Page 228 of Chandelier Sin
I felt disgusted that he’d think of food at a time like this.
“No? An aperitif, then?” He turned and walked away.
Atticus and I swapped a wary glance and then followed him.
He led us out onto a veranda.
The setting looked familiar.
As Aemon sat at the head of the table, he gestured for us to join him. There was only a place setting for one, but soon a waiter appeared, his pristine uniform damp from sweat. He scurried about arranging two more settings. It wasn’t only the heat getting to him.
“Tell the chef they are joining me for dinner,” Aemon told him. “Last minute, I know.”
The young man gave a wary nod and hurried away.
The dining table was adorned with silverware, crystal glasses and porcelain plates, all gleaming beneath the light of an antique candelabra. Plush velvet chairs with gilded armrests circled the table.
Why this house?
I hesitated, refusing to sit.
We were wasting valuable time. Somewhere in one of these rooms my beloved Eloise was waiting. It took so much restraint not to scream her name, or bolt from room to room searching for her.
Atticus motioned for me to take a seat. How could he not know that this delay was torture, being so close and yet so far away from her.
The faintest traces of incense and sweet fruits hung in the heated air.
Twilight was descending, casting shadows across the garden. The old home exuded an ethereal charm, but anyone who lived beneath its high ceilings knew that was a lie.
The ghosts of a bygone era danced in the flickering candlelight. The memories of young girls running wild, the sound of distant footsteps echoing through my memories, whispering the secrets of a history never forgotten.
“Did you buy this place after I left?” I asked Aemon.
He reached for a napkin. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? That me owning this property has some sentimental connection to you.”
His words made no sense.
“Where is she?” I demanded.
“After we eat.”
If I showed revulsion at being in his presence, he could order his men to have Eloise removed while we dined.
Shay may not be able to track her if they left through the rear gate, the one used by staff.
Atticus stepped forward and pulled out one of the chairs.
“Yes,” said Aemon. “My wife beside me.”
I relented and walked around the table to sit beside him, placating them both. Atticus had to sense it, too, that this was the only way.
My expression remained serene, reflecting a woman who wasn’t fazed by this chilling drama.
The waiter reappeared and promptly opened a bottle of red wine, pouring three glasses and setting them before us. He quietly slipped away again—a man ordered to be insignificant in this world.
We’d had staff growing up. I loved every one of them. They’d been like my family. I’d always carried the guilt for leaving without ever saying goodbye.
Aemon sipped his wine. “Perfect.”
