Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Throughout the room are accents of red and gold, the bedding heavy with it, each piece in the room obviously chosen with care. It’s all beautiful, from that statement bed to the armoire, to the richly upholstered deep red Louis XIV chairs threaded through with gold that share a single footrest between them.
Hamish set our suitcases on racks and they’re both unzipped. I cross from the large living space to look through the first one, which is full of women’s clothes. I pull out a dress and see the tag from the store still pinned to the label. It’s my size, as is everything else. I glance at the other case, and inside are men’s clothes, all new, all looking like things Silas would wear. Did he buy us two new wardrobes when plans changed? I guess he’d need to. Neither of us have extra clothes on hand.
I walk into the en-suite bathroom. It’s huge. It would swallow up Lourdes’s bathroom in the cabin. And it’s nice and warm. Every surface is gold-veined white marble, and the bath has brass fixtures and claw feet. It stands invitingly in the middle of the room.
I should just have a shower. It will be faster. But a tray rests across the tub that’s loaded with luxury bath salts and oils, and I find myself turning the old fashioned taps and watching hot water pour into the bath. I drop some lavender oil into the steaming water and get up to lock the door, except there is no lock.
Not much I can do about that.
I walk to the window as the bath fills and look out over the backyard. The sky is midnight blue dotted with stars, and everything seems so calm here. It’s almost like the events of the past week couldn’t have happened. It seems so long ago.
I take a deep breath in and exhale. Even with all that’s going on, it feels good to be here. Feels safe, maybe. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I can’t think about all that now. I just want to forget for a little bit and have a long, hot bath.
I get out of the wedding dress and drape it over the bench against the wall, strip off my underthings, and slide into the steaming tub. The too hot water is soothing as I rest my head against the edge and close my eyes.
8
SILAS
Once I’m alone, Hamish comes into the living room.
“This the box you wanted?” he asks. I’d asked him to bring the small wooden box with him from the house in Atlanta.
I take it, remembering it from when I was little. My mother had kept her few valuables inside it.
“That’s it. Thanks for getting it.”
He nods and leaves me to it. I open the box, and the first thing I do is take the feather out of my pocket, the one that landed at my feet as Ophelia and I left the chapel. I place it inside the box. There are a few others in it as well. I’ve collected them whenever they’ve appeared impossibly and out of nowhere. I can’t quite explain why.
Along with the feathers are three pairs of silver earrings, one turquoise ring that Mom loved, and some knick-knacks of hers I kept only because I remember her wearing them, not because they’re valuable. The thing I’m looking for sits demurely out of the way in one corner. It’s a small ring, an antique. It belonged to my grandmother, according to Mom, and to her grandmother before that. She was meant to wear it when she married and pass it on to her daughter. She never got the chance though. She never married and never had a daughter.
Until now.
I slip the small gold band on my pinky finger. It only goes as far as the second knuckle. I lift it up to the light of a lamp and study the scalloped pavé design of diamonds circling the band and coming together on either side to set off the larger stone at its center. It’s as different from the obnoxious ring Ethan had given her as can be. It’s pretty and elegant and one of a kind. Like her.
Setting the box aside, I take out my phone. I look through the call history and locate the number to Horatio Hart’s lawyer, Higgins, then hit the Call button.
He answers on the second ring. “Ophelia?”
“No, this is Silas Cruz. Ophelia’s husband.” My announcement is followed by a long silence, which I expected. “Is this Mr. Higgins? Horatio Hart’s attorney?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, did you say Ophelia’s husband? She’s engaged—”
“Was engaged. That’s over now. She’s my wife.”
He clears his throat.
“Horatio Hart is at Massachusetts General?”
“Yes, but—”
“How long will he be there?”
“He can’t have visitors. I told Ophelia—”
“Ophelia won’t be visiting him just yet. How long will he be there?”