Taking a right, I headed back the way I’d come. As I approached the corner, two voices drifted toward me from the hallway.
“…then you should tell her the truth, Alec.” It was Stella, her tone high and insistent.
“But it’s not like I’m lying to her,” came Alec’s deep voice. He sounded distressed, and my stomach clenched. I suddenly had the feeling they were talking about me.
“Yeah, well, you’re not being honest either. She’ll resent you for that.”
There was a long pause, and I thought they’d walked away, but then Alec sighed. “What do you expect me to do, Stella? This is mydad we’re talking about. He always has to control everything, and I don’t want to lose her.”
“I already told you what I think you should do,” she said. Then, in a softer voice, “I’m sorry, but you know how I feel about your dad. He nearly destroyed my relationship with Oliver.”
This conversation was definitely not meant for my ears, and even though I wanted to wait for Alec’s response, I felt guilty for listening, so I retreated back to my room before anyone caught me eavesdropping. Collapsing on the bed, I decided to linger for a few minutes to give the two time to finish their talk.
As I stared at the ceiling, I replayed what I’d heard. Neither had mentioned my name specifically, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that I was somehow tangled up in a bigger issue. If that was the case, and Stella thought Alec was being untruthful… I couldn’t help but recall the call he’d made this morning.
Does this have something to do with Violet James?
Part of me wanted to be straightforward and ask what was wrong, but I had no desire to admit to listening in. And what if I was completely off base and their conversation had nothing to do with me? Then I’d come off as nosy and presumptuous.
Besides, Alec Williams was not a liar.
Right?
A knock interrupted my internal debate. When I opened the door, Alec was on the other side.
“Hey,” he said, stuffing his hands into his front pockets. He was still wearing his khaki shorts, which had dried, but he’d pulled ona fresh shirt and restyled his hair. “You ready? There’s something I want to show you.”
He smiled, and my heart swelled inside my chest.
With thoughts of Stella and the conversation forgotten, I stepped out into the hall. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 14
Alec clearly knew his way around Safe House, because he guided me through the mansion without hesitation. I tried to keep track—right, left, down a flight of stairs, left again, through an arched doorway—but the directions began to blur. Eventually we reached a set of stately looking wooden doors with fancy gold handles, and I felt like I was about to enter someplace important, like the Oval Office or the secret meeting hall of the Illuminati.
Lifting his chin, Alec gestured at the room. “After you.”
My heart picked up again. I wrapped my fingers around one of the ornate handles and opened the door.
At first, all I could see was black. But then my eyes adjusted to the gloom. We were standing outside a massive library—and an oddly shaped one at that. Rows of towering shelves filled with all sorts of titles stretched in all directions, which made determining the room’s exact dimensions difficult. In the center was a collection of armchairs, leather worn dull with use, making it feel like we were visiting a university library instead of someone’s private collection. I guess you needed a lot of books as a historian.
I wandered in the direction of the sitting area, my head tipped back as I took in the space.
“Glad you like it,” Alec said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to,” he answered, his voice tinged with amusement. He nodded toward the far end of the room. “Come on. Tour’s not over.”
As we walked, details emerged from the shadows, the first being an enormous oak desk. It was so solid and heavy looking that I imagined it grew straight out of the polished hardwood floors. There wasn’t an inch of work space because the surface was a cluttered mess. The books were the most noticeable, piled haphazardly like Jenga block towers. There were also enough potted plants—from mini ferns to spiky cacti—to form a small tabletop ecosystem. Perched near the front was a shiny nameplate that readProfessor Callum Perryand was surrounded by an assortment of colored-glass paperweights.
Next to the desk was a floor globe and, behind that, a wall of diamond-paned windows. A standing brass telescope pointed up at the sky, but there was nothing to see outside except for darkness. Not even the moon penetrated the thick cloud coverage. Alec turned on a reading lamp, put both hands on my shoulders, and steered me toward the window seat.
“Wait here,” he instructed before disappearing down one of the many aisles.
Taking a spot on the cushion, I noticed a thick book on the seat by the telescope. The binding was battered and worn, so I picked it up and turned to the title page. It wasn’t a novel, but an astronomy book. As I waited for Alec, I flipped through the pages, many of which were dog-eared, but one in particular made me pause. It wasa section detailing the constellation Hercules, and in the margins next to its picture, someone had scrawled a note:
You’re the song I sing
