Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Two hours later, we pull up at a quaint cottage on the banks of the river. The house isn’t what I expected. I pictured a huge, fancy, modern mansion in a style similar to Damian’s office building. I don’t miss the men who are discreetly stationed at the corners of the property. They must be Damian’s bodyguards. His life is worth a few trillion, which puts not only him but also his family in constant danger. Seeing that Lina was kidnapped for ransom, I understand why he’s not taking any risks. I read the news in the papers when Lina was interviewed about the abduction.
Violet is tense when I help her from the car. My family are strangers to her. How she met Damian didn’t help. I hand her the flowers while I grab the wine and the gifts for the kids.
The front door opens before we reach it. Damian steps out wearing dark pants and a white shirt.
“Welcome,” he says, giving me a semi-smile. “Violet.” He nods in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it.”
I hand him the wine. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“Before you meet my wife…” he says in a low voice that holds an unmistakable warning. “Lina has scars. Don’t ask. If you stare, I’ll kill you.”
I don’t doubt he means that literally.
He steps aside, letting us in.
Delicious smells of garlic, thyme, and rosemary greet us. A boy of about five with unruly curls charges down the hallway and crashes into the back of Damian’s legs.
Chuckling, Damian catches him. “This is Josh. Josh, this is Violet and Leon.”
“Are you really my daddy’s brother?” Josh asks, looking me up and down.
“Really.” I ruffle his hair. “I’m very happy to finally meet you.”
“That makes you my uncle,” he says, glancing at Damian. “Right, Daddy?” He points at Violet. “And you’re my aunt.”
Violet extends a hand. “I’m very happy to meet you too.”
Pulling his back straight in a cunning imitation of Damian’s formal manner of greeting, he shakes her hand like a pro. “Daddy says we haven’t met you because you were traveling in Africa.”
Violet clears her throat. “Leon was. We got married not so long ago.”
“You haven’t been to Africa?” he asks.
“Well, South Africa is part of Africa,” she says, “but if you mean the rest of Africa, then no.”
“This is for you, buddy,” I say, giving him the gift-wrapped box.
“Thank you,” he exclaims, bouncing on his feet. “Can I open it now?”
I smile. “Absolutely.”
He lays into the wrapping paper, ripping it from the box. “Wow. A mind bender game.”
I raise a brow. “You know about mind benders?”
Damian scoffs. “Of course he does.”
“Can I try it?” he asks Damian.
“After lunch,” Damian says. “And first put the paper in the trashcan.”
Josh scrutinizes me, his brow pinched with concentration. “You don’t look like Uncle Ian. You look more like Daddy.”
“I think Violet and Leon may be thirsty after their long drive,” Damian says. “Shall we offer them a drink before we pepper them with more questions?”
Skipping down the hallway, Josh says from over his shoulder, “Mommy made ginger beer. One of the bottles exploded. It made a huge mess.” He waves his arms in the air and dramatically drags out the huge. “The kitchen was sticky eeeverywhere.”
“Come through,” Damian says, leading the way. “Lina is in the kitchen.”
Taking Violet’s hand, I interlace our fingers and follow my brother past a cozy lounge with colorful scatter cushions and a bay window overlooking the river. We pass a playroom with toys littering the floor and wide, French doors letting in plenty of light. The room next to that has floor-to-ceiling shelves that are filled with books. A large desk stands on a Persian rug. Armchairs face a fireplace, and a daybed with a mohair throw stands next to the arched window. The house looks warm and well-lived in, like a true family home.
We enter a spacious kitchen adjoining a greenhouse with glass walls that allow a view of the lawn stretching to the river. A baby girl of about seven or eight months sits in a highchair next to a large wooden table, banging a wooden spoon on the tray of the chair. A slender, blond woman is bent over one of two ovens, removing a large casserole.
“Let me,” Damian says, rushing over. “That’s heavy.”
My sister-in-law straightens with a smile. “Oh. Our guests have arrived. You should’ve told me, Damian.” She removes her oven mittens and gives them to Damian. Turning to us, she says, “I would’ve greeted you at the door.”
“These are for you,” Violet says, holding out the bouquet of proteas.
“They’re gorgeous.” Lina’s smile is warm as she takes the flowers. “Thank you. Damian told me your name is Violet.”
Violet flushes, presumably wondering—like me—what else Damian told her about how they met.
Damian places the roast he takes from the oven far from the baby’s reach on a wooden board on the table, shooting me a look.