9. Rome
Nikki’sshiny black shoes poked out from under the tan fabric of her pants. She leaned against the side of the elevator as we traveled up toward the roof, watching the numbers on the little black screen above the door.
She looked…not better, but definitely more appropriate for where we were going. Still, I found myself missing the figure-hugging dresses that echoed a faint pinup style that I’d seen her in before. She didn’t look uncomfortable, but other than the red lipstick, the shoes, and the glossy black waves, she didn’t look like herself.
I turned away, gritting my teeth.
It was better that way. Better to be inconspicuous and blend in so we could get in and get this dinner over with.
As we reached the top floor, a staff member nodded and opened the door to the roof. Beyond it, helicopter blades sliced through the air in a steady staccato. I strode to the door and turned when Nikki didn’t immediately follow.
Her eyes were huge. “We’re taking a helicopter?”
“Why else would we go to the roof?”
“Right,” she said, then followed after me.
Waving to the pilot, we made our way into the bird and strapped ourselves in. I watched as Nikki frowned at the headset, flipping it in her hands before sliding it over her ears. She shot me a quick glance, then turned those wide brown eyes out the window.
The crew did their final checks, and then we took off. Nikki’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of her seat, her face so close to the window that I expected her nose to leave a smudge on the glass when she finally tore herself away.
The helicopter turned at a sharp angle, and Nikki’s chest moved with a sharp inhalation.
A softness entered my chest at the sight of her like that, so enthralled by what we were doing. I found myself fascinated by watching her. Traveling to Long Island by helicopter had become a normal part of my routine. It was more convenient than taking a car.
But now, as I watched Nikki, I realized that the view from the helicopter was spectacular. The setting sun painted the sky in a wash of pastels at our backs. Spread below us, the city was alive with lights and motion. The East River, lit with the setting sun, cut a path of golden fire between the landmasses, quickly disappearing behind us.
Ahead, a few stars dotted the darkening sky. The moon hung low over the horizon, a pale crescent barely visible in the sky.
“Wow,” Nikki breathed, peering down as we passed over the lives of millions of people.
“Ever seen the view from up here?” I asked through the headset.
“No.” She turned to me, her lips spread in a broad smile. “It’s incredible.”
I nodded, following her gaze as she looked out the window once more. My eyes were drawn back to her, though. To the slope of her neck and the way her fingers relaxed their grip on the edge of her seat. How she shifted and stretched a leg out so I could catch a glimpse of her ankle. Her lips parted, eyes shining, and I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest.
Rubbing the spot to ease the ache, I pulled out my phone and flicked through the dozens of emails that had landed in my inbox since I’d last had a look. Nikki shifted when the helicopter slowed above the familiar sprawling grounds of an estate, her curious eyes roaming over the contours of the tree-lined drive and the stately stone home at the end of it.
The bird flew to the back of the house, and we alighted on the helipad set back from the main house. Grass flattened itself at our landing, ripples flowing through it and across the surface of the nearby pond. A duck made a hurried escape to a clump of rushes on the far side of the water.
I unclipped my seatbelt and removed my headset. Nikki did the same, then followed me out of the helicopter and onto the grounds of the lavish estate.
The house was just the same as it had always been: big, imposing, and cold.
The blades above us slowed as we made our way toward the house; the pilot would wait there for us to return.
Nikki’s heels clacked on the stone pathway beside me as she finger-combed her hair with hasty movements. “Hold up,” she said, then dug through her purse to pull out a tiny hairbrush that unfolded to full size. She ran it through her hair a few times then fluffed it, looking at me. “Better?”
“Your hair’s fine.” I checked my watch. We were a few minutes late, which wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh, great. ‘Fine.’ Just what I love to hear.”
Arching a brow, I met her sparkling eyes once more. “Are you done? We need to get in there.”
“And do I get to find out what ‘in there’ actually is, or am I to be presented to this Joanne lady without any warning about what’s coming?”
“Let’s go.”
“I see you choose Option B,” she grumbled, but her heels clacked beside me and the scent of her teased my nose. We rounded perfectly groomed topiaries—one in the shape of a swan, the other a bunny—and crossed a square containing a dramatic fountain. The lights were on, so the water danced through the air as colors shifted through it, to a dazzling effect.
Or it would be dazzling, if I didn’t hate this place.
“Wow. That’s so cool!” Nikki slowed beside me. “And listen! There’s music! They’ve timed the fountain to the music!”
“They had it designed after a trip to Dubai. It’s a miniature version of the fountain outside the Burj Khalifa.” I kept walking.
“You’re not impressed by this?”
I shot her a sideways glance. “The novelty wears off,” I said. I’d gotten used to noticing all the changes that occurred to this place while I was away. And all the things that stayed the same.
We passed two more topiary sentinels—perfect spheres—and the vastness of the house came into view.
Half a dozen stone steps lined with chunky carved banisters led to a huge back patio dotted with soft, buttery lamps. The music of the fountain mingled slightly with the sound of harp music coming from the other side of the French doors.
The home was almost a palace, all gray stone and severe lines. It had eight bedrooms and nine and a half bathrooms, a kitchen big enough to run a catering company, and at least half a dozen living spaces. It was decorated sumptuously, with antiques collected from trips all around the world—most of which should probably have been in a museum instead of a private collection.
It was a beautiful home. Nikki gasped.
And I crashed to a stop. She stumbled and bumped into my back, catching herself on my arms. The weight of her fingers against my biceps sent warmth arcing through my veins. I turned, and she took a hurried step back.
“This was a mistake,” I told her. “Go back to the chopper.”
Dark brows drew together as her lips tightened slightly. “What?”
My heart thundered. She stood here, gawping at fountains and staring at topiaries, and we’d go in there and she’d be eaten alive. And I would be the one who’d have to save her or watch her suffer. And then I’d be the one who’d get the criticism for bringing her here in the first place.
“This was a mistake,” I repeated through gritted teeth. “Turn around and go?—”
“Rome,” a voice called out from the top of the steps. “You finally made it.” There was a short pause. A pause that said as much as any words, because the woman at the top of the steps was a master at using silence like a weapon. In the stillness of the evening, with crickets chirping around us, delicate music dancing around us from two directions, and the last sounds of the helicopter engine fading, the silence said, You’re late, and I’m unhappy.
I turned to see a woman in her early sixties, dressed in black pants and a cream top with a cashmere sweater draped over her shoulders. Her throat was adorned with a necklace of huge freshwater pearls, the ones in her ears completing the matching set. She had dark hair and few wrinkles, and eyes of dark, judgmental blue.
Her thin lips curled into a predator’s smile as her gaze slid from me to the woman behind me. “And you brought a friend.”
Yes, I had, and I regretted it, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Resigned, I stood straighter, and said, “Hello, Mother.”