AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His cool words shook me. “Are you threatening me?”
“Yes. It’s not the first time. Behave yourself, or I’ll make you very sorry you didn’t.”
Two could play this game. “You like to hurt women, Ian? Why am I not surprised?”
“The only woman I ever wanted to do violence to was you, Bella-Beast. You haven’t yet goaded me into it, but sooner or later you will, if you keep on trying.”
Bella would too. She would taunt and bait Ian, as she had when we were younger, determined to get his attention. His disdain for her had driven her crazy, and she had always done her best to make him fall at her feet as most other boys did. As far as I knew, he never had.
“Why don’t we agree to keep out of each other’s way?” I said in my sweetest voice. “You see me coming, you change direction. I’ll do the same, and we won’t have to annoy each other.”
“Go back to the house,” he said again. “I don’t want to babysit you tonight—I’ve got better things to do.”
I looked at him. He had showered, his sun-streaked hair dark with water, and he’d shaved. “Got a hot date?” I said, irritated.
He grinned. “I do. And I don’t want my little cousin interfering like she always did when we were younger. Go back to the house or I’ll carry you.”
I glared at him. I was so tempted to say “I’d like to see you try” but I was afraid he’d take me up on it. He was strong, and he could do it. And I didn’t want Ian’s arms around me. “Wretch,” I said pleasantly, turning my back on him and sauntering toward the big house. The big shaggy dog automatically followed, until Ian called him back, and I controlled my regret. I loved dogs. And cats, and birds, and turtles, and hamsters—I had a weakness for small creatures, furry or scaled, but my nomadic life hadn’t allowed me to own any.
“I already know about ‘Ian the Wretch’,” he called after me. “You’re going to have to come up with something a little fiercer. How about Ian the Terror?”
I looked back over my shoulder. “You wish.”
His laugh followed me back to the house.
The ground floor of Mariposa was filled with large rooms, and I headed straight for my favorite, the ladies’ salon, hoping to God Mary Alice hadn’t coopted it. Of course it had the same soaring ceilings and dark beams, the stucco walls, but these were painted with a soft warm color, almost a blend of terracotta and peach, and the furniture was overstuffed and slightly shabby. It had always been a neglected room—I had claimed it as my own when we were young, and while Mary Alice and Valerie had objected, Granda had overruled them. They’d never shown interest in the shabby little room before, and they could make do with the vast drawing rooms or the library.
For a moment I was afraid that this had been spruced up like everything else at Mariposa, but when I opened the door I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the same. Spotless, of course—Maldonado would accept nothing less, but the pale, overstuffed furniture was the same, the cabbage roses on the slipcovers slightly more faded. The bookshelves were filled with books written by women, something Granda had always deemed beneath his attention, and there were brand-new glossy fashion magazines on the table in front of the old sofa with the high sides, typical of Maldonado’s attention to detail. There was even a small silver tray with a decanter of sherry and a set of glasses waiting.
The room looked out over the lawns, with one wall made up of French doors. I pushed them open, letting the stuffiness out and the deliciously cool night air in. I’d left my e-reader up in my room, but for the moment, all I wanted to do was stretch out on the sofa and look out over the landscape, lit by the reflection of the setting sun.
Granda would be able to see the sunset from his room, since it faced west, and I wondered if someone had bothered to open the shutters for him. I hoped so. A good granddaughter would go and make certain, but I was too tired and confused to do anything but lie there, watching the sky darken. Besides, I didn’t think I could handle much more of Mary Alice right then.
I had a lot to think about. About the possibility that Bella had come up with that hateful nickname. Ian had probably lied about that...but then, why would he lie to Bella, who presumably would know the truth? It made no sense. It had to be the truth.
It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. Bella had always had a sharp tongue, though her regret when she let it get away from her was profound. If she had come up with it, she would have been sorry. It would have been Ian who’d taken it and run with it.
Except that I couldn’t remember Ian using that name all that much. When we were alone, he’d called me Kitty. In front of the others, he’d called me nothing at all.
And I was starting to wonder who the hell I was. I poured myself a small glass of Mariposa’s stunning fino, taking a tentative sip and then humming with pleasure. I didn’t drink much, but I knew enough to savor the best.
Was I Kitty, impoverished graduate student and exile, here to play a game of charades with people I loved? Was I Kitty, Bella’s grown-up cousin, was I Podge, with baby fat and spots, a late bloomer? Was I Bella, the glamorous and charming, or the Bella-Beast that Ian despised? Who the hell was I?
I sank lower into the comfortable sofa. A broad expanse of lawn stretched out in front of me, the gardens and swimming pool off to the left behind a thick row of cedars. They used to have dances on that lawn, the people spilling out from the drawing rooms that led out into the night air. I would dream of dancing with Marcus. I would wear a flowing white dress, my feet would be barefoot in the grass, and for a moment I wondered if that was one more thing I could knock off my personal, Mariposa-ruled bucket list. If I was going to be stuck here, I might as well revel in it. I could live out my fantasies with Marcus, no harm, no foul, and when I returned to real life, it would be something to remember, to treasure.
I closed my eyes, trying to picture it, trying to imagine the feel of Marcus’s powerful arms around me, as the music played. His hands were warm, hard, as he pulled me too close, and I smiled as I rested my head against his chest. I looked down at our intertwined hands, the strength in his wrist, the scar showing white beneath the tan, and I broke the fantasy with a cry of horror. Why the hell had Ian hijacked my romantic daydream, damn him?
The scar.
I hadn’t thought of that day in years. In fact, not since my mother had dragged me away from Mariposa on that bright summer day, never to return. It was time to revisit that tumultuous afternoon from the perspective of my hoped-for maturity. Hoped-for, because Mariposa was making me feel like an adolescent again, roiling with hormones and emotions I had shut off years ago.
Bella had been bored. We’d spent the last few days lying by the pool, soaking up sun to turn our skin a golden tan. Bella had worn a thong bikini so scandalous I was both embarrassed and in awe. I wore a black one-piece and a voluminous cover-up when I wasn’t in the pool, and while sunbathing had always felt like the most boring thing in the world, Bella had made everything interesting.
She rolled over on her back, not bothering to adjust her slipping bikini top, lifted her expensive sunglasses and eyed me. “I’m bored, Podge.”
I didn’t bother coming up with suggestions—I knew they’d be shot down. Besides, she had a spark in her bright green eyes that always signaled trouble. I sat up, pulled my caftan over my head, and crossed my legs. “What do you have in mind?”
“I think we should go explore the caves.”
