and I jump as I quickly pull away from the window.
Dammit. My heart is racing in my chest. Stop looking at him. I’m here for one thing and one thing only: to try and get out of here. I can’t waste mental energy on anyone but myself.
Getting back to work, I dust the shelves. The books are just as interesting as the artifacts. I see first edition psychology books, original theater scripts, and beautiful copies of English classics. Eventually, I reach a shelf full of shiny awards. Dusting them, I notice they’re all for different things—directing, producing, acting. The names are all different too—Enoch Nelson, Chantelle Rein, Beatrice Romini. I don’t recognize any of them. But my heart skips when I notice a statuette of a gold feather sitting on top of a circular base. I instantly recognize it as a Plume award—one of the most highly sought acting awards in the world.
Whoa.
Looking around to make sure I’m alone, I reach for the award. The statue has some weight to it. Turning it over in my hands, I read the inscription:
BEST ACTRESS
Harlow Valentine
for
“LEAVES”
Holy effing unicorns!
I never really watched any of Harlow Valentine’s movies but I know she was a huge movie star before she died last year. As I inspect the award, I wonder why Marigold has it in her possession.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” A voice asks.
Startled, I turn around to see Rita standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a purple floral jumpsuit that I can only assume was sewn by Marigold.
“Sometimes I hold it and pretend to give a speech.” She walks up to me.
“Why does Marigold have this?” I ask.
Rita pauses “She has a lot of movie memorabilia. She likes collecting it.”
I look back at the award which is shining in the light. “Were they friends?”
Rita considers her answer.
“Rita!” Gabe is standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and he’s glistening with sweat from being outside.
Rita sighs. “What now?”
He gestures for her. “Come with me, please.”
She makes a grunt of annoyance. “But I did all my chores!”
“It’s about something else.”
“What?”
“I’m not answering any more questions.”
There’s something sexy about how strict he is. Rita rolls her eyes and stomps out of the room.
“And you.” He looks at me before scanning the room. “Lunch is ready.”
“Thanks,” I say.
We stand in silence for a few moments. I expect him to leave but he simply stares at me.
“Is that it?” I ask.
“It’s just… lunch is ready.”
“I know, I heard you the first time.”
“Are you gonna join us this time?” He asks. “Or are we too scary for you?”
I smirk. “Trust me, there’s not much that can scare me.”
“Okay…” He watches me intently for another moment. His gaze drops down to the award in my hand. I wonder for a moment if I’m crossing a line by touching it. After all, I’m sure it’s valuable.
“Are you leaving?” I ask. “Or are you gonna stare at me like a weirdo?”
He narrows his gaze. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
He pulls away.
…okay? That was weird.
Looking back down at the award in my hands, I hold it close to my chest and look at my reflection in the mirrored armoire.
“Thank you for this honor. I can’t believe I won a Plume award for best song! I’d like to thank my family and fans, and everyone else who supported me. I hope all my ungrateful exes are watching from home tonight and eating their hearts out.”
Smiling, I place the award back on the shelf. I wipe it until it’s extra shiny before heading downstairs for lunch.
***
Gabriel
“Why are you talking to her about that stuff?” I ask.
Rita and I are standing in the east wing hallway, as far away from Amber as possible.
“I was just having a conversation!” Rita’s hands are on her hips. She’s always been annoyingly sassy with me. “What does it matter anyway? She doesn’t know Harlow Valentine is your mom.”
“Shh.” I look around, making sure Amber is not around. “I can’t believe this! I told you to be extra careful. No outside strangers can know who we are.”
“It’s not my fault she was looking at the award.”
I grit my teeth. “Marigold must’ve put her u
p to this.”
“I wasn’t going to tell her anything anyway. Besides, she probably wouldn’t care anyway. She’s too… alternative to care about someone like you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know how crazy some women can be when they recognize who I am. If they don’t want the fame, they want the money.”
Rita rolls her eyes. “Do you really think the girl with ripped tights cares about money?”
I pause. “Good point.”
Craning my head, I try to look down the hallway to see if Amber has left the parlor yet.
Rita narrows her eyes. “You do like her.”
“What?” I look at her.
“Amber. You like her.”
“Of course not. I barely know her.”
“I don’t know… you seem really interested in her.”
“She’s the first new person we’ve seen in weeks. I’m sure you’re just as interested.”
“Not in the same way you are. Just sayin’… in the Tasha Sowell novels I read, guys always get flustered around the girls they like.”
I shake my head. “You need to stop reading those cheesy detective romance novels.”
She lifts her chin. “No.”
I sigh and pull away. “Stop bugging Amber, okay?”
Rita smiles deviously. “Fine.”
Pulling away, I make my way down the hall. This would be so much easier without Rita planting seeds everywhere. Why does she have to be so annoying anyway? As I walk toward the shower, I take my shirt off and use it to wipe away the excess sweat. As I turn the corner, I run into Amber.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Her hazel eyes connect with mine before glancing down at my bare chest. Her eyes widen as she notices the scars on my torso before looking back up at me.
“I’m heading to the shower,” I say. “That’s why I’m shirtless.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Right.” I look down at her full lips and find myself momentarily distracted by how naturally pink they are. Catching myself staring, I quickly shake the intrusive thoughts away. I’m not going to flirt with her. I’m not going to make the situation more complicated for myself than it already is.
“You’re not that hairy,” she says.
I furrow my brow and laugh. “What?”
“You’re not that hairy,” she says again, “I mean… for a werewolf.”
“Oh… well, the full moon already came and went, so…”
“Well, maybe I’ll be around for the next one. Who knows?” She smiles and I momentarily forget what I was about to do.
“Umm… sorry about that back there,” I say, regaining my senses. “Rita isn’t supposed to bug either of us during the day. She has chores and homework to do.”
“It’s fine.” Amber gives me a restrained smile. “It’s kind of nice having a visitor to break up the day.”
“Well, then… maybe I’ll try to visit you.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Hopefully you’ll be wearing a shirt. I like to think I have higher standards than a convenience store.”
I laugh. “Do I have to wear shoes too?”
“If you want. The shirt is absolutely necessary though. Because this?” She gestures at my abs. “This is just hideous.”
Sensing the sarcasm, I laugh. I know I’m a strong and handsome guy. There’s a reason I’m on the cover of all those magazines.
“I apologize for being such an eyesore,” I say.
“And here I thought I would never get an apology.” She gives me a subtle smile as she pulls away. “See you downstairs.”
I watch her disappear down the hall. Smirking to myself, I head into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I touch the scars on my chest before moving my hand down over my abs. Smirking to myself, I get clean before joining the others downstairs.
9
JOAQUIN
Amber
Feeling flustered, I continue my chores for the day. It’s strange, I’ve seen shirtless men before—obviously—but I’ve never seen a shirtless man who looks like that. Gabe has defined muscles and a killer tan. He clearly takes care of himself. His physique looks nothing like Chuck’s sickly thin and pale body which was fueled by cigarettes, coffee, and booze.
I couldn’t help notice that Gabe also has strange scars on his torso and neck. I half-wanted to ask him where he got them but asking him about his scars while he’s half-naked and dripping sweat seemed a bit rude.
Pushing the strange interaction out of my mind, I continue doing my chores. Although I’m slowly getting used to Marigold’s house and the general vibe of the place, it’s still an adjustment. And one of those adjustments is Marigold’s strange modus operandi. Marigold is constantly doing ten things at once. If she’s not out in the vegetable garden picking cucumbers, she’s in the library researching information about a new mushroom she spotted in the forest, or she’s in the kitchen preparing pine needle tea… or whatever other witchy concoction she’s craving. Rita is often by her side, watching everything she’s doing. Although, I’ve seen Rita sitting in the parlor reading from time to time. Sometimes she’s reading textboks, but mostly she’s reading her romance novels.
The house fills with all sorts of scents throughout the day. Sometimes it smells like pine needles, other times it smells like glazed honey and fresh baked bread. As the day darkens and night falls, more delicious smells escape the kitchen—glazed ham, cheese fondue, fresh bread rolls, and herb vinaigrette for the salad. The dining room is set with silver utensils and white porcelain plates. The candles on the wall sconces provide a warm cozy glow. Soft new-age music is playing in the other room.
As we sit for dinner, I sit across the table from Gabe.
“So,” Marigold says as she starts loading up her plate full of food. “Since we have a new guest, I thought it’d be nice to have a cozy dinner inside.”
“Thank you, Miss Marigold,” I say. “This all smells delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had a big meal like this.”
Marigold smiles happily as she watches us serve ourselves.
“You don’t eat big meals?” Rita asks.
I shake my head. “Not normally. When you’re on the road, you eat tiny meals throughout the day.”
“By meals, she means beef jerky,” Gabe says.
I sneer at him across the table.
“Tell us, Amber. What kind of music do you play?” Marigold rests her chin on her fist as she leans in and listens.
“Oh… well, my band—Dirty Laundry—”
Gabe snickers. I give him a sharp stare and he instantly stops.
“As I was saying, my band plays rock music with a mix of acoustic and electronic instruments—we change it up sometimes. But personally, I like playing a mix of rock and pop.”
“Really?” Marigold’s violet eyes grow wide. “How fascinating! And you use your guitar for that?”
“Sometimes. I have a program on my laptop that helps me build electronic beats.”
“Cool!” Rita sits up. “Do you think I can play with it?”
“Rita!”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Maybe one day I can show you.”
Rita smiles excitedly.
“Amber, maybe you can play some of this electronic music for us after dinner,” Marigold says as she butters a roll of bread.
“Oh… I don’t know.”
“Why not?” Gabe asks. I catch his gaze and stare for a moment.
“I just… I’m not used to playing alone.”
Gabe shrugs. “There’s a first time for everything.”
I watch him as he smiles. I’m so used to Chuck shooting down all my musical endeavors that it feels strange to be encouraged for once.
“Maybe… I don’t know.”
“Well, if you’re ready, we would love to hear you!” Marigold says. “We always love doing something fun after dinner, isn’t that right, Rita?”
“My mom’s definition of fun is very different than my d
efinition of fun,” Rita says.
Gabe and I laugh.
“Well, excuse me,” Marigold says, “but I don’t think sitting around and reading silently together is social activity.”
“It can be… if I read out loud to you guys.”
“And what would you read? Your Nolan Hardman novels?”
Rita shrugs. “Why not?”
Gabe and I laugh gain.
“I guess she’s right,” Marigold says. “My daughter and I have very different tastes. She’s more… introverted. And my definition of fun is… well, you’ll see.”
She smiles deviously.
“Uh-oh,” Gabe says.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Marigold can be a bit…”
“What?” Marigold asks, narrowing her violet eyes. “Finish that sentence.”
Gabe smirks. “Eccentric.”
Marigold smirks as if approving his description.
After dinner, I help the others put the food away.
“Alright everyone, put those dishes down and join me in the parlor!” Marigold says.
“Game night?” Rita asks.
“Even better!” Marigold disappears into the other room where music starts blasting from the speakers. Latin horns, maracas, and Spanish guitars fill the air.
Gabe and I exchange an amused look.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Or do I even want to know?”
“She’s dancing. It happens every once in a while. You’ll get used to it.”
I laugh. “She’s not going to make us dance, is she?”
“She might.”
“Oh no.” I start backing away.
He laughs. “What, you’re not a fan of dancing?”
“Singing is more my forte.”
He smirks. “Oh, come on. If you can sing you can dance.”
I hesitate before relenting. “Fine, but I can’t promise you anything.”
I follow Gabe and Rita into the main parlor.
“Arrrriba!” Marigold is holding two fistfuls of her skirt as she twirls back and forth to the music.
“What is this?” I ask.
Chase: A Secret Millionaire Romance Novel Page 7
