Chapter Ten #2
She raised her chin. ‘Nothing. Where are we headed first?’
By the time they landed in the tiny, jewelled haven of Turks and Caicos ten hours later, her mood and nerves were frazzled.
They were whisked away in a fleet of armoured SUVs to a breathtaking villa at the tail end of Grace Bay bordered by powdery white sand and sparkling turquoise waters. A property that Valenti’s twenty-strong security team immediately began patrolling.
‘This is a bit much, isn’t it?’ she snapped, raising her hand to massage the throbbing ache at her temple.
It’d started a short hour into their flight when Valenti barely touched the meal they were served, seemingly interested in staring sombrely and contemplatively at her, as if willing her to take a certain course of action, like perhaps blurting that she’d changed her mind.
That she would prefer to return to Reykland.
Answering that look with a taunting one of her own for near on an hour had birthed the headache. Valenti stalking away to the conference room with his team had only worsened her headache and nerves.
She summoned a smile for the housekeeper whose name she’d shamefully not retained due to her preoccupation with following Valenti’s imposing figure as he promptly, and without further words, made himself scarce.
Lotte didn’t see him for the rest of the day, although she very much felt his oversight in the long hours that followed via a staff member dancing in attendance at the beach with sunscreen and a message from Valenti not to get herself sunburnt.
In the lavish feast of her favourite meals at dinnertime even though he’d made his excuses, leaving her to dine alone.
And in the dressing room full of clothes suitable for the tropics she discovered he’d had Ada pack for her.
Of course, the place where she felt his haunting absence most was in her vast bed in one of the most dreamy and luxurious bedrooms she’d seen in real life.
Lotte almost resented the beatific sounds and scents of the night outside her open window, taunting her with myriad scenarios of how this night could’ve been magical.
If only—
No. She would absolutely not do it to herself.
Instead, she rose just past dawn when she accepted sleep was impossible, and sitting cross-legged against the sea of pillows, opened her laptop and went to work.
She was showered, dressed in a House of Domene jumpsuit that made her feel like a million dollars, and biting her inner cheek with nerves when the head of the charity was allowed through the gates of the villa.
Beside her, a silently brooding Valenti—who’d unsurprisingly made an appearance the moment his security alerted him of her visitor—fixed his gaze on the approaching taxi.
She’d given up attempting to take shorter breaths so she wouldn’t greedily inhale the scent of his body she’d missed more than she knew was good for her.
Nor could she stop her heart lurching wildly when he took an almost imperceptible step closer when the middle-aged woman alighted from the taxi.
The woman’s eyes widened a touch on seeing Valenti, then her gaze swung back to Lotte, her hand extending.
‘Miss Lillegard? I’m Abigail Pierre. I can’t tell you how pleasantly surprised I was to get your email yesterday.
And how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting our anonymous benefactor.
’ Her warm smile shaved off a few layers of Lotte’s nerves and she felt her own lips curving in greeting. ‘I had no idea you were this young.’
Lotte felt Valenti stiffen even harder. ‘We think it’s best Lotte’s personal details aren’t disseminated all over the internet. I trust you’ll keep whatever you learn to yourself, Mrs Pierre?’
The woman startled and Lotte glared at him, to zero effect. Hell, he didn’t even bother to spare her a glance, so busy was he drilling his will into the charity head.
‘O-of course,’ Abigail stuttered. ‘You can count on my discretion.’
With one darker glare at the man she found infuriating and captivating in equal measure, Lotte pivoted away from him, widening her smile as she gestured towards the living room.
‘I thought we could have coffee?’ She glanced sharply over her shoulder when she felt Valenti’s aura crowd her. ‘Einn, takk,’ she added to him.
His eyes narrowed, understanding her ‘alone, thanks’ wasn’t up for debate. ‘Lotte—’
‘I insist.’
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but after a long moment he nodded. ‘I will be out on the terrace.’ Watching, he added silently.
She led Abigail into the living room where coffee, fruit and pastries had been laid out, taking the time to compose herself as she poured two cups.
The older woman smiled her thanks, then glanced at the French doors. ‘Your man is very protective of you. It’s lovely to see.’
Lotte’s heart squeezed so viciously she barely managed to suppress a gasp. ‘He’s not…’ She paused, the very act of confirming the wretched truth making her throat ache. ‘He has his reasons,’ she amended.
Abigail’s gaze rested pensively on her for several seconds before she shrewdly nodded, sipped her coffee, then opened the messenger bag she’d brought with her.
She took out a small file and handed it to Lotte.
‘This is a list of everyone you’ve helped since you started supporting us last year.
And this is a spreadsheet of everything we plan to do for the next five years if we remain the recipient of your generosity.
As you’ll see there are several outreach programs to neighbouring islands that don’t have an established charity yet.
Also our network is growing day by day so… ’
Even though her focus remained on Abigail’s verbal report, a sense of awe swept over her as she perused the document, a grounding she’d never experienced before settling deep. She hadn’t come seeking selfish validation, but this was tangible evidence that she wasn’t a waste of space.
That she’d made a difference.
‘Oh…my dear, are you okay?’
Lotte startled a little as Abigail’s hand covered hers, and she realised to her surprise that she was blinking back tears.
‘Yes.’ She swallowed and plastered another smile on her face, determined to get herself together. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’
And she was, she reiterated to herself long after she’d given the charity head her promise for further financial support and agreed to become a patron. And promised, now that she had a better sense of the sheer scale of need, to use her platform to garner more support.
Abigail had thanked her profusely and left. She’d returned to the living room to find Valenti waiting for her.
Intense silver eyes tracked her face, lingering no doubt on her slightly blotchy eyes. About to turn away from the far too keen inspection, she froze when he said, ‘Your sister would be proud.’
She gasped and started to face him again. Lotte suspected her yearning for more very much poured off her in waves. For one electric moment, she thought, hoped, the blaze that lit his eyes echoed her hunger.
But it winked out with shocking ease before his walls slammed firmly back in place, and Valenti calmly walked away without a backward glance.
It set the tone for Costa Rica. Then Brazil. South Africa. Switzerland.
The only difference during the six-week tour was the magnificence of the Domene-owned residences and the many changing faces of the staff who bent over to accommodate her every wish, as per the orders of their boss, who haunted her presence without once relenting on his vow to not touch her.
Or engage with her longer than the perfunctory greeting or dismissal.
And more fool her, but Lotte’s heart continued to hope with each interaction, then squeeze with anguish as he became her shadow, staying no more than three feet away when she met with the tiny but mighty charities dedicated to helping those in dire need of escaping harrowing circumstances.
He didn’t hesitate to fire questions at each group she met, meticulously shoring up any gaps in her own concerns. It would have been perfect. If not for the austere guilt etched into his face that he didn’t bother to hide.
Valenti had taken his emotion-free stance, and he intended to stick to it. At first it frustrated and saddened her. Then the conviction that he was using it as a real but effective crutch turned those emotions into anger.
‘I can speak for myself thank you,’ she interrupted when he began firing questions at the Moldovan charity head.
Perhaps it was the unyielding awareness that this was their final stop. That their time together was running out like sand in an hourglass.
Or perhaps it was the growing confidence and fulfilling acceptance that she’d indeed found her goal.
Whatever. His head snapped in her direction.
Whatever he saw in her expression widened his eyes a fraction before he jerked a nod far too regal to be called true acquiescence.
And whatever it was bubbled up all the way back to the presidential suite of the hotel he’d rented in Chisinau.
‘Something bothering you?’ he drawled when she all but leapt from the lift the moment the doors opened, almost trotting in her haste to get away from him. Because, it turned out, she did have a ceiling when it came to withstanding Valenti’s rejection. To witnessing his blatant self-flagellation.
And she was ready to blow when she whirled on him at his question. ‘Do you really need to ask me that?’ she seethed.
‘Evidently I do.’
She started to rip free with every roiling emotion inside her, but the words locked in her throat. Because a great part of her questioned the futility of it.
‘What do you care what anyone thinks, least of all inconsequential me?’
His statue-still form didn’t alter, nor did he rush to correct her assertion, much to her chagrin.
She sighed. ‘I’m tired, Valenti. I’m going to lie down.’ To compose herself before he dropped the news that he was done with her once and for all.
Her legs felt lead-heavy when she turned away, only to freeze when he moved, closing the gap between them. Her breath lodged in her throat, anticipation firing through her. But he only drew out his phone, and glanced down at it before pinning her with his gaze.
‘You only have two hours to rest, I’m afraid.’
‘Why? What’s the rush?’
He flashed another glance at his phone before returning it to his pocket. ‘It seems my twin is determined to follow Azar’s footsteps and hurtle down the aisle with no regard for how it inconveniences everyone else.’
The rumble of discontent was half-hearted at best, his expression more mildly vexed than angry.
The little Lotte had seen of Teo and the reams she’d read about him online pointed to a joie de vivre, a polar opposite of Valenti. Although she had the strong suspicion that it was all an act. That Teo Domene’s near hedonistic outlook on life hid a deeper character that rivalled his brother’s.
‘Or he knows what he wants and is willing to bend time and space itself to achieve it,’ she murmured, not without a flash of jealousy and longing.
His gaze sharpened on her face, and she wondered if she’d given herself away. If all the longing she’d felt reading books with heroes who did the exact same thing Teo Domene was doing—destroying every single obstacle in his way in order to bind himself to the woman he adored—had bled through.
And perhaps it was that little she-devil on her shoulder that whispered at her to keep her chin up. To meet his gaze boldly as she added, ‘Haven’t you ever felt that way about anything?’
There was barely an infinitesimal hesitation before he answered. ‘No.’
The fist around her heart tightened at the resounding denial, but something in his face held her breath. Or perhaps it was his lips moving, muttering a follow-up she couldn’t quite catch. ‘What did you say?’
He stared at her with ferocious fixation. Then to her chagrin, he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters, Valenti. Everything matters in the end.’
A flash of perplexion. A faint flare of his nostrils. Then he was striding to where she stood. ‘My brother weds in two weeks. As his best man I need to return to Cartana, and I’m not ready to let you out of my sight. You wanted to visit Cartana. I’m giving it to you. So yes or no?’
Of course he would couch it like that. Remind her that this wasn’t a benign, wholly cordial and social invitation, but Valenti Domene wanting to maintain surveillance on his ward. Force her to recall, with much stomach churning, how her previous visit had gone.
And wasn’t it a pity then, that because she was so desperate not to lose this connection between them no matter how much strife it seemed attached to, that she would reply with the only response her heart and mind and body and soul would permit her. ‘Yes.’
But I’ll find a way to break this dependence. I have to.
And if he’d heard the silent vow and narrowed his eyes because of it, she told herself she didn’t care. Her very survival dictated that she find a way.