“It’s taking ages!”
“What are you doing?” a cold and stern voice interrupted us. Gooseflesh prickled on my skin. I knew that voice. I glanced to the top of the veranda—
And there was Cyrus Beck.
There was nothing familiar in his face. It was clean-shaven, coppery hair styled back from his forehead, perfectly curated, eyes flat and dark. The layers that the garden had peeled away had returned, tucking all of his wildness into refined edges.
Standing below him, in my sneakers and hand-me-down dress, Ifelthim judge me the moment he raked his eyes over my body. I fisted my hands. He tore his gaze from me and quickly hurried down the steps to his aunt, taking her other arm. “Are yousupposedto be walking up steps?”
“Ohhush, Sunny dear was just helping me,” Eula replied as he helped her up the rest of the way without me.
“The question stands, Eula.”
“I’m fine!” she groused as he sat her down in one of the rocking chairs, then she smiled as she took him by the arm and squeezed it tightly. “It’s nice to see you, Rus.”
The indifference of his face melted a little. It seemed even the great Cyrus Beck couldn’t withstand the power of Eula. “It’s good to see you, too, Aunt Eula.”
She reached up and hugged him tightly around the neck. “You’re all skin and bones! What have you been eating?Haveyou been eating?”
“I’ve been eating,” he assured her dryly.
Probably sad desk salads, and protein bars between meetings.
“Oh, this is Miss Sophie Drear! She’s the one I’ve been telling you about,” she said, motioning to me. “She’s quite talented.”
His gaze finally returned to me, sharp and annoyed. I resisted the urge to wince, remembering the letter. “Miss Drear,” he said in greeting, as cold as an arctic tundra.
“Mr. Beck,” I replied, and there was a tense energy between us.What did Eula tell you about me?I thought, and wondered whether I lived up to it, here or in the garden.
Eula glanced between the two of us. “Well, isn’t this lovely. Rus, you have Sophie’s new contract?”
“I left it on your desk upstairs,” he replied, though he was looking at my tennis shoes. I guess he disapproved of them. There was a buzzing sound, and he reached into his pocket for his phone. He frowned at the number.
“Always working,” said Eula knowingly.
“Excuse me,” he said in reply, and answered the phone as he left down the steps again. I resisted the urge to stop him, having to remind myself that it wasn’t golden hour yet, though it was still a relief when he stopped at the base of the steps and decided to pace there instead.
Eula caught me by the hand. “Dear,” she said in a hushed tone, “I’ve got a sneaky request for you. Show him what you did in the gardens? If someone as passionate as you shows him what he’s missing, maybe then …” She trailed off hopefully.
I was actually going to keep himoutof the gardens. “Sure, I’d love to,” I lied.
She smiled and let go of my hand. “I believe in you. Now! Where is Juliette? I should probably raise myself from the dead and go find atleasta little nibbly and then some bubbly before the party.” She wiggled her eyebrows and slowly got to her feet. I went to fetch her walker from the kitchen and met her halfway, before she took it and quietly motioned for me to get going with Cyrus.
“I will,” I mouthed with hopefully convincing enthusiasm, and she gave me a silent thumbs-up and left down the hall.
My fake smile dropped as I turned back to him. He was arguing with someone on the phone, his hands waving frantically, though he never raised his voice. He was the thoughtful, analytical sort of arguer. I felt bad for whoever was on the other end of that call.
He stepped aside as a group of guests passed him up the stairs to the veranda, and I nodded at them with a hello. As partygoers trickled in, most of them decided to stroll the grounds. The gardens were busier than I ever rememberedthem. There was laughter in the Rose Court and the race of feet in the Hedges. There was a family—I think I recognized Nicole from the grocery—under the ancient oak in the Central Garden, posing for photos in front of the waterfall of honey-suckles that had finally bloomed. I wished I could stop and soak it in, becausethiswas how Lilymoor was supposed to be enjoyed, and Cyrus just . . . was oblivious to it all.
As if he could sense me staring, he glanced up at me over his shoulder, and with an annoyed frown, he put his hand up to block the receiver. “What?” he asked quietly.
The coldness of his voice felt like a knife in my stomach, though since I knew exactly how warm his voice could get, it didn’t feel as painful as it might have. “Your aunt told me to show you around the gardens.”
He looked like he was about to say something, and then told whoever was on the phone, “I’ll check with my assistant and call you back,” and deposited his phone into his suit pocket again. “You don’t have to. I’ve seen them before,” he said to me. “I’m sure you did a good job—what’s that noise?”
I blinked. “What noise?” And then I heard it, too.
The unmistakable sound of a goose snaking her way through the underbrush. Then silence.
