A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

Chapter Eight

The next few days were unseasonably warm. We began spring cleaning, starting with the drapes in the great room. I dragged them outside and beat the dust out of them until my arms were reduced to two useless rubbery appendages. Mrs. Arnaud shook her head when she saw me stumbling through the door, buried over my head in heaps of costly Italian silk. Shortly afterwards, Theo came in and helped me hang them back up.

With his assistance, I was done by early afternoon, and the weather being agreeable, I decided to go into town for some shopping. I needed to buy a new pair of sneakers to replace the ones that had disintegrated on the road to the estate, and more of the body oil the parfumeur had mixed especially for me. Bulgarian white roses, a woodsy note of light musk…it was the one small luxury I allowed myself.

The charming town had one of everything: a bakery, a butcher, a church. I had spent hours walking through the narrow cobblestone streets trying to get lost. It was impossible. No matter which direction I walked in, I always found myself back in the center of town, the piazza, where old men sipped their espressos and winked at me as I walked by.

In the distance, the sky signaled fair warning of an approaching storm. A ribbon of delicate pink, blue-gray, and mandarin orange trimmed the horizon. As I hurried across a front lawn as tidy as a putting green, I spotted Giovanni spreading mulch on a flowerbed of flaming red geraniums. He paused to tip his wide brimmed hat at me and I waved back, afterwards continuing down the long gravel driveway at a brisk pace. Pushing the sleeves of my t-shirt up over my shoulders, I let the sun overheat my pale skin. The crisp, clean air, rife with the scent of fresh cut grass, invited me to take deep breaths.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, I sent up a silent prayer to whatever guardian angel had led me here. So much had changed in the past few weeks. There was still that dreadful second when I awoke, expecting to find my face plastered against the scratchy polyester pillowcase of the bed in my old apartment. Yet nothing was sweeter than the relief that washed over me when I realized it hadn’t been a dream.

I was floating on cloud nine when a familiar black car turned onto the gravel driveway. Instantly, I came crashing back down to earth. It slowed as it neared me. I didn’t look in its direction. Pointless, really. First, the windows were an impenetrable black. And second, I knew exactly who was driving. He was going to trample all over my good mood. Of that, I was certain.

The dark window slid down. He paused a beat before removing his silver aviator sunglasses. Arrogance incarnate. Nina Simone’s soulful voice drifted from the car speakers. ‘Sinner Man’. Hmm, how appropriate. He stared at me with a displeased curiosity––not unlike how one would inspect a new mole or a gray hair. His gaze did a subtle head to toe inspection of my person, and a small v appeared between his brows. With a heavy sigh, he turned down the music.

“Where are you going?” His audacity never ceased to amaze me. It didn’t even sound like a question, more like a reprimand.

“Into town.” I walked past the car. A moment later, I heard it moving again. The car pulled up next to me, slowly keeping pace. The passenger window slid open.

“Get in the car. I’ll give you a ride.”

I tried to refrain from looking horrified. Not sure I succeeded. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“That wasn’t a question. Get in the car.”

I stopped and turned, gapping in disbelief. The arrogance of this man was beyond comprehension and I’d had just about enough of it. I put my hands on my hips and blasted him with a scowl of my own. Although, I think, not nearly as terrifying. “I’m certain you consider yourself lord of all you survey. But last time I checked, I was not sold into slavery. So contrary to what you may wish, I am walking into town.”

His narrowed eyes reminded me of a sleepy tiger, right before it pounces on some poor unsuspecting baby elephant. “There’s a storm coming. Get in the car, or I will get out and put you in the car myself.” He couldn’t possibly be serious? He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t doubt it for a minute.” He was serious. I was also pretty sure that he could, and would do it. This was not a man that made idle threats. There wasn’t a soul in sight to ride to my rescue so I did the only thing I could––I got into the car.

The door barely made a whisper as it sealed shut, enclosing me in absolute luxury. My wandering eyes drank in every detail. The instruments were all black and sleek, the trim was gleaming exotic wood, the cognac leather interior hand stitched. It was immaculate. I felt terribly out of place, afraid to touch anything. The vacuum-sealed silence was interrupted by his deep, raspy voice. “Good girl.”