Olivia
I don’t venture out of my room for some time after that. In fact, I’m so exhausted from all the walking that I close my eyes for just a second and wake to moonlight spilling through the curtains. Someone knocks on my door.
“Come in,” I say, smoothing my hair down, which no doubt resembles a bird’s nest right now. The door opens, and I’m blinded by the light in the hall. A huge silhouette of a man fills my doorway. I can’t see his face clearly, on account of the light being behind him, but I’m betting his expression is as angry and exasperated as it has been all afternoon.
I clamber to my feet, only I forget about the boots I kicked off earlier at the base of the bed, and I go down, hard. This isn’t a little stumble. I wind up splayed on the floor in front of him with my dress around my waist and my ass on display. August Cotton now has a front row seat to the gallery showing my wares. Jesus, kill me now. Please?
I’m starting to think that the coyotes were a safer option, and a part of me just wants to crawl away from him in my mortification and hide behind the bed, but though August Cotton may be a jerk, he’s a gentlemanly one, and he moves toward me. Grabbing hold of both my elbows, he lifts me and sets me on my feet. And now I’m forced to look him in the eye and pretend I’m not dying of humiliation.
I inhale, and I’m struck with how good he smells, not a synthetic cologne but a genuine outdoorsy scent, earth and hard work, and a faint hint of sandalwood, as if it came from a bar of soap rather than an expensive bottle. He’s no longer wearing the button-up and slacks but is dressed in a flannel, jeans and work boots, and he looks good. I have the strangest urge to run my hands over his beard to see if it’s as prickly as his disposition. I don’t, of course, because even I’m not that freaking nuts. But I won’t lie, I’m tempted, if for nothing more than to rattle him, and get some sort of a response that isn’t a grunt. As if he can sense my thoughts—and very much does not want to be a part of them or anything they might produce—he releases my arms from his grip and takes several steps back.
“I heated up some pizza. It’s not good, but it’s food, and should tide you over until mornin’.” With his lips parted as if he’s preparing to say something more, he hesitates, and I think for sure he’s about to comment on my blushing, or the fact that he just got his very own peep show for the bargain price of my humility, but he turns abruptly and walks away. “It’s downstairs when you’re ready.”
I flop back on the bed for the second time today and wonder what the hell to make of August Cotton. After taking a minute to catch my breath, I head downstairs to eat, absorbing as much of the grand house as I can along the way. It’s beautiful, with its high ceilings, decorative molding, and glossy dark wooden floors. The Cottons had looked after this beautiful old house—that much was plain to see. Everywhere I turn there’s another new treasure, whether it be furniture or some exquisite piece of history in the walls or ceiling. Tanglewood is the kind of house you see only in Hollywood classics.
I make my way past columns and corbels, sideboards and portraits hanging on the walls. I make a mental note to come back and study those later as I head into the kitchen where Bettina and August sit silently at a small table, their eyes focused on the untouched pizza before them, both of the Cottons look pale and exhausted.
“Auggie, do we have to eat pizza, again?” Bettina asks.
“I’ll go shopping soon, kid.”
Her quiet sigh fills the room. “I miss Mamma’s cwookin’.”
“I know,” he says, tossing a slice onto his empty plate. “Me too.”
“I miss Mamma.”
“Yeah.” He nods.
When Bettina’s little watery eyes flit over to me, she brightens some. August doesn’t brighten. His shoulders stiffen, and he doesn’t turn to look at me, but I know he knows I’m here, and clearly, he’s not happy about it.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say.
“What hwappened to your hwair?” Bettina says, scrunching up her nose and managing to giggle at the same time.
My hands fly to my hair and meet matted strands sticking up at all angles. “Oh, I … er … fell asleep.”
“You can wuse my bwush if you want? It’s sparklwee,” she announces with pride.
“That’s okay. I brought my own.” I make a funny face and sit down in the seat between her and August. “I just have to dig through my suitcase to find it.”
“Bett, go brush your teeth,” August says sharply, and from the way Bettina flinches, I can see he’s startled us both. “I’ll be in to run a bath as soon as you’re done.”
“But I wanna twalk to Owivia.” She draws out my name as if it were eight syllables and not four. She’s so cute, my heart hurts just looking at her. Big blue eyes like her brother, the same warm brown locks, and the fullest lips I’ve ever seen on a child. I am betting her brother’s lips are as full and pillowy-soft without all that facial hair in the way.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” I supply, but August shoots me a look, and I quickly shut up.
“The rebwervations book says you is here for a whole month.”
“Ah—”
“That’s a mistake,” August tells his sister, pushing back his chair and coming to his feet. He crosses the room and throws his half-eaten pizza in the trash before dumping his plate in the sink. “Miss Anders isn’t staying that long with us. Now go on upstairs.”
Well, that’s that, I suppose. Glad he made that clear. With her little shoulders slumped, Bettina hops down off her seat and trudges out of the room. I rise from my chair because I can’t stomach sitting at his table when I’m clearly not welcome, but August’s deep voice comes at me from across the room and halts me where I stand. “Sit. Eat. I lost my appetite anyway.”
I glare at him. “I know today was difficult for you, but you don’t have to be such an asshole. Neither one of us want me here, and I assure you I won’t stay longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Difficult? You think that’s what burying both your parents on the same day is … difficult? You don’t know the half of it, lady.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I do and don’t know. You don’t know shit about me, Cotton,” I snap, and for the briefest moment I think I see a smile tug at the corners of his lips, but then it’s gone, and so is mine along with it.
“Don’t want to either.”
Ouch. I shove past, my shoulder bumping his side as I stalk out into the hall and up the stairs. Bettina is brushing her teeth in the bathroom across from my room, and I have to fight to remove the scowl from my face to smile down at her. The poor girl has been through enough, and with a brother like August Cotton, I’m sure the hardest times are still yet to come.