Page 31 of Hostile Secret
We follow the same regimented routine each morning whereby he drives me to school, never taking the same route twice in a row. In the afternoons, he waits in the parking lot at the farthest point from the school doors, wearing aviators and a sexy, stern pout.
Once we’re home, he escorts me over the threshold of Blackwater, ignores Daenis, and disappears. I don’t see him again until the next morning.
Ana and Valeria, the two girls I’d made friends with on my first day, have already asked the usual inquisitive questions about my background.
I’m the new student peaking everyone’s interest, who started at their school near the end of senior year, so it’s inevitable they’d be all over me.
Thankfully, I was able to shut their probing questions down by telling them my parents were dead and I live with my older brother.
The partly fabricated story seemed to pull a few heartstrings, because Ana invited me to her family home yesterday for supper. However, Giovanni’s immediate text response was two letters––no.
I’ve explored the vacant rooms on the ground floor of Blackwater Manor, each of them impressive and gloomy in their own right. Except for the library, it had taken my breath away.
From its towering shelves and countless leather-bound books to a wheeled ladder reaching the highest ledge, it felt like history oozed from the walls.
A trio of plush velvet couches positioned in front of a fireplace carved out of smokey black stone is where I hang out in the evenings, my legs covered in a knitted throw to ward off the chill.
Although there’s an eerie ambiance, I switch on every lamp and light a few of the pillar candles on the ornate mantelpiece.
So far, I haven’t minded being on my own. But overtime loneliness would likely set in much like dry rot and my new home would become more of an unforgiving prison. Blackwater is heavy with secrets and full of dark corners, but I don’t mind wandering about it. Not when I know it’s just me here.
Last night, I'd selected a new thriller novel from one of the lower shelves and fell asleep a few pages into it. I had no idea what time it was when I’d jerked awake, my heart pounding as a haunting wail petrified the hairs on my scalp.
The sound of it echoed around the high ceiling, the sorrow it brought floating all around me.
Daenis’ ears had pricked. Then she growled in warning before scurrying off the couch and bolting out of the library, leaving me all alone.
Instinct had propelled me to my feet. I rushed after my dog, following the sound to the moonlit kitchen where she sniffed the architrave around a big door locked using state-of-the-art fingerprint technology.
I’d pressed my ear to the steel, but heard nothing more. At that point, the silence became more alarming than the muted crying had been.
Now I’m sitting next to Giovanni on this sunny Friday morning, listening to my playlist in his charcoal Range Rover Sentinel. Yesterday he’d drove me to school in a midnight blue BMW X5 which makes me think he switches his cars like he does women.
I eye his perfectly proportioned profile and wonder if he’s really as heartless as André claims him to be. Because even though we both know I’m fully capable of carrying my own backpack, he consistently takes it from me and slings it over his shoulder instead.
Before leaving, he always shrugs into a dark jacket, even when it’s warm outside. Evidently, he prefers long sleeves to cover his glorious tattoos, concealing any recognizable features from the public.
I guess that comes with the territory of being so filthy rich, ruggedly handsome, and notoriously lethal.
As if sensing my silent inspection, he keeps his shaded gaze on the road ahead and starts a conversation.
“I have something important to take care of today, so I won’t be able to pick you up later. I’ve arranged for my personal pilot to fly you home in the helicopter.”
I smooth out the pleats in my skirt and skip to the next track on my playlist. Music haunts the air-conditioned space between his solid body and mine, his fresh scent making my heartbeat flutter.
Since arriving at Blackwater, I’ve heard a helicopter leave the grounds like clockwork every morning. I want to know who comes and goes.
“Does Booty call Betty make use of the chopper too?” I smirk at my silly name for his housekeeper. “It arrives at the house every morning.”
He shakes his head and sighs, clearly not finding the humor. “She does. The woman is free to come and go.”
“Where are you going today?” I ask, a sudden wave of apprehension prickling over me.
What an odd response to the idea of him not being around, and one that I don’t want him to know about. Regardless of the distance he wedges between us at Blackwater, I know he’s there––if I need him.
“Tomorrow is Saturday, so I won’t be at school. Will you be back by then?”
“I’m going out of town for a while.” His deep voice fills the car, but his answer doesn't satisfy me. “I’m sure you can amuse yourself.”
