“It certainly is.”
When he pulled off the street, she gaped at the house. “What a beautiful home! Is it yours? I mean, do you own the whole building?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s been in the family for generations. I wanted us to meet here, particularly, so you could see it, the wedding and reception venue.”
He turned off the engine and led the way into the house. “Let me take you into the parlor—you can make yourself at home.”
“It’s gorgeous, Mr. Gaines.”
&nb
sp; “Thank you. Please, call me Edward. I hope I can call you Ariel.”
“Yes, please.”
“Here, let me have your coat.”
He hung her things in the foyer closet. He would, of course, dispose of the coat, the scarf, her clothing. But he enjoyed this part of the pretense.
He stepped back into the parlor, sighed. “I see my granddaughter isn’t here yet. She’s rarely prompt. I’m just going to make us some tea. Be at home.”
“Thanks.”
In the kitchen, he switched his security screen to the parlor, so he could watch her as he prepared.
He had house droids, of course, and replaced their memory drives routinely. But for the most part he preferred doing for himself.
He selected Earl Grey, and his grandmother’s Meissen tea set. He brewed it as he’d been taught—heating the pot, boiling the water fully, measuring precisely.
Using tongs, he added the precious and pricey sugar cubes to the bowl. She would add sugar, he knew. He’d observed her adding the revolting chemical sweetener to her tea. She would think the cubes a treat, and never notice they were spiked with the tranq until it was already swimming in her system.
After setting a lacy doily on a plate, he arranged the thin, frosted cookies he’d bought especially for this little tête-à-tête. And on the tray he set a single pink rose in a pale green bud vase.
Perfect.
He carried the tea tray—with the three cups to maintain the granddaughter fantasy—into the parlor where Ariel wandered, looking at some of his treasures.
“I love this room. Will you use this for the wedding?”
“We will. It’s my favorite room in the house, so welcoming.” He set the tray down between the two wing chairs that faced the fire. “We’ll have some tea while we wait for the bride. Oh, these cookies are some of her favorites. I thought it might be nice if you re-created them for the reception.”
“I’m sure I can.” Ariel sat, angling herself so she could face him. “I brought a disc with images of some of the cakes I’ve done, and some I’ve assisted in making.”
“Excellent.” He smiled, held up the sugar bowl. “One lump or two?”
“I’ll live dangerously, and go for two.”
“Perfect.” He sat back, nibbling on a cookie while she chattered about her plans and ideas. While her eyes began to droop, her voice began to slur.
He dusted the crumbs from his fingers when she tried to push out of the chair. “Something’s wrong,” she managed. “Something’s wrong with me.”
“No.” He sighed and sipped his tea when she slumped into unconsciousness. “Everything’s just as it should be.”
10
IN ORDER TO WORK WITHOUT GOING MAD, Roarke erected a mental wall of silence. He simply put himself behind that wall and filtered out the ringing, the clacking, the voices, and electronic beeps and buzzes.
Initially, he’d taken the names A through M, with Eve working on the second half of the alphabet. How could he possibly employ so many brunettes with names beginning with A? Aaronson, Abbott, Abercrombie, Abrams, and down to Azula.