“Thank you, but I’ll wait for Amalie.”
“I’ll tell her you’re here.” In a ripple of gold silk, Sal glided back to the main house.
I was now a ball of twitchy nerves. For years, I’d struggled to make it in the acting world, putting up with a lot of shit that still made my skin crawl, although I’d turned away from things I just couldn’t make myself do. Many times, I’d reflect upon my life, and it seemed unreal, made of glass or spun sugar.
My fingers twitched within the folds of my skirt as fear and nerves swirled inside me. I didn’t want to think about failure. Or loss. But it was hard, sitting here on this wild and lonely stretch of earth, not to feel like maybe this was my charmed life’s last gasp.
“Ah, there you are,” exclaimed a husky but very feminine voice.
A statuesque brunette woman who could be anywhere from age fifty to seventy strode toward me with a wide smile on her vividly pink lips. Dressed in a bubblegum-pink silk pantsuit and silver rhinestone slippers, which should have looked ridiculous but somehow came off as retro chic, she was stunningly beautiful. And her eyes were the exact shade of Lucian’s. But whereas his were mostly cold and standoffish, hers sparkled with sly cunning and wry humor.
I liked her instantly. “Hello.”
I stood to greet her, and she enveloped me in a warm hug and a cloud of Chanel N°5 before kissing me on each cheek.
“It is so very good to meet you, my dear.” She stepped back, holding on to my wrists, and surveyed me with bright eyes. “You look like your grandmother.”
“So I’ve been told. Thank you, Mrs. Osmond, for letting me stay here.”
“Call me Amalie. And you are very welcome.” She gestured to our seats and then took one. “In truth, you are doing me a favor as well. This house needs a breath of fresh air. Sal and I were becoming quite bored.”
No mention of Lucian. But I wouldn’t—couldn’t—ask. This was his grandmother. And something told me if I showed the slightest interest in his whereabouts, she’d be all over that—either to warn me off him or matchmake.
“This place is utterly gorgeous,” I told her.
“Isn’t it?” She looked around with a happy sigh. “It belonged to my second husband, Frank. Venture capitalist. Which meant a lot of money but far too much stress. Poor dear’s heart gave out on him three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am too. He was a nice man. Not the love of my life but a good companion.”
I tried to think about marrying someone only for companionship and was horrified to realize I’d been living with a man who I tolerated as a person but whose looks were what attracted me the most. At least Amalie had settled for someone she liked. I’d been taken in by a handsome face and a similarly famous background. I had become that person. And I didn’t like it.
Never again. I wasn’t going to fall for a man just because I admired the way his ass filled out his jeans. There had to be more. A connection past the physical. Which definitely meant not lusting over a pair of jade-green eyes under stern brows.
Amalie gazed out over the extensive ground. “It’s really too much property for one woman. Ridiculous, really. But there’s something about Rosemont that sinks into one’s bones and soothes the heart. Besides, there is plenty of room for guests.” She laughed at the obvious understatement, and I smiled.
“So, my dear”—she placed her cool hand on top of mine—“you stay for as long as you wish. Let yourself heal.”
The kindness sent an unexpected wave of emotion rolling over me, and I found myself blinking rapidly. “You shouldn’t tempt me like that. What if I never left?” Because right then and there, I wanted to stay forever. Hide away like a child.
She smiled, wide and knowing. “Something tells me you never stay knocked down for long.”
Before I could answer, Sal came out of the house, rolling a food cart laden with silver-domed trays and coffee service. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to shoo me off. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, but let me help anyway,” I said.
He shot a grin at Amalie. “Don’t you love her already, Ama?”
Amalie’s eyes, so unnervingly like Lucian’s, beamed. “Yes, I believe I do.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t do well with compliments, which was unfortunate given that people loved to fawn over famous actresses. Not that Amalie and Sal were fawning. They genuinely seemed pleased to meet the real me. But insecurities were hard to shake.
“I could end up being a screeching harpy,” I felt compelled to say.
Amalie laughed. “Goodness, but I hope you show a bit of temper now and then. I suspect you might need it soon enough.”
With that, she took a phone with a brilliant rhinestone-covered case and tapped out a message before slipping it back into her pocket. “Now then, where were we?”
Amalie seemed entirely too pleased with herself. I didn’t have to wonder why; a few moments later, her grumpy grandson strode around the corner with a harried expression, as if called to an emergency. When he saw his grandmother sitting with a pleasant smile, his steps slowed, and those wintergreen eyes narrowed in annoyance. And I knew he’d been tricked somehow.
But he didn’t turn on his heel and leave. He visibly braced himself and strode forward, the glint in his eyes promising retribution.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucian
I knew better. I really did. When Mamie texted that she needed me and to hurry, I did just that, dropping the project I was in the middle of and coming to her aid. I knew it was time for her to have coffee and cakes with Emma. But all I could think was what if Emma had gotten hurt, tripped, or—fuck—fell off the side of the hill.
Ridiculous. I was such a sucker.
All made apparent when I practically ran onto the terrace and found my grandmother, Sal, and Emma sitting in obvious safety and contentment. Emma glanced at me and then away, as if embarrassed. She probably was—for me. Because it was clear to everyone there that my sly grandmother had tricked me.
There was the rub; I could make it obvious, turn back around, and leave, but it would send a message to Emma that I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. And I just couldn’t do that. I could try to avoid her, but I couldn’t be rude.
It felt downright painful to approach the table. The woman had somehow flipped a switch in my body, making me aware of every inch of her. She breathed, and I noticed, damn it.
“Mamie,” I said to my wily grandmother. “You texted.”
She was without repentance. “Ah, yes. It is time for coffee. Have a seat.”
My back teeth met with a click, the joints of my jaw aching as I bit back my annoyance and took the empty seat across from Emma; Mamie was crafty enough not to put me next to her, where I could pretend she wasn’t there, but right where I could see her. And fucking want.
For her part, Emma’s gaze darted around, as if assessing the scene and figuring out how to act accordingly. I didn’t blame her; it was always awkward to be pulled into someone else’s meddling schemes.
My grandmother was evil. I’d always known this. Hell, it used to amuse me when she turned those evil powers on others, which was probably why I was suffering through this coffee time from hell right now. Karma. It was a bitch.