“There were a few times when I was having cash-flow problems, and investors and bankers saved my ass by showing up at the right time.”
“You must’ve had a guardian angel.”
According to Tolyan, it was you. I have so many things I want to ask, events I want to understand better. Although Yu-Jin told me what she could, I know it wasn’t the whole story. But I’m afraid what Elizabeth might do if she remembers everything. At the same time, I’m afraid she might never remember or want to relive the last ten years.
Just how bad did it get that you contacted me five years ago? Why did you really give me the portrait? Why did you go to St. Cecilia alone? What’s driving you now? Will you forgive me for my part in destroying your dream?
Is it too little too late now? Was the charity dinner at the Sterling mansion the right time and place to make things right? Did I miss my chance?
Elizabeth studies every nook and cranny of the house. I follow along, not because I’m afraid that she’s going to hurt herself or get lost, but because I want to watch her reactions. I redid the place after I bought it. The previous owner preferred an ornate and ostentatious style. I wanted something simpler and lighter, with lots of ivory, gold and sea-teal with a few pink accents, the pink being Kristen’s idea. The furniture’s modern, with clean, simple lines.
I hired three interior decorators to work on the place, but somehow it never ended up feeling quite right. It still doesn’t, despite the stunning setting. Something vital is missing, although neither the decorators nor I could figure out what. I’m certain they thought I was either insane or being a jackass to avoid paying the invoice. I did pay the entire amount, but never spent much time at the Hut, hating the vaguely empty feeling it gave me.
Still… I want Elizabeth to like it. I’ve made a few modifications to the place since deciding to bring her here. Even if she doesn’t fall fully in love with it, I hope she can tolerate it or find a way to alter it to her taste.
Elizabeth stands in the middle of the living room, staring at the high ceiling with multiple ceiling fans spinning lazily, stirring the sea air. The sunlight pours over her, making her glow, and I suddenly understand what’s been missing. It isn’t a bigger couch or a livelier color scheme. It’s her—Elizabeth. She completes everything, making it the kind of place I never want to leave.
“This is a paradise,” she says softly, shooting me a brilliant smile that robs me of breath and speech. “I love it. Thank you for bringing me here.”
Then she goes to the second level. My mouth dries, anticipation and nerves tingling in my veins. The modifications I made are on the second floor. I want her to love them so badly that my stomach feels funny.
She checks out the master bedroom suite with its huge sitting area and contemporary four-poster bed with gauzy hangings. It has a built-in nook where you can curl up with a book or coffee. Just like any other window, it overlooks the ocean. The walk-in closet is bigger than my bedroom was ten years ago. The bathroom has a sunken tub with Jacuzzi jets by windows tinted for privacy, so you can look out, but nobody can look in. It also has a separate shower stall with five heads and a double vanity in front of an unfoggable mirror.
She gives me a quick grin, then checks out my study across the hall. It has some books, a couch and an armchair, a coffee table and a computer, a glass-top desk and an Embody chair. She doesn’t do more than stick her head in and quickly pull away. “Do you work a lot?” she asks.
“Sometimes, but things aren’t that busy now. I have an executive taking care of things.”
She nods. “You must have good people.”
“I wouldn’t have hired them otherwise.”
She grins. “Spoken like a brilliant man.” Then finally, she walks down the hall and opens the door at the end of the corridor.
Instead of hopping inside, she comes to an abrupt stop. My mouth dries. This used to be a guest bedroom, but I changed it so that it can be her sanctuary, a place where she can be what she’s always longed to be.
Three easels squat in the center. To the left is a huge storage space filled with canvases, sketchbooks and other art supplies. And in the center of the wall, right in front of her, is the portrait her grandfather painted. He meant so much to her, saw her gentle soul and steel. I want her to be able to look at it whenever she wants, even if she doesn’t remember its significance.
She runs an unsteady hand over one of the empty canvases, then slowly walks toward the portrait and runs the same trembling hand along the frame. Her throat works, and she starts blinking rapidly, her lashes spiked with tears.
When she turns to me, tears are running in rivulets. A hot fist closes around my heart, and I can’t breathe.
Her voice shakes as she whispers, “Thank you.”
The fist eases, and is replaced with a desire to give her everythi
ng and the moon.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper back. Then she launches herself at me, and I catch my angel between my arms, forcibly willing the disquiet in my head to shut up.
Chapter Twelve
Dominic
While Elizabeth unpacks her things, I start dinner. The property manager stocked the fridge and freezer with all sorts of seafood, meat and fresh veggies and fruit. Since he left us a huge package of fresh giant shrimp, I decide to stir-fry those with some spices and veggies and lay them over fluffy rice for dinner, along with mango and pineapple smoothies spiked with vodka—Dr. Raydor cleared her for alcohol, and Elizabeth enjoys good drinks—and a frozen peach cobbler to be warmed in the oven. I’m a decent cook, but not much of a baker.
When I’m done shelling and deveining the shrimp, Elizabeth comes down the stairs. “That looks delicious.”
“It will be, by the time I’m done.”