Chapter 32 #2
“Stop worrying. My father wants a truce with your brother more than his next meal. And no one questions my father in this house, except Ma, so Grant Manor is the safest place in Fort for you.”
“Hmm… then maybe I should move in here,” I mutter, glancing at the grand paintings that line the long hallway. “Staff are cute, too.” I mock, watching the three Italian guys lurking in the gardens.
“Which one?” Mason arcs an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes and giggle. Alessia appears at the top of the winding stairs, wearing a flattering, brown silk dress that dances with every step.
“Amore mio,” Alessia comes and kisses Mason, then me. “You’re late.”
“Colpa sua.” Mason mutters. Her fault.
Did he just blame me for being late?
“Sta mentendo,” I interject. He’s lying
Mason and Alessia stare at me; Alessia amused, Mason surprised.
“You speak Italian?” Alessia asks, her face lighting up in elation.
“A little. My ex-boyfriend was Italian,” I reply with a secret smile. He wasn’t. But two can lie. And he deserves it.
Mason’s face turns sour, a glare scorching my face as his biceps turn to stone under my fingers.
“Brillante. Come on, hon. Let’s get a drink.” Alessia pries me free of Mason’s hold, but he continues to glare at me even as she drags me away, his eyes burning holes in my back.
Alessia takes me to the orangery, where there is a whole section of the wall dedicated to Tuscan wines. She pops open a couple of choices.
“You look like death, hon.” She pours rosé into two glasses. “What’s the matter?”
I don’t answer, but my quick gaze toward the double doors where Mason walked through gives me away.
“This?” She points to the room. “Don’t be silly. It’s always something or the other at Fort. If it’s quiet for too long, they make shit up. You’re the hot topic today; they’ll find something else tomorrow.”
“So, it doesn’t bother you?” I ask in a low voice. She raises an eyebrow. “Mason with me?”
Alessia lets out a booming laugh, wine dancing in her glass.
“Eva, Mason has been giving me wrinkles since the day he came out of me. There are a lot of things that bother me about my mulo. You, not so much.” She motions toward my wine. “Drink. It’s better than anything they serve in London.”
I purse my lips and take a sip, then wince. It’s strong. Just like Alessia.
“So, you don’t care I am Elton Etheridge’s granddaughter? I know Grandpa did a lot of damage around here.” I utter the last part in a whisper.
She scans my face, carefully twirling the wine in her glass and filling the room with the spicy aroma.
“Mason is right about you, you know.” She smiles and sips her wine. “You’re an overthinker.”
Wait. He talks about me? What else does he say?
“Life isn’t roses and laughter, hon. Powerful families have more enemies than friends.” She grins. “You are not them. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. And keep that ladle handy if anyone does.”
I blush and look away, embarrassed at the thought of what that ladle was last used for. A sound of soft paws circles me. A welcome interruption.
“Luna!” A beautiful golden retriever with muddy paws runs over to Alessia and gets prints all over her beautiful dress. But Alessia doesn’t seem to care as she kisses her messy face.
“Have you met Mason’s girlfriend?”
My lips freeze on the glass. This is the first time someone’s called me that. Luna makes her way over to me, sniffing around me, then greeting me with slightly cleaner paws. I stroke her fur and let her drop wet kisses on my hand.
“She is beautiful,” I coo. “Mason didn’t tell me you had a dog.”
“He hates dogs.” Alessia shrugs, draining her glass.
My hand freezes on Luna’s head as I stare at Alessia, my jaw on the floor. She bursts into laughter. “Dante, get my phone. I need to get a picture of her face.”
I fix my expression, but I’m still baffled. “How does someone hate dogs?”
A man dressed in casual clothes hurries toward us and hands Alessia her phone.
“I was joking.” She sighs. “Are they done yet?” she asks, waving toward the double doors. “Tell them lunch is at one. And I am giving it to my horses at quarter past.”
Dante chuckles but heads back in, passing the kitchen when the oven beeps. “Want me to get it, Alessia?”
“No,” Alessia barks, instantly on her feet. “He slaughtered it last time,” she mutters to me. “Will you be ok for a bit, mia cara?” I nod. She points at my glass. “Drink. And don’t let Luna go inside. Reg will have my head if she gets in his office.”
I taste more of the wine, inhaling the sweet mix of florals around me, admiring Alessia’s beautiful gardens, and making friends with the furry Grant.
“How dare he hate you, huh?” I ask. “You are adorable.” I kiss Luna on her face as we hear Alessia banging pans and cursing in Italian in the kitchen.
The next loud bang makes her jump out of my arms and run inside.
Damn it. Of course. Leave the easiest task to the most useless guest.
“Luna,” I whisper-shout, following her in. She turns in the hallway and heads toward a balcony.
“Hey!” I grab her. “Don’t get me in trouble, miss.”
She gives herself a mighty shake, then starts sniffing the plants, refusing any attempt from me to lure her back.
Defeated, I guard the French doors, ready to catch her if she launches herself at the double doors, which I assume from the heavy chatter is Reginald’s office.
Who would want to go into that room with all that testosterone, anyway?
Though I do hear some feminine voices, too.
While Luna curls up on the balcony chair, I linger in the hallway, gazing at the exquisite paintings, drinking in the vibrant colors, until I find a landmine of family photographs on the adjoining wall.
Mason was a cute child, no surprise there.
Alessia, of course, hasn’t aged a day, but Reginald looks much younger in early photos and terrifyingly similar to Mason.
I shake myself internally as I slowly make my way down the series.
There are not just Grant photos; many are of friends and Council families.
The Morellis, Pikes, and Berkeleys. I come to a dead stop in front of a particularly daunting photo of a family of three wearing deep frowns.
Robert Berkeley, with his prominent scar, who I still don’t remember where I’ve seen before, an auburn-haired beautiful woman, and the tall dark-haired boy who can only be Kane.
My eyes trace the photo, feature by feature, trying to decipher what I find so incredibly disturbing that it makes me sick to my stomach, yet I can’t look away.
They don’t exactly look like a happy family, but there’s more.
It’s like when I saw Mr. Berkeley at his lodge.
That icy chill that wraps around my spine slowly works its way to my bones.
What is it?
Multiple footsteps approach the double wooden doors, yanking me out of my trance.
I quickly grab my phone and snap the Berkeley family photo.
Still not sure why. The last thing I want on my phone is Kane Berkeley.
But I can always delete it later. Or let Mason find it if Kane pisses me off today. That should earn him some grief.
A furry tail brushes my leg when the door clicks open. I crouch to stroke Luna and keep my head down as people pour out, heading straight for the orangery, bypassing me. Until a pair of large shoes appears in front of me.
“The fuck are you doing here, you little bitch,” Mason growls.
Did he just call me…?
“Get off my girl.” He gestures in a wave.
He’s talking to Luna. And that makes me madder.
I hold Luna’s head to my chest, shielding her from Mason. “No, she stays.”
“Are you covering her ears?” Mason snorts, his eyes narrowing at Luna and me. “For fuck’s sake. Tell me you’re not a dog person.”
“I’m as much a dog person as a person gets,” I snap. “And just so we are clear, if you hate them, it’s a dealbreaker.”
He cocks an eyebrow, his lips turning up on one side.
“Noted.” Mason smirks. “But if you are planning on stealing this one, tell me now. I’m going to need the cavalry to get it out of here. Ma loves it more than me.”
“Her,” I correct him. “And her name is Luna.”
“I told you I’m not good with girls’ names.” He winks. “Now let’s go. Ma starts shooting things if people are late.”
“Is that what happened to the grandfather clock?” I motion toward the tall clock against the pillar with a bullet hole in its face.
“That…” He chuckles. “Was actually your fault.”
Alessia, Reginald Grant, James, Kane, Thomas Pike, his wife Beth, Hugo, and, to my surprise, Charlotte are already seated as Mason walks me to the table. Thankfully, the rest of the Council families were only here for the meeting.
“She was hiding on the balcony with your dog,” Mason tells Alessia, accusingly.
“Evangelina!” Reginald Grant nods at me with a pressed smile.
I greet him and Mr. and Mrs. Pike as we make our way to our seats.
Charlotte shoots daggers at me, her eyes trailing down to Mason’s hand on my waist as we reach the only two empty seats between her and Alessia.
Not wanting to sit next to her, I slip beside Alessia, even if that puts Mason beside Charlotte.
Even I’m surprised how little that bothers me now.
Especially when Mason rejects any attempts at conversation with her, too busy being jealous of the furry pet who sets her head on my lap and settles there.
“How’s your brother?” Reginald finally asks, breaking the awkward silence.
“Who cares? He’s a fucking prick who’s determined to destroy Fort,” Hugo chimes in. “Filey sold out to them this morning.”
“Eat your food and shut your mouth,” Thomas Pike barks at his son.
“I haven’t spoken to him lately,” I reply to Reginald, desperate to close the subject. Since I know less than nothing anyway. “He is in the States.”
“Well, next time you speak to him, tell him he owes me a call,” Reginald presses.
“She’s not your fucking messenger,” Mason growls, casually leaning an arm over the back of my chair. Reginald and Mason lock into a hard stare.
“I’ll be happy to pass him your regards, thank you,” I mutter quickly, then inhale a forkful of the lasagna. “This is delicious, Alessia,” I compliment her. Though honestly, I prefer Mason’s.
“It goes well with the wine.” She fills my glass while Mason and Reginald continue to glare at each other in silence.
“Tell me,” Reginald starts again. “Does Daniel approve of Mason?”
I bite my lip, side-eyeing Mason, who looks like he’s about to explode.
“I didn’t ask,” I state plainly, which earns me a smile from Alessia.
“I would have thought he’d be the first to warn you. Though I don’t think a clever girl like you needs a warning. Surely you know you deserve better.”
“Smettila, Reg.” Alessia hisses. Stop it.
“Well, you have been warned now, Miss Etheridge. If I were you, I would run.”
Mason’s hand curls into a fist on his thigh. I dig my fingers in until he unclenches and lets me in, but his grip is so tight, my fingers throb a little.
“I’m going to light your fucking truce on fire if you don’t back the fuck off.”
“The truce is on fire while you are with her.”
“Good. No one wants it, except you.”
“The Council isn’t run by toddlers yet. When it is, you’ll be the first call.”
“Basta!” A hand slaps the table so hard, all the plates shake. I grab my glass of wine just in time, before it tips over Luna. All eyes flash to Alessia. “Not at my table,” Alessia bellows. “Find another time to go at each other’s throats.”
For a moment, there is total silence, then Reginald turns away and starts a conversation with Tom. Mason internalizes his anger, which is never a good thing.
“Please, don’t,” I beg him to calm down as he twirls his fork in his food as if it had personally wronged him. “It doesn’t matter what he says. I’m yours,” I whisper in his ear.
Mason’s eyes meet mine.
“Did you say that to your Italian ex-boyfriend, too?” He cocks an eyebrow. I giggle, which only makes his face grow sterner. “Is that funny?”
“A little.” I shrug. “My Italian ex-boyfriend was my nanna. She lived in Naples for five years.”
“You made that up to piss me off?”
“You deserved it.” I point my fork at him. “You lied.”
“Wasn’t a lie.” He shrugs. “I was only late because you took so long to come on my face.”
Charlotte bursts, coughing up her wine next to Mason.
My lips part, heat rushing to my cheeks. I can’t believe he just said that, with everyone in earshot? Thankfully, only Charlotte heard. Even that is mortifying enough. Mason smirks as I scowl at him, my nails digging into his palm.
“Finish your food,” he whispers. “You’ll be punished soon.”
I chuckle, taking another bite and drink, as Alessia keeps topping up my glass.
When I look up, Kane Berkeley is staring at me across the table.
The expression on his face, the same as in the photo: haunted.