Chapter Twenty-Three
Bryn paced back and forth at the foot of her bed. It felt like a crater the size of the Grand Canyon had been ripped open in her chest. She’d cried on and off for the last half hour.
Her mind screamed that her parents couldn’t just be…gone. Maybe they’d escaped the explosion. They were smart. Maybe they realized the package was a bomb and flew away before it exploded. There had to be at least a 1 percent chance they had escaped.
Pound. Pound. Pound. It felt like someone was hitting her in the head with a hammer. Scratch that. It felt like someone was inside her skull trying to break out. Maybe a hot shower and comfortable clothes would help.
Half an hour later, she wore a pair of her favorite comfy jeans and Valmont’s sweatshirt, which she’d never returned. If anyone could comfort her right now, it was Valmont. In fact, he would consider it his duty as her knight.
She grabbed the phone on her nightstand. No dial tone. Crap. She wanted to call Fonzoli’s and at least speak to Valmont, if she couldn’t see him.
Maybe the phone was unplugged. She followed the cord to the wall. Nope, it was plugged in. She picked up the phone and pressed zero, just to see what would happen. Nothing. Her grandparents had more money than Fort Knox; it’s not like someone cut off their phone service because they hadn’t paid the bill on time.
Ring. Ring.
Bryn jumped from the unexpected noise. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Did you require something?” a feminine voice asked.
“I was trying to make a phone call.”
“My name is Rindy. I’m the operator for Sinclair Estates. I can place a call for you.”
That wasn’t weird at all. “I can call myself, if you tell me how to make the phone work.”
“It’s no trouble,” Rindy chirped.
This wasn’t worth the argument right now. “I was trying to call Fonzoli’s restaurant.”
“I can have the chef prepare anything you like.”
“Thank you. I wanted to speak to a person at Fonzoli’s named Valmont. Not order food.” Although now that she thought about it, pizza sounded good.
“I’ll put the call through for you; please stay on the line.”
“Sure.” Why was making a simple call so difficult? Did her grandparents not trust her with a phone? Was this their way of monitoring who she spoke to?
“Hello, Bryn.” Valmont’s relaxed tone washed over her and she loosened her death grip on the phone.
“Hey. Can we meet somewhere?” she asked.
“Sure, I can pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m at my grandparents’ place.” And now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure of the directions to the estate. Both times she’d come here, she’d slept in the car. “We may have to ask Rindy to give you directions.”
“Don’t worry, Fonzoli’s has catered dinner parties for your grandparents before. I know the way. It’ll take half an hour. Do you want me to bring some lemon ice?”
“You are the best knight ever.”
He chuckled. “I’ll see you soon.”
She hung up and changed into nicer jeans and a blue turtleneck shirt. The mirror above her dresser reflected a girl in serious need of some makeup. So she darkened her lips and eyelashes with Quintessence. Directing her life force through her body to change her coloring seemed second nature now.
Was there anything else she needed to do before Valmont arrived? Crap. Should she have asked her grandmother’s permission before inviting someone over? Should she go knock on her grandmother’s door? And then it came to her. She picked up the phone and dialed zero.
“Hello, this is Rindy. How can I help you?”
Geez, did this lady read from a script? “Rindy, this is Bryn. I wanted to speak to my grandmother, but wasn’t sure if I should call before I go knock on her door.”
“I’ll call her private line. Please hold.”
This place was like a freaking hotel. Private lines and operators. Who lives like this?
“Bryn?” Her grandmother sounded annoyed.
“Sorry if I interrupted something. I wanted to let you know that I called my friend Valmont and he’s coming over for a visit.”
“Oh.” That single syllable spoke volumes. Was it the visit or Valmont that she objected to?
“Do I need to ask before I have friends visit?”
“It would be nice if you made me aware before the fact rather than after.”
“Okay.” The silence stretched out. “I’ll do that next time. Do I need to call the guards to let them know he’s coming?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank—” Click. Her grandmother hung up before she could get the entire word out.
Don’t be mad. Your grandmother is set in her ways. Maybe she should ask for a manual of appropriate behavior. Of course, that might just tick her grandmother off more.
…
Bryn checked the clock on her dresser. Time to walk down to the entry hall. Would she bump into her grandfather or Ferrin along the way? Her grandfather probably wouldn’t approve of her socializing with the caterer. Ferrin would more than likely make some snide comment. Maybe Valmont would be offended on her behalf. Maybe he’d run Ferrin through with a sword. A life with Jaxon would be much easier if his evil, vindictive father were out of the picture.
Oh. My. God. Had she just thought what she thought she thought? A life with Jaxon? She shivered and hurried out the door. In the entry hall, a Red dragon stood guarding the front door. In his human form, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a pro wrestler, just like her dad had been.
Bam. Right in the gut. She clutched at her stomach and turned away.
“Are you all right, Miss?” the guard asked.
No. And she never would be, but her grandmother would want her to stick with the politely accepted answer, so she sucked it up and said what she should. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
He glanced around the foyer like he was checking for spies. Once he thought he was in the clear, he said, “Your father, he was a good man.”
Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat. So she nodded.
A knock on the door had the guard turning with purpose.
He glanced back at Bryn. “I’ll need you to confirm your friend’s identity before allowing him to enter.”
“Okay.”
Her stomach flipped in anticipation. Valmont would make everything better, or at least as good as things could be.
The guard swung the door open. Valmont stood there wearing black pants and a white shirt, which was his uniform at Fonzoli’s. His dark hair was mussed and his blue eyes held concern. Did he already know what she was about to tell him?
“That’s my knight.” She walked toward him.
“Can I come in?” he asked the guard in the most respectful tone she’d heard him use toward an authority figure. He must know her grandparents’ private guards weren’t to be trifled with.
The guard stepped aside. Valmont crossed the room and pulled Bryn into a hug. She inhaled his scent; he smelled like sunshine and leather with a dash of Italian spices. Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, the world seemed like a better place.
“I heard there’s been trouble, but I’m not sure what’s going on,” he whispered.
Bryn looked up at him. As soon as she opened her mouth to explain, to tell him that her parents were gone, the tears would come. She couldn’t do that in the foyer of the main hall. “Let me show you my new rooms. We can talk there.”
“Rooms?” Valmont said. “As in more than one?”
Bryn rolled her eyes. “I believe it’s called a suite. I have a living room and a small library connected to my bedroom. It’s pretty cool.”
“It’s bigger than my cabin, isn’t it?”
Bryn stopped walking and thought about it. “Embarrassingly enough, I think it is.”
Valmont glanced around the hall, checking out the other doors. “What are all these rooms?”
Did he care, or was he trying to occupy her mind? Not that it mattered. “I can find my way to my rooms, a dining room, the foyer, and my grandmother’s rooms. Besides that, I have no idea what’s where.” She leaned in and whispered, “And I’ve no idea why two people need this much space.”
When they reached her suite, he stood in the living room, shaking his head. “This is amazing.”
“It’s pretty awesome.” She pointed at the paper bag he carried. “Is that lemon ice?”
“As requested.” He pointed at the couch. “Should we sit here, or is there a dining room table hiding in your closet?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I just moved in this morning.” Her voice wavered.
He pulled her to the couch. “You can tell me when you’re ready. Whatever it is, I’m here for you literally and figuratively.”
Maybe ripping it off like a bandage would be best. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She cleared her throat. “My parents are…” Saying it made it more real and a thousand times more painful. “There was a bomb,” she choked out. “They’re gone.”
And then it was like a dam broke open inside her. She was sobbing and Valmont was holding her and making soothing noises that didn’t do any good, because how could they? Her parents were dead. She’d never see them again. No more pancakes for breakfast. No more Battleship tournaments with her dad. No more anything, ever again. It was impossible for her brain to accept that her parents had just ceased to exist, and in their place was this giant aching void of sorrow. She sobbed until her throat was raw.
Valmont shifted, and then a wad of napkins appeared in front of her face. “I’m sure there’s Kleenex or silk handkerchiefs around here someplace, but for now this is the best I can do.”
She managed a smile. “Thanks.” The paper napkins were rough against her skin. Her face felt windburned from all the salt in her tears. “I better go splash some water on my face.”
Valmont nodded. She looked at him and realized his shirt was wet through. “Sorry about that.”
“I’ll live.” He said the words, and then his smile faltered. “I’m sorry. That—”
“It’s okay.” Her eyes burned. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
After splashing her face with cold water, she checked the mirror. Wow. Those actresses in movies who cried and managed to look pretty afterward must be super talented. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Her nose was tomato red and her cheeks looked as windburned as they felt. Looking like crap when she felt like crap didn’t seem fair. A girl should be able to catch a break somewhere. Wait a minute. She channeled Quintessence to her face and returned her cheeks to normal color. Her eyes she didn’t want to mess with.
Valmont’s sweatshirt hung on the hook on the back of the bathroom door where she’d left it when she’d changed earlier. Would he want to change out of his tear-soaked and dear God please don’t let it be snot-stained shirt into something drier? She’d offer it to him and see what he thought.
When she went back into the living room area, Valmont was whispering into his cell phone. Who was he calling? Was he trying to keep something from her?
Feeling wrong about what she was going to do but doing it anyway, she walked up behind him quietly and listened as best she could.
“Yes, Grandfather. I know. There isn’t much we can do about it now. Yes. I’ll ask her. No…no, that isn’t an option at this point. I’ll stop by on my way to the cabin. No. You don’t have to meet me there. Yes…yes… Fine, if you insist, bring a tray of cannelloni.”
Feeling guilty for eavesdropping, she walked into his line of sight. “Talking to your grandpa?”
“Yes. He heard that several students’ family’s had been attacked. He called to see if he could offer any assistance. The man thinks everything can be fixed with food.”
Thank God. He wasn’t involved in some plot. Just dealing with an overprotective grandfather, which was nice. “Most of the time food helps.”
She held the sweatshirt out to him. “Since I cried all over you, I thought you might want to change.”
He glanced down at his shirt. “Good idea.” He pointed back the way she came. “Bathroom is this way?”
“Yes. Don’t be surprised if all the lemon ice is gone by the time you get back.”
She picked up the carryout container of lemon ice. It looked like the containers ice cream came in from the store. Curious, she checked the bottom of the container. It read, “Lemon Gelato, New York, NY.”
Disappointment settled on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. Which was ridiculous. Did it matter than Valmont’s family didn’t make the lemon ice from scratch like the rest of their food? She said a small prayer that they did make the rest of their food from scratch. If she rifled through the restaurant storage area and found giant industrial-sized containers of Ragu, she’d be completely disillusioned.
It didn’t matter where the lemon ice was made. Valmont brought it to her because he cared, so love went into it even if it didn’t come from Fonzoli’s kitchen.
When the guy she was thinking about strolled toward her wearing the sweatshirt she’d had on hours before, all doubt vanished from her mind. Valmont was a good guy. It didn’t matter where the lemon ice came from or whom he’d been talking to on the phone.
“I expected half of that to be gone by now.”
“I could lie and say I was waiting to share, but I was lost in thought.” She opened the bag and pulled out a plastic spoon the size of a ladle.
“Is this supposed to be a comment on how much I eat?”
He grinned and took the large spoon from her. “I thought it might make you laugh. There are regular spoons in the bottom of the bag.” He grabbed the bag, reached inside, and then frowned. “I threw real spoons in here. Maybe they fell out in my car.”
Should she eat with the ladle-sized spoon? If she was by herself, she might. “I could call Rindy, the magical fairy who knows all, and ask her where my grandparents keep their spoons.”
“Good idea. From the outside of the house, I know where the kitchen is located. From in here, I haven’t a clue.”
A quick call to Rindy had Abigail the maid at their door five minutes later with a pushcart loaded with utensils, drinks, and snacks.
“Wow.” Bryn looked over the platter of fruit and cheese, the plate of cookies, and the bowl of popcorn. Several types of soda and bottled water also sat on the cart.
“Thanks, Abigail. This is awesome.”
She inclined her head. “If you need anything else, you can reach the kitchen by dialing three-six-six-three.”
“I better write that down.” Bryn stepped away from the door.
“No need to write it down.” Abigail grinned like she knew a secret. “It spells food. Your grandfather is a clever man.”
“Yes, he is.” Bryn watched as Abigail left the room and closed the door behind her. She grabbed two spoons off the cart, tossing one to Valmont. “What would you like to drink?”
He came over to investigate and picked up a bottle labeled lime fizzy water. “The name alone makes me want to try it. How about you?”
Her first instinct was to go for a soda. She checked the other options and picked up a pretty pink bottle. “I’ll try the strawberry fizzy water.”
They settled back on the couch with the lemon ice set between them. Bryn took a bite. The cold, tangy sweetness melted in her mouth. Thank God it still tasted as good as she remembered, even though it wasn’t made here in town. “How did you end up buying lemon gelato from New York?”
“My grandfather vacationed there once. Said it put his lemon gelato to shame. He’s refused to serve anything else ever since.”
A knock sounded on her door. Before she could stand and open it, the door opened. Her grandfather stood in the doorway frowning. “What is he doing here?”
Could her grandfather make Valmont feel less welcome? “He’s my friend.”
“He’s staff. You can’t be friends with the staff.”
And it was on. “He’s my friend and my knight, and he’s not your staff.”
“You don’t need a knight,” her grandfather said. “No one has a knight anymore. It’s archaic. Release him from his bond.”
“No.” She stared her grandfather down, refusing to blink.
The jerk grinned. “Good to know you fight for what you believe in.”
And with that he left.
Bryn stared after him and then turned to Valmont. “What the hell was that?”
“I think it was a test, and you passed with flying colors.”
“It’s frightening to think his blood runs in my veins.”
“Could be worse. Imagine how Jaxon feels.”
Bryn laughed. “Sharing blood with Ferrin. That is a terrible reality.”
“Speaking of Jaxon,” Valmont said, “why were you having lunch with him the other day?”
Hoping to show him how stupid she thought the whole Jaxon fix-up idea was, she rolled her eyes. “Since my grandparents recognized me, my grandfather wants me to marry and have grandkids and all that crap.”
Valmont bit his lip like he was trying not to laugh. She glared at him. “I see you’ve connected the dots.”
Laughter poured out of Valmont’s mouth. It was a warm, rich sound, and surprisingly enough, it didn’t make her angry. In fact, she joined in.
He regained control but still grinned like an idiot. “That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. You and Jaxon, together. I imagine neither Jaxon nor his father are amused by the idea.”
“My grandmother and Jaxon’s mother, Lillith, are behind it. Ferrin would have me assassinated before he allowed me to marry his son. I might prefer that myself.”
“Why is your grandmother scheming with Lillith? Shouldn’t Jaxon’s contract already be in place?”
“It was.” And the story wasn’t funny anymore. “Rhianna didn’t fully recover from her injury after the attack on the theater building, so Ferrin, being the utter asshat that he is, voided their agreement.”
“That’s awful. What will she do?”
“Jaxon, who has turned out not to be a total asshat, promised he’d take care of her no matter what. Which is admirable, but it shouldn’t have to be that way. I don’t see why it’s an issue.”
“Jaxon is more honorable than I thought.” Valmont reached for her hand. “When will you know if you’ve been approved for an arranged marriage?”
“No idea. I try not to think about it. It’s all so weird. A few months ago, I was a normal girl living a normal life in a public high school. My biggest worry was who I’d sit next to at lunch. Now it seems like I’m living in a foreign country on the brink of a war. A lot of people hate me. Some of them are trying to kill me. If I live, there’s a chance, however slim, that I’ll be forced into an arranged marriage, which has nothing to do with actually loving or even liking the person. My grandmother told me marriage is a legal contract that produces children. Nothing more. I can’t believe that. My parents are happy, I can’t—”
Oh, God. Doubling over, she breathed through the pain in her chest. Her parents were dead. She didn’t have any more tears.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. She sat up and met Valmont’s gaze.
He reached over and pulled her close so she could lay her head on his chest. “You forgot for a moment.” He wasn’t asking a question. He just knew. Which was nice. It made things easier.
“When will I stop forgetting?” she asked. “Because it hurts…a lot.”
“I’m not sure.”
Leaning against his solid chest, she felt warm and safe. He stroked his hand up and down her back.
What little energy she had left drained out of her body. “Do you mind if I close my eyes for a little bit?”
“No. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.”