I crossed the backyard and climbed down the steep stairs snaking toward the woods. I didn’t have to look very far. Behind the huge palm trees and a dried up stone well, I could make out a gray building barely the size of a garden shed. If it wasn’t for its old fashioned stone walls and a hardly noticeable cross on the roof, I would have shrugged it off as such. Maybe whoever built it meant to create a chapel that was inconspicuous. Or maybe, after Maria died, no one ever cared to get rid of the overgrown vegetation obstructing the narrow trail leading to it. Either way I didn’t mind fighting my way through the bushes.
I was almost there when I heard a female voice calling out my name. My head snapped in the direction of the house.
“Brooke. Where are you? Help me.”
Judging from the urgency and choice of words, it sounded like an emergency. The chapel would have to wait. Without a glance back, I dashed for the house, my brain coming up with a million bad things that might have happened.
***
“Fuck, Brooke. It hurts so much. I can’t stand it.” Sylvie was hysterical, shouting from the kitchen bench. As usual she was being melodramatic—and loving it. At least she wasn’t crying.
“For heaven’s sake. Stop being a pussy,” I ordered as I focused on removing a splinter from her left foot with a pair of tweezers. “It’s not like I’m sawing off your foot.”
The piece of wooden splinter was so tiny I had to use a needle to push it around. We had tried softening the skin with water and soap and then with alcohol, but it was in too deep. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to grip the end of the splitter and, pushing against it with the needle, I raised it enough to pull it out with the tweezers.
“Thanks.” Sylvie rubbed her sore foot, her other leg dangling from the bench. “I was walking barefoot in the grass when I stepped on a branch. Where have you been? I had to hop around the house on one foot and managed to hurt my ankle in the process.”
I handed the tweezers back to her, mentally searching for an excuse. Of course I could tell Sylvie about the chapel and Jett’s claims because she was my best friend, the only one I really trusted. But what was the point in scaring her based on nothing but assumptions? Besides, I wasn’t ready to tell her about my lunch with Jett. Not when I didn’t yet know what to do about him.
“I was thinking of going for a walk. Did you know Alessandro has his own pool? Maybe you should use it rather than the lake.”
“Yeah.” She tested her foot tenderly, wincing, then hobbled across the kitchen and back. “It feels so much better.”
I heaved a long sigh. “That’s great.”
Opening the fridge, I pulled out two cans of soda and handed her one. She didn’t open it.
“When are you going to see him again?” Sylvie asked.
“Who?” I blinked in confusion. Jett had been on my mind for hours, and for a moment I thought she meant him—until it dawned on me Sylvie had to be talking about Alessandro. “I don’t know. He’s really sick and every day’s a struggle. Clarkson expects us to stay a week, during which I hope we’ll get to talk again.”
Sylvie’s eyes narrowed on me. “And then what?”
Good question. “To be honest, I have no idea.” I still couldn’t get over the fact that this huge property would soon belong to me. The least I could do was stick around for a little bit longer, even though the initial excitement had dissipated at the outlook of living in a bizarre club’s former meeting point, if not domicile.
“I do.” Sylvie inched closer and squeezed my hands, her blue eyes searching mine. “Ever since we arrived here you’ve been on edge. You’ve always been a bit of a worrier, but I’ve never seen you so absentminded and weird.” In spite of her frown, her voice became softer, soothing even. “I want you to come back with me. Let Clarkson deal with the estate, rent it out if you want, but this isn’t you. It’s not your kind of life. Why make yourself miserable just because you feel you owe someone something?”
I stared at her. “That’s not the case at all. I’m—”
She grimaced and nodded. “You’re a people pleaser, Brooke.”
How could I tell her that, yes, I had accepted Alessandro’s invitation because it was his wish to meet with me. But right now I was ready to stay because a mystery kept me here. I was intrigued and wanted to find out more about the estate and the people who once lived here. And if Jett was right, then I wouldn’t be safe anywhere—not here, and not back home. They would come after me. The prospect felt surreal, yet scared the crap out of me.
“I’ll come back with you once I’m ready,” I said.
Sylvie shrugged and opened her soda can. “I need to check out my Facebook page, see how my friends are doing. I’ve been neglecting them.”
“Sure.” I wanted to point out that most of her neglected friends weren’t people she had ever met, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
Luckily for us, Alessandro had internet access in the library, where Sylvie could use his computer. It was an old thing that took five minutes to boot with an extremely slow connection, but Sylvie had the patience of a saint when it came to maintaining her virtual social life. Closing the door behind me, I gave her the privacy she needed and retreated to my room with Alessandro’s envelope. A few minutes into flicking through family photos my phone rang, and my heart started to race as Jett’s name appeared on the display.
“Found anything?” Jett said the moment I picked up.
“Well, hello to you, too.” I scowled and tucked my legs beneath me on the bed, suddenly aware of how deliciously coarse the sheet felt beneath my skin. “I didn’t have a chance yet. How did you know I’d be looking?”
“I know you.” There was a small pause and some shuffling. In the background I could hear people talking. And then the noise was gone, as though he had left for somewhere quiet. I didn’t like the idea of him frequenting a bar without me. Women would throw themselves at him and that set my skin on fire and my pulse racing. I cringed as my mood plummeted to a new low.
Boy, was I getting angry and he hadn’t even done anything. “Why are you—”
He cut me off. “Any plans for tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at ten.” His voice sounded so sexy, smooth like strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and yet so rough, grating my nerve endings.
“For what?”
A part of me—probably the one covered by my panties—hoped to see him again, while the part that accommodated my brain wanted to yell at him to stop being an arrogant ass and to hang up.