CHAPTER THREE
ALYSSA
Vanessa Laurent entered the kitchen wearing Damian’s shirt.
Alyssa recognized it before the woman reached the marble island. White cotton, narrow blue stripes, French cuffs with the links removed. Damian had worn it during a hotel opening in Madrid, spilled red wine across one sleeve and insisted the stain gave it character.
The stain was still there, a faint pink crescent near Vanessa’s elbow.
Coffee paused halfway to Alyssa’s mouth.
Vanessa had rolled the sleeves and left several buttons open at the throat. The hem reached the middle of her thighs. Bare feet made the outfit look intimate rather than accidental.
“Good morning,” Vanessa said.
Sophie followed her into the room dressed in the clothes Carmen had purchased the previous afternoon. A yellow T-shirt. Denim shorts. White sneakers with laces the child had tied into hard little knots.
Alyssa lowered her cup. “Where did you get that shirt?”
Vanessa glanced down. “The guesthouse.”
“No.”
A quick pause preceded her puzzled expression. “It was hanging in the closet.”
“That shirt was in Damian’s dressing room.”
“I must be mistaken.”
“You walked into the main house and took it from his closet.”
Sophie stopped beside the island.
Vanessa looked at the child. “Why don’t you ask Carmen if the drawing paper arrived?”
“I want breakfast.”
“Go and see first.”
Sophie’s eyes moved to Alyssa.
“You can stay,” Alyssa said. “Carmen will bring breakfast when she comes in.”
The girl climbed onto a stool.
Vanessa pressed her lips together. “I may have found it in the laundry room. Last night was difficult. I took a sleeping pill again.”
“The laundry room is beside Damian’s dressing room.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You crossed our bedroom to reach it.”
Vanessa’s face paled by careful degrees. “The door was open.”
“It is a private floor.”
“I thought the bedroom was a sitting room.”
“With a bed in it?”
Sophie began picking at the corner of a paper napkin.
Alyssa noticed and checked her temper. The child had already heard enough arguments about whether she and her mother belonged at the estate.
“Please change before Damian comes downstairs,” Alyssa said.
Vanessa’s hands closed around the shirt hem. “Of course.”
“Leave it with Carmen.”
“I can have it cleaned.”
“Carmen will handle it.”
Vanessa nodded and turned away.
At the doorway, Damian appeared.
He wore navy pants and a pale gray shirt with the sleeves buttoned. His gaze went from Vanessa’s bare legs to Alyssa’s face.
“What happened?”
Vanessa folded her arms across her middle. “I took a shirt from the guesthouse closet. Alyssa says it belongs to you.”
“It does,” Alyssa said.
Damian examined the shirt. Recognition arrived. “That hasn’t been in the guesthouse.”
“I must have wandered into the wrong room last night.” Vanessa gave a strained laugh. “I took the medication my doctor prescribed. I barely remember waking.”
“You crossed the entire second floor,” Alyssa said.
“I was looking for water.”
“Each guesthouse bedroom has a bathroom.”
“I didn’t realize.”
Damian glanced at Sophie. “Let’s discuss this elsewhere.”
“We can discuss it now,” Alyssa replied. “Vanessa needs to understand where she is allowed to go.”
“I understand,” Vanessa said quickly. “I’ll stay in the guesthouse.”
“That was already the arrangement.”
Damian’s eyes settled on Alyssa. “Enough.”
One word, delivered quietly.
Sophie tore the napkin in half.
Alyssa pushed her chair back. “You’re right. This is not a conversation for the kitchen.”
She walked out before Damian could direct the location as well as the timing.
The private staircase led to their bedroom. Morning light spread across the rug, revealing a damp footprint near the dressing-room entrance.
Alyssa stood over it.
The print was narrow. Smaller than hers.
Vanessa had not found the shirt in a laundry room. She had entered the bedroom, crossed the rug and opened Damian’s closet. She had selected a shirt carrying a visible history, either because she recognized it or because it smelled of him.
By the time Damian entered, Alyssa had taken a photograph of the footprint.
He closed the door. “She’s changing.”
“That solves everything.”
“I told security to remind her which areas are private.”
“Security should not need to explain that our bedroom is private.”
“She says the medication confused her.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I believe it’s possible.”
Alyssa showed him the photograph. “She walked directly from the doorway to your dressing room.”
“A footprint proves she was here. She admitted that.”
“She claimed she thought this was a sitting room.”
“She was embarrassed.”
“That shirt was behind six others.”
Damian loosened his cuffs. He had already dressed for the office, although he had told security he would work from the estate until Vanessa’s housing was settled.
“You searched the closet?” Alyssa asked.
“I know how it’s arranged.”
“So do I.”
His gaze moved across the room. “You think she selected it because she remembered me wearing it.”
“I think she entered our bedroom and chose one of your shirts. Her motive matters less than the fact.”
“I’ll speak to her.”
He crossed to the dressing table, found Alyssa’s coffee where a housekeeper had left it and carried it to her. Black, no sugar. He had noticed Vanessa’s cup with milk downstairs.
“I told her the private floor is off-limits,” he said. “The shirt was unacceptable.”
The simple agreement loosened something in Alyssa’s chest. Damian touched the back of her neck, his thumb settling where tension gathered after too little sleep.
“And the guesthouse?” she asked.
“I am still moving them. I promise.”
For a moment, she believed him.
“You keep speaking after she crosses a boundary.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Move her.”
“We are still arranging a safe location.”
“Three days ago, you could relocate a family from a hurricane zone before lunch.”
“That family wasn’t being pursued by a man with access to private investigators.”
“According to Vanessa.”
“According to a police complaint.”
“A complaint she made.”
Damian looked tired for the first time since Vanessa arrived. Gray shadowed the skin beneath his eyes. He had worked late again, this time with attorneys and security consultants instead of bankers.
Alyssa understood the fatigue. She did not excuse what he did with it.
“Julian has a property in Key Biscayne,” she said. “Separate gate. No company connection. His mother uses it in winter.”
“I’m not asking Julian’s mother to vacate her home.”
“She is in Vermont.”
“That doesn’t make it available.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa is safe here.”
Alyssa put down the phone. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The answer beneath all the delays.”
Damian rubbed a hand across his mouth. “You are making this harder than it needs to be.”
“Vanessa entered our bedroom.”
“She wandered into the wrong room.”
“You have offered more excuses for her in three days than you have accepted from me in eleven years.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Name one.”
He looked toward the windows.
Alyssa waited.
Damian’s phone rang in his pocket. He ignored it.
The screen showed a security alert generated by the estate’s administrative system.
During hurricane season, Damian kept a printed emergency-access sheet in the locked drawer of his study in case the network or his phone failed.
Alyssa had always considered the paper copy an unnecessary concession to panic. Damian considered it preparation.
“This isn’t a competition,” he said.
“No. A competition would require equal rules.”
He left to take the call in his study.
Alyssa remained beside the damp footprint until the air conditioning erased its edges.
At eleven, a foundation courier delivered the children’s supplies Sophie had asked about.
Alyssa found the girl in the library arranging colored pencils by length. Sophie had drawn the estate’s western fa?ade in black charcoal. Her proportions were good. She had counted the windows and captured the deep overhang above the terrace.
“This is excellent,” Alyssa said.
Sophie covered part of the page with her hand.
“You don’t need to hide it.”
“I forgot one window.”
“You included the service stairwell. Most adults miss that.”
The child studied her. “Did you build this house?”
“I helped design the inside.”
“Mom said Damian built it.”
“He paid for it.”
“Is that different?”
“Usually.”
Alyssa sat at the other end of the table and opened the box of supplies. Watercolor pencils, drawing pads, brushes and a compact set of architectural markers lay inside.
Sophie touched the marker case.
“You can use them,” Alyssa said.
“Are they expensive?”
“Less than the flowers your mother knocked over yesterday.”
Sophie’s eyes widened.
“I’m joking.”
The girl looked relieved enough to make Alyssa regret the attempt.
“Take them,” she said. “They belong to the foundation. We have hundreds.”
Sophie selected a gray marker and removed the cap.
“Mom says you make rooms pretty.”
“I make them useful first.”
“Damian said you designed the hotel.”
“He remembered?”
“He showed me pictures.”
Alyssa looked toward the open library door.
“When?”
“This morning. Before you came down.”
Damian had spent breakfast showing Sophie renderings of Alyssa’s hotel while Vanessa wore his shirt.
The scene should have pleased her. Instead, it felt arranged around her absence.
“What did you think?” Alyssa asked.
“The pool looks too close to the windows.”
“It is.”
Sophie frowned. “Why?”
“Your eye sees it as crowded. The architect wanted more rooms with an ocean view, so he moved the pool inward.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Many times.”
“Did he listen?”
“Eventually.”
The answer made Sophie smile.
Vanessa entered carrying a tray with milk and sliced apple. She wore her own cream blouse and pants again. Damian’s shirt was gone.
“What are you drawing?” she asked.
Sophie angled the page away.
“Let her work,” Alyssa said.
Vanessa set down the tray. “I brought you coffee.”
“I have some.”
“I wanted to apologize.”
Alyssa glanced at the cup. The milk had already been added.
She drank coffee black.