15. April 11, 2023
Cherry
A driver met them at the airport to take them directly to Les Vergers de la Mer . Tall, dark-haired, and built like a truck. She also noticed the telltale bulge of a holstered weapon beneath his suit coat.
She flashed a quick look at Demon, but he didn’t seem to be surprised at all. He simply shook the man’s hand and carried on.
All the way to Les Vergers , she sat stiff and silent, afraid to speak or react to anything.
When the car finally arrived at the gated entrance to the estate, their driver slowed and rolled his window down.
Instead of stopping the car, a guard dressed in a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt and pressed tan pants waved them through the gate.
She wished they would have been required to stop so she could get a better look at the gate attendant and his hut because out of the corner of her eye, she got a glimpse of the old-fashioned address plate mounted to the brick stanchion.
The nameplate was a mosaic piece, but something looked off.
Her gaze darted to Demon beside her, his reflective sunglasses hiding his eyes from her, although the turn of his head suggested he was looking elsewhere.
The men commonly used this tactic on projects, but she couldn’t tell if his current behavior was an act or if he was truly focused on something else.
Coming to a stop, their driver exited the vehicle and assisted them from the cool interior to the warm breezes, lazy clouds drifting at a snail’s pace overhead in the blue sky.
As he directed two young male servants to unload their luggage and whisk it away, she pretended to admire the flowering bushes along the front of the wraparound veranda when what she was really noticing were the discreet armed guards at the corners of the second-floor balcony.
Their attire comprised white T-shirts and tan pants, much like the gate guard.
Zion Norton stood on the front steps, nodding to the driver as the man disappeared inside the building.
“I apologize. Matthew is not very gregarious. Alo, bèl fi !” he greeted in his native British accent.
Arms outstretched, his hands lightly grasped her upper arms as he placed a kiss on each cheek, his lips lingering just a moment too long on each side.
“It’s been far too long, Esme,” he scolded lightly.
He seemed not to have aged at all. Admittedly, he could be considered handsome, especially judging by all the women she’d watched try to snag his attention over the years, but she’d never seen him dating anyone.
Closer to her age than her father’s, he was tall and thin, almost stereotypically elvish in a Tolkien sort of way, with a narrow face, prominent cheekbones, and pointed chin.
Despite the delicate countenance, she knew from trips on his boat or days at the beach that there was a muscular build under his bespoke suit.
His slightly curly, dark-brown hair, currently brushed back from his forehead and artfully arranged with product to keep it from moving, was just this side of needing a haircut.
While his mouth smiled, it didn’t quite meet his eyes, which she knew from experience would seem to change color from blue to green to gold, depending on how the light hit them or what emotions he was feeling.
Right now, they peered intently from the recessed sockets as if assessing her.
Did he sense this was more than the friendly visit they had presented it as?
“Uncle Zion, it’s good to see you.”
“Please. Just Zion, my dear. At this point in our lives, ‘Uncle Zion’ makes me sound like I’m eighty and with one foot in the grave.” The words were jocular, but again, the tone had a shiny edge to it. He turned his focus to Demon. “You must be Ciarán McCarthy.” He reached out a hand in welcome.
Demon offered his hand in response. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Norton.”
“None of that ‘Mr.’ nonsense. You’ve married our Esme, which means you’re family. Zion to you as well.”
She noticed he turned up the wattage on his smile a little more, but it still felt forced, especially when he said the word “our,” as if he were partially responsible for her existence.
Her uncle’s gaze was measuring. “For years, I despaired anyone would capture this young woman’s attention permanently.” He gestured toward the entryway of the villa. “Welcome to my home. Please. Enter.”
As they passed through the doorway, there was a decided difference in temperature.
Although mild and in the mid-seventies at this time of year, the direct sun left one feeling warmer than it actually was.
“I asked Rayon, my butler, to bring us some refreshments out onto the gallery. Despite being uncovered, it remains shaded.”
They passed through the building, across the marble flooring, and out to a stone-raised patio area in the back of the home that looked down over Anse des Pitons at the colorful houses and city below, out to the boats in the bay and eventually the majestic peaks of the Pitons themselves in the distance to the north and south of where they sat.
“I wasn’t sure what you would be hungry for, so I had Rayon bring us a variety of items. Please, sit.
” He gestured to the chairs at the table, which faced out to the bay.
“I know you’re probably tired from the long flights, but this will give you a chance to relax and let the staff unpack for you. ”
A white linen tablecloth covered the round iron table, and a three-tiered stand sat in the center. China cups, saucers, and miniature plates sat at the three positions of the table. All the trimmings of a traditional English tea setting. “Do you have any allergies, Ciarán?”
“No,” he replied.
“Well, there goes my hope of absconding with all the salmon sandwiches, then. Our Esme hates anything fish, so we’ll have to share between us.”
“Yes,” Demon agreed. “When Esme and I first met, we were working on an enormous project at work, and I noticed she hadn’t taken lunch the previous two days. I thought I was going to impress her by ordering in sushi. I thought she’d never speak to me again.”
Something warm bubbled up inside her. He remembered their first real lunch together?
She laughed to cover her surprise. “You tried to hide how disappointed you were when I said I wouldn’t eat it.
” She looked to Zion. “I felt so bad about it after he’d been so thoughtful, so I pawned the food off on a couple of our co-workers, and then I took him to a tapas restaurant around the corner. ”
It was one of her favorite memories with him, sitting on the outdoor patio, sharing tortilla Espanola , jamón Ibérico , and chicken croquettes.
After that, when he noticed that some days were so chaotic she went without eating, he had the same meal delivered, and they would go sit on one of their balconies and eat it.
It had become his way of reminding her not to skip meals.
Zion smiled. “What a lovely memory to carry with you. Well, I have no tapas here, but… there’s an assortment of sandwiches—cucumber with cream cheese, ham with mustard, egg and cress, and my favorite, salmon and dill.
We have scones with clotted cream and raspberry jam.
And assorted pastries to finish the delights—Victoria sponge, lemon tarts, and shortbread.
There’s black tea for you, Esme, since I know you prefer that unless something has changed? ”
Zion flicked a quick glance behind Esme, who sat with her back to the gallery’s entryway. She sensed Rayon approach the table, and when she turned toward him, she saw a single plate with an opaque cover on it.
“Rayon will be happy to make coffee for you, if you prefer,” he told Demon.
“Tea is fine. I can’t escape it since Esme and I are together, so I’ve gained a taste for it now.”
“How charming,” Zion noted.
“Thank you, Zion. We appreciate this, even though it’s not quite teatime yet,” she returned with a smile. “Even in first class, airline food leaves little to be desired, and flying always leaves me ravenous.”
With one hand, Rayon cleared the miniature plate in front of her, and he replaced it with the covered dish. Cherry couldn’t help the ecstatic gasp that flew from her mouth as a half dozen mini chocolate eclairs appeared. “You remembered!”
“How could I forget, bèl fi ? Fresh from my kitchen to your plate.”
Without unfolding her napkin, she swooped up one of the miniature pastries and bit it in half. The rich pastry cream oozed out from the flaky dough, combining with the rich chocolate icing.
She was about to pop the second half in her mouth when she heard chuckling. A glance to her left showed her uncle unsuccessfully hiding his amusement behind a single finger laid against his lips. A glance to her right showed Demon, also amused but with a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
“What?” she asked, her eyes bouncing between them.
“You were moaning, a chuisle ,” Demon teased.
“Still the same Esme, even all these years later. My only piece of marriage advice, Ciarán,” offered Zion, “is never, and I mean never, get between her and an eclair.”
Demon agreed. “She’s yet to meet one she hasn’t enjoyed with abandon.”
She could feel herself heavily blushing, but she refused to apologize.
Or stop eating. With great pleasure, she popped the other half of the treat into her mouth.
When Demon teased her by reaching for one, she slapped his hand.
Hands up in surrender, he withdrew them back to his table setting with a grin. “I tried.”
Rayon brought out the tea tray and laid it on the table. He bowed quickly and curtly, then stood along the inner hallway wall, ready to assist when needed.
“Esme, will you be mother, please? After all, you’ll know best how Ciarán likes his tea.”