Chapter 30
Mathilda didn’t want to wake up from the delightful dream she was having.
She was sitting high in a mango tree on a cushion of epiphytic ferns.
Hector was perched in a neighboring avocado tree.
He was preening his black feathers and complaining about all the dust kicked up by the wild horses that had just galloped through.
“No consideration,” he chittered. “So thoughtless.”
“Horses will be horses.” The least she could do was sympathize with him. “But your feathers look beautiful. You’re healthy?”
“Having the time of my life. An ‘alalā being an ‘alalā. Are you quite well?” He cocked a beady eye her way. “You look a mess.”
“I am a mess. I don’t know what to do. I have to make a big decision and I don’t know what the right thing is. What should I do, Hector?”
“You’re asking me? I’m just a birdbrain.”
“Ha ha. Your kind is very smart. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“There you go.” He used his beak to tuck one last feather into place, then flapped his wings and lifted into the air.
“What do you mean, there you go?” She watched him wheel in a circle, then swoop past her.
“If you got me back to where I belong, you can do the same for yourself. Not to sound like a parrot,” his feathers shuddered, “but don’t underestimate yourself.”
“I really missed you, Hector. Don’t leave. Stay and talk to me. I want to know everything.”
“You know enough.” He flapped his wings to catch a downward air current. “Gotta go poop on some horses,” he croaked.
“Don’t leave me! Come back!”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re okay. You’re okay. Mathilda, wake up.” Hector’s voice was sounding deeper, and much closer, as if he was right there with her, holding her in his arms.
She came awake with a jolt and stared into concerned dark eyes. “Rory?”
She was so confused. Where was the mango tree? Instead of being high in the jungle canopy, she was wrapped in Rory’s arms as he knelt on the grass. It felt so good to be with him again that her entire being sighed.
In the sky above, stars glittered, while all around her—darkness. She couldn’t see anyone else, just the vague shadow of a table and an umbrella.
Slowly, pieces of reality came back to her. Her family…Duncan…cocktails by the pool.
“What happened?” She struggled against him, trying to find the others. “Where is everyone?”
“They’re okay. Everyone’s a little disoriented. They’re inside the cottage. Lincoln’s making them coffee.”
“Lincoln?”
This must be another dream. Since when did Lincoln make coffee?
“I know, it’s hard to believe. And that’s the least of it. Do you have the crystal?”
“The what?” It took a moment for that to register. “Oh. It was in my pocket, wrapped in a washcloth. But it was getting kind of hot so I took it out and held it up so I could see…” She felt around in her pocket. “I don’t know where it is now. It’s gone.”
“Shit. Do you think it fell out somewhere?”
She struggled to sit up so she could look around, but he held her steady.
“Easy now. Does your head hurt? Or anything else?”
She did a mental inventory of her body. “Nothing hurts too bad. I might have hit my head on the grass.” Gingerly, she felt the back of her head. “No lump. I’m fine. Help me get up, would you?”
He eased her off his lap, then offered her a hand to stand up. Once she was upright, he looped his arms around her. It felt so good that she just stood there for a moment, soaking it in.
Rory had come for her. He must have feelings for her, real feelings, not just crisis feelings. She wished he would say so. Her heart ached for the words.
She could say it first. I love you.
But her mind kept wandering, things going into and out of focus. It was strangely dark out. Someone had lit a tiki torch nearby, and the flickering light was the only thing offering any illumination.
“Is the power out?” she asked, confused.
“Yes, and I would like nothing more than to explain, but I can’t.” Rory scanned the lawn around her. “When was the last time you saw the crystal?”
“I really don’t remember. It was getting hot, and I took it out to get a better look. That’s really all I can remember. How did you find me?” She blinked at him. “Oh. You came for the crystal.”
He didn’t love her. What had she been thinking? This wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. He was looking for the crystal.
“I came for you,” he said firmly. Since he was still scanning the grass, she didn’t quite believe him.
“But it’s important that we get the crystal back.
” He strode to the tiki torch and pulled it from its stand.
Using it like a flashlight, he scanned the entire grassy area, the pool, the table, under the table…
but came up with nothing. “Fuck. I have to go tell him you don’t have it. ”
“Maybe someone else picked it up. My mother loves sparkly things.”
“Maybe. Come on, let’s get inside.”
She was still unsteady on her feet, so she leaned on his arm as they walked to the cottage.
Before they stepped inside, she stopped.
What should she tell her family about Rory, about what they were to each other?
She didn’t even know what to tell herself about that!
One moment she’d been ready to confess her love, the next she’d been crushed to hear his true purpose here.
On top of that, she couldn’t keep her focus from one second to the next.
They needed to be honest with each other before they walked into that cottage.
“Rory…”
But before she could get any more words out, Duncan appeared at the door. “You found her! Are you Rory, Lincoln’s pilot? He said you were out here. Thanks for giving my fiancée a hand.”
Mathilda’s mouth fell open. Had she missed a few beats while she’d been unconscious?
“Of course,” Rory said stiffly. He even gave a little bow. “You must be Duncan Aberdeen.”
“Pleased to meet you.” With his usual charming smile, Duncan offered his hand, which Rory shook, then stepped outside to put an arm around Mathilda’s shoulder. “I’ll explain later,” he murmured in her ear.
Mathilda gave up on understanding what was going on, and allowed the two men to guide her inside the cottage.
In the living room, she found her mother draped like a wilting lily across the bamboo couch.
and her father stretched out in a wicker armchair with a washcloth on his forehead.
Jamie was carefully carrying two cups of steaming coffee from the kitchen into the living room.
In the kitchen, Lincoln was already pouring more.
Rory released Mathilda’s arm, leaving her in Duncan’s hands, and strode into the kitchen. He must have delivered the news about the crystal to Lincoln, because a string of muttered curses came next. They were followed by a whispered consultation between the two of them.
Meanwhile, Duncan eased Mathilda into a wicker chair like the one her father was moaning in.
“What’s going on?” she asked Duncan. “Why is everyone such a mess?”
“I have no idea. All I know is that we all passed out. Jamie and I woke up first, both of us flat on our backs on the grass. We tended to your parents first, but before we got to you, these two showed up.” He pointed at Lincoln in the kitchen.
“I didn’t care for the way that one was talking.
He sounded quite aggressive when he asked where you were.
I told him it was none of his business, and how dare he barge in without an invitation. That’s when he took a swing at me.”
“He did that?” Now that she looked closely, she saw a mark on his cheekbone.
“Yes, quite rude of him, really. Jamie pitched in and between the two of us, we got him handled.” He directed a smile at Jamie, who was already back with more mugs of coffee.
She peered at poor Lincoln, who really did look a disaster. Both him and Rory had bruises and cuts all over their faces. “Did you beat them up?”
“No no, they came that way.” He gave a rueful laugh. “That might be why we were able to corral Lincoln. Jamie and I refused to let him near you, but the other one, Rory, he managed to sidestep us. But after all that, it looks like Rory was just trying to help.”
“Yes. Just trying to help.” That was all. Not trying to declare his love or win her hand or any of that crap. Just trying to help Lincoln find the crystal. “But thank you for protecting me.”
“Of course. I will always protect you. I threw the bit in about you being my fiancée to make sure they knew not to mess with you.” He smiled with complete heartfelt sincerity. “Mess with you. That’s another Americanism Jamie taught me.”
In the other wicker chair, her father lifted one corner of the washcloth off his face. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Hi Daddy.” She struggled out of the chair and went over to give him a hug. “Are you okay?”
“Just dandy. Remind me never to drink passionfruit cocktails again.”
Duncan let out a hoot of laughter, and so did Jamie, but it took Mathilda a moment to get the joke. What was wrong with her brain? It was moving so slowly.
The laughter roused Charlotte, who sat up on the couch and picked up the cup of coffee Jamie had left for her. After a sniff, she said, “Well then, here we all are. I don’t suppose there’s a chance of some tea instead?”
Mathilda wanted to laugh, and then cry, and then laugh again.
Her parents…they were a hoot, that was what they were.
They weren’t perfect as she’d always thought.
They were just two human beings with their own quirks and flaws.
Maybe Charlotte had felt the need to appear perfect because she’d made the drastic decision to go against her family.
Maybe Mark…well no, her father was just perfect.
Perfectly amiable, perfectly kind, perfectly malleable.
Born with a silver spoon, married to the love of his life, never a struggle in the smooth seas of his life. Perfect—but limited.