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They never loved each other. He married her because she was young, from an old family, and had her own wealth to bring to the marriage. Just like my mother had been. He told me that the woman I chose had to be someone just like that. “Love grows where there’s commonality of purpose. And if it doesn’t, at least you will always have that to hold you together. But you must never yield your family duty to anything else.”
“All of this is your legacy.” Swish waves his arms around the vast room that’s been his seat of power for the last forty years. “You have to come back and make sure the Rivers name, mission, values, and ethics remain intact. Your family isn’t respected just because it’s wealthy. It’s because they use that money to do good, to create opportunity. They have been to Houston what the Medicis were to Europe during the Renaissance. And you’ve got to remember everything your father taught you. Gigi will do a good job keeping your feet on the ground.”
“What does she know about running a business?” I ask bitterly. I resent her already.
“The running of the business isn’t your role—the stewardship of the family’s foundation and money is. Your father died too young. You’re not ready, but I’m going to make sure that when your time comes, you are,” he says. There’s a calm in his voice that tears at me. How can he be calm? In less than two weeks my entire world has been ripped to shreds, and I’m being sent halfway across the world to live with a woman I don’t know.
“I don’t want to go,” I say, and I wish again that my parents were here.
I think about my brothers. They’re so little still. Stone, the closest in age to me, is only ten. But we’re close. Despite their mother’s attempts to put distance between us, we have always gravitated toward each other.
“I bet Eliza will be happy,” I mumble to the floor.
“Sadly, I agree. But even more reason why you should go.”
I listen to everything he’s saying, and with each word, a piece of my world goes dark. I promise myself that when I have the chance, I will be ready. I’ll do what I must. Go where I need to and when it’s time, I’ll come back and make my father and Swish proud.
Part I
16 YEARS LATER.
CASTIGNIOCELLO, TUSCANY
ITALY
HELLO
HAYES
“Can you hold the door, please?” a voice calls from down the hall. This is the third time the doors have attempted to close and someone has stopped us. I’m standing by the button panel and have no intention of pressing the “Door Open” button.
“Excuse me,” a woman behind me says and then a feminine finger complete with a short, but perfectly manicured, light pink fingernail slips around my side and presses the button just as the door is about to close completely. I was reading emails when I stepped onto the lift, so I didn’t see who was standing right behind me. But, now I can feel her. Her breasts press into the back of my arm and her perfume, something with roses, wafts up my nose.
If there were a single inch of space in the elevator I would turn around to see who she is. But there’s not. As soon as her finger disappears, I press the “Door Close” button and keep my finger on it.
“That was rude,” the woman behind me says as the door shuts in the face of the woman who called out for us to wait.
“Oh, well,” I say in return. I look up at the top of the mirrored elevator ceiling. I can only see the tops of our heads. Hers is crowned by a mass of blonde waves that appear to tumble down her back. It’s pushed off her tanned, delicate shoulders. Each one is bisected by two skimpy black strips of fabric holding up what must be a very lightweight shirt.
As the elevator stops on consecutive floors and people step off, it becomes less and less crowded. But she stays pressed to my back, and her hand moves, like she’s fidgeting with something between us.
I wonder briefly if she’s a pickpocket, and just as I start to turn around to ask her what the hell she’s doing, she speaks.
“Please don’t move. My necklace is snagged on your shirt,” she says with enough alarm in her voice to halt my movements.
The elevator reaches the next floor and a couple gets off. She and I are the only ones left.
“Shit, I can’t get it loose,” she mutters. I start to turn again. “If you move, it’ll break the chain,” she says again in her voice which calls to mind smoke. And rain. And sex.
“Yes, got it,” she says right as the door to my floor opens. She steps back and the rush of cool air between us isn’t refreshing. It’s just a very sharp contrast to the warm, soft heat that had just been there. I step off the lift and turn around. I stop in my tracks. Her eyes are wide set and almond-shaped. Their color is a medley of the same blues and greens of the sea that surrounds this villa. Not clear, but compelling and inviting. They make her face, which is a very nice face, completely extraordinary.
Her gaze is direct and questioning while our eyes are locked. Then, it travels down my chest, lingers at the waist of my low-slung shorts before they skim my bare legs and my sneakered feet.
I cough, and she looks back at my face. The muscles in my chest tighten at the naked admiration in her eyes.
“Hello,” I say and extend my hand. She flushes the prettiest shade of pink and tucks her hair behind her ear.
Damn.
