Page 88 of The Taste of Light
Anne's heart clenched, beating out of rhythm, and she placed a hand above her breastbone. "You are not making any sense. I thought you were old friends. Why would he use me?"
Griffin combed a hand over his windswept hair and stared at her, eyes flashing blue fire. "He didn't tell you about last summer? Of course, he didn't. If he had, how would he get his twisted revenge?"
Anne entered the hotel's foyer behind her brother, her arm numb from being pulled along the Chiado neighborhood. Her grand adventure had ended in Lisbon, after all. Still, the city of her dreams loomed overcrowded and gray. Pedro's lies had dulled the colors and hills as if her eyes had a lens turning beauty into ugliness.
Griffin paused in front of his suite at the Central Hotel. "You don’t need to fret," he said gruffly, fumbling with the door key. "Whatever he did to you, I will... I will make it all right."
Anne averted her eyes. Griffin was confident he could salvage her. To him, a girl's reputation was a cracked vase. One glued it back together and turned the repaired patch to the wall so guests would not see it. Anne wondered if a girl's heart could be mended the same way.
Griffin pushed the door open, and Julia shot to her feet. Even with her advanced pregnancy, she was beautiful, and mature, and intelligent, and very much Portuguese. It made perfect sense Pedro had loved her so desperately. Did he love her still?
Standing in a strange room, Anne chased the buttons on her glove, searching for clues on how a wayward relative should return to her family's fold after falling from grace.
Griffin cleared his throat and whispered in his wife's ear. Julia's eyes widened.
Shame coloring her cheeks, Anne inspected the sun-burned carpet, envying the part in shadows, protected from the light by the dinner table.
Griffin kissed Julia's brows and her mouth. Suddenly cold, Anne brushed her arms and looked away, unable to witness their intimacy.
"I will leave you ladies to your, er... subjects," Griffin said and exited the room.
Anne had taken Julia from her beloved Vesuvio, and her sister-in-law had the right to be angry. Anne was prepared to receive a lecture, even an outright tongue-lashing. But when Julia exhaled and opened her arms, a watery smile on her lips, Anne cried out and rushed to her. Instead of reproach, Julia's hug was all understanding. Coaxed by her steady heartbeats, Anne cried freely.
Julia bade her sit on the couch.
Anne obeyed dutifully and told her everything with a detached voice. By the time she had finished, her throat was hoarse, and she shut her eyes. "So, you see? I've been trying to help this man I thought was the hero, but it turned out he was the villain..."
Julia grabbed her hand. "When we are young, we believe people are absolutely good or absolutely bad. But the greatest vintage is not perfect, and the simplest wine can have redeeming qualities."
"But I trusted him." How could he have manipulated her so? "He took me with him only to avenge himself on Griffin."
"Can I tell you a story?" Julia asked, holding tight to Anne's hands.
Her sister-in-law had a gift for storytelling, but Anne didn’t care for one of Julia's tales now. She had heard enough horrible things about Pedro this morning to last her a lifetime.
Julia ignored her reticence and took a deep breath. "Once there was this golden boy, quiet and mature above his years. While all the children his age spent their time fishing and riding, he had more tutors than toys. His father hurt him terribly. One day, a girl found him by the river, his lip bruised. Back then, the girl believed herself quite a heroine." Julia's lips quirked up, her onyx eyes twinkling with unshed tears. "She treated his wound. The boy was starved for kindness, and he vowed he would marry her. But fate had other designs. The girl was betrothed to another, and the boy was sent away."
Anne couldn't help the ache squeezing her chest any more than she could halt Julia's words. Julia had known the noble Pedro who left for Mozambique, the boy who believed he could save the world.
Julia closed her eyes. "Ten years passed, and he returned. Changed. Hardened. But the man still carried the boy inside, and the boy still needed the girl's comfort. He fought, and he connived to make the girl his, because his father taught him—"
"Please don't justify Pedro's actions. Griffin told me how he tampered with your carriage and lied about you being his bride—"
"When I was sick and vulnerable, Pedro could've forced me to marry him, but he didn't. Last summer, I didn't think he wanted love. Not the love I share with your brother. He wanted salvation. In the end, he realized I couldn't give him what he desired." Julia, her gaze shining with determination, caught Anne's hand. "You are the one who will unlock his heart, who will show him what love is—"
"Please, stop." Anne had fervently wished for the perfect love of fairy tales, only to discover sharp-edged, broken, real-life love. Now she wanted neither. "It's over. I will accept whatever future Griffin will offer me."
Chapter 38
Lisbon'scrammedbuildings,theirbalconies wrestling above his head, engulfed Pedro in stark reality. Fernando's dossier against slave trading wasn't direct evidence of Pedro's innocence. He needed to speak with the king to explain his findings, but if he as much as put his feet inside Ajuda Palace to ask an audience with Dom Luis, he would find himself in iron chains.
But who could he trust? His brother's desertion brought to mind a practical and painful realization. Pedro had no one else.
A pair of officers on patrol crossed Pedro's path. Striding west, Pedro left the alley to Santo Amaro Avenue. He grabbed the railing of the Americano tram and propelled himself inside. Keeping his gaze down, he dropped to the backbench. The vehicle chugged along, the mule's hooves beating a staccato rhythm on the cobblestones. Pedro felt several pairs of eyes on him and lowered his hat. When the tram turned onto São George Street, Pedro jumped out.
The trees and green iron fence of the Estrela Garden poked his line of vision. Inside the park, he found the same old bench below the dragon tree. With a heavy exhale, he settled on the unforgiving seat, stretching his legs and crossing his arms.
Eight o'clock, and the sun began its descent beyond the Tagus. The view hit him in the chest. Lisbon's favorite summer pastime: an evening in the park. Children fed swans, their pinafores and short trousers mirrored on the lake's surface. Brazilian rosewoods, rubber trees, and the majestic Lebanese cedar shaded the walkways. A waltz spilled from the bandstand, and laughter flowed in the breeze. Couples strolled, their hands clasped. And in the center, the grand carousel spun, colors whirling in a rainbow of cheers.
