Penn shrugged. "We didn't really get into the whole spa, pampering, hovered-over thing. But it was nice, and I suppose I have you to thank for that."
"Don't mention it," Xavier said, but he looked at me with an arched brow.
"Thank you," I said and made a beeline for the house.
Penn's father was on to me, and I didn't like how his dark eyes seemed to look straight through me. I hoped he was about to go off on a round of business meetings or conference calls, but Xavier seemed to be at leisure. He strolled into the kitchen as I was washing an apple in the sink. I pretended not to notice him, but that made everything worse.
I got nervous and when I'm nervous, I sing. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I turned around and saw Xavier's face. The sharp suspicion was softened as he held his eyes almost closed and listened.
When I stopped, Xavier's eyes flew open. "You really do have talent and that's the truth."
"Why do you say it like that?" I asked, my fingers bruising the apple. "Do you think I'm lying about other things?"
"I'm not sure." Xavier was honest. "There's something you're hiding, but I'm not sure it has to do with Penn."
I shrugged, determined not to give an inch to a man who'd always gotten everything. "You're paranoid. Actually, it's very understandable. You're stuck in a situation that you cannot control where you are trying to protect people you love. The only problem is that what you're trying to protect those loved ones against will never be under your control. So, you're looking for someone to blame."
"Do they teach grief-counseling in hospitality school?"
I sighed. "Still studying my background check?"
"No," Xavier said, "and I'm not going to apologize about that."
I set the apple down and looked at Penn's father. "And, I'm not going to apologize for being here for your son. He apparently needed someone on his side for once."
Xavier gave a sad laugh. "That's the truth. I'm not against him–I've never been against him–it's just that we never seem to be on the same team. I just hope that you really are."
"Trying to control things that are out of your control is going to exhaust you."
His smile had a sharp edge. "So wise for someone so young. That's what's off about you. Still, I have to admit that you're right. Just remember, Corsica, love is out of everyone's control."
Penn joined us in the kitchen, wary of our quiet and serious tones. "Please tell me you are not trying to interrogate my future bride."
"No," Xavier sighed. "We were just talking about how love can reach out and knock you off your chosen path, no matter who you are or who you think you want to be."
"What was all that about?" Penn asked me when his father left.
"Are you sure he isn't on to us?" I asked, rubbing my forehead.
He snorted. "You're the one that invited him to stay here, remember? Don't worry, business will soon grab his attention again. The man can't live without his work. You'll see, nothing else will matter when there's a new deal on the table."
I felt my headache tighten. It wasn't Xavier that I was worried about. It was my deal with Penn. How was I going to keep up my end if I myself was falling in love?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Penn - 11
Corsica is wearing a new dress, I thought. Or maybe one of her few designer pieces in a new way. I didn't want to admit it, but I had snooped through her room earlier in the day.
She was a complete mystery to me, even more so now that I knew her suitcase was very light. Yet every day she was a new combination of fashion and expense. It seemed to prove she was used to making something of nothing, but I worried it also showed her desire for only the good things in life. What if Corsica wanted nothing but the best money could buy?
I could give her anything she desired, but that thought made my heart twist hard. That's something my father had tried to do with my mother. When it didn't work, he covered up the failure with alcohol and things only got worse.
Maybe this was Corsica, rich or poor, I hoped.
She swatted away my father's hand when he tried to add a few herbs to the sauce she was cooking. "I don't care how sophisticated your palate is, if you screw up my mother's recipe, I'll toss this whole pot in the ocean," Corsica said.
My father laughed, and I hated to admit I liked the sound. Instead, I sauntered into the kitchen and leaned over Corsica's shoulder. "Looks good, but not nearly as good as this outfit you're wearing."