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“I should let you get some rest.”
“Kensington.”
She smiled. “Yes?”
“I wish I were younger.”
“I don’t.” She kissed my cheek, stood, and walked out.
Ten hours later, my plane landed at the small airport on the island of Mallorca, where Kensington and Teagon would be spending the holidays.
I had the valet bring the Range Rover to the airfield, and on the way to the other side of the island, I showed Kensington and Angel around Palma, pointing out the Christmas markets in Puerto Portals and Plaça Major.
“Most of the locals have a bigger celebration on Fiesta de los Reyes or the Three Kings Festival than they do on Christmas, but you’ll find holiday events all over Mallorca. Perhaps tomorrow night we’ll come back into town and see the light and ice festival and have dinner.” I looked over at Kensington as she took it all in. “Is this your first time on Mallorca?”
“I was trying to remember the last time I was in Spain. It’s been years.”
“In Madrid, yes?”
“I was nine or ten. A girl.”
A child. And I’d been a man of twenty. The idea of it reinforced what I’d said earlier when I told her I wished I were younger.
I peered in the rearview and caught Angel studying me. Our eyes met and she smiled. It was u
nusual for me that I couldn’t get any kind of read on what she was thinking.
“Here we are,” I said, pulling into the drive that would take us through the acres of oak forest, past the olive terraces, two guest houses, and finally, to the main residence. To access the small chapel and cemetery and the winery that hadn’t been used in several decades, one would have to travel farther north, beyond the house.
When the property I now owned came up for sale, I’d purchased it immediately. The historic estate sat on over two-hundred acres and had direct access to the sea along with spectacular views of the entire Bay of Palma.
The main house had four floors plus a solarium on the roof, all easily accessed by a lift and completely renovated before my purchase. Each level above the lowest had decks or terraces that stretched the entire width of the structure.
The pool area and the trail that led down to the sea, along with terraced gardens with fountains and waterfalls, were on the lowest level. There was also an indoor-outdoor kitchen and barbecue, two changing rooms each with a full bath and shower, a wine cellar, laundry, and several storage rooms.
Still on that level, there was a one-bedroom apartment where my housekeeper lived, that had a lounge, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
The next was at driveway-level and had a garage with parking for five vehicles. Here, there was a large workout and game room, an indoor pool and jetted spa, and two combination bathroom-changing rooms bigger than most locker rooms I’d been in.
Above that were the main quarters with an expansive living room, a gourmet kitchen with a walk-in pantry, an office, two bathrooms, and two dining areas—one formal and one informal.
Four bedrooms were on the next level. Two had bathrooms en suite along with a shared lounge and dual dressing rooms. The other two bedrooms were smaller and shared a bathroom.
On the fifth floor, there was the solarium with an infinity pool and kitchen and two bathrooms. At the far end, I’d added another master suite with a dressing room, full bath and shower, a double-sided fireplace, and windows that rolled into the ceiling above, giving the bedroom area open access to the view of the bay. It’s where I slept every night I was home.
While the house was far too large for me to live in alone, I did, and the thought of sharing it with anyone rankled. It would be better if Kensington and Angel stayed in one or both of the guest houses. However, the reason they were with me at all was for Kensington’s safety. Could I ensure it if she wasn’t living in the main residence? Not as easily.
Instead, I’d let them stay in the suites on the fourth floor since I slept on the solarium level anyway.
“This is your home or your family’s?” Angel asked from the back seat.
“Mine alone,” I murmured, looking over at Kensington.
Her mother’s compound was more stately than this, and I doubted her father’s was anything less. Kensington had inherited her residence in London from her grandparents, and it too was imposing.
“This is brilliant,” she murmured, gasping when we came out of the oak canopy and could see the bay.
I’d never cared about another’s opinion of my home. It was mine. With Kensington, her praise made my chest puff out.
