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The question hung in the air.
“Oh, Miss,” Yaya mocked, rolling her eyes and leaning forward, batting Raf’s arm. “Don’t flirt with this one. I like her too much.”
Lauren dipped her head forward, hiding the expression of terror she knew would show on her face. Please don’t flirt with me. My heart won’t cope.
She knew the weaknesses Thom’s death had exposed her to and the strength that had been born from it – it was a strength that required her to be single, always. To be alone, forever.
“I’m simply asking her name.”
Lauren’s smile was as close to rejection as she could politely get. She employed the same reaction whenever a man behaved in a way that showed he might feel a degree of interest. “It’s Lauren Monroe.”
“Monroe?”
“Yes. Like Marilyn.” She’d heard the comparisons before. With pale blonde hair and a voluptuous figure, it was an easy leap for people to make.
“Raf,” Yaya’s voice held a warning. “Leave it. Tell me of Argentina.”
Raf winked at Lauren and despite her best intentions a burst of warmth fired to life inside her veins. She turned away on the pretence of tidying Yaya’s side table.
“Have you heard of Refugio Frey?”
Yaya’s laugh was a cackle. “You know I haven’t. Tell me about him.”
“It,” he corrected, “is a hiking track near the border of Chile. Some of the most intense terrain you can imagine, with the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen, the sky takes on a colour that’s impossible to describe. The deepest shade of blue, like a squashed berry. The mountains are snow-capped, craggy and sharp, steep so that if you fall you’ll drop right through the centre of the earth.”
Yaya made a noise. “Now I know you are teasing me.”
Lauren risked a glance at Raf. His brows were lifted. “Not at all. The tracks are perilous.”
“But you are skilled.”
“I’m experienced.”
“And careful, for me.”
“Always.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the paper skin of her brow, brushing aside some of her hair. “Have you been outside recently? You look pale.”
Yaya looked down at her hands, a frown on her face as though trying to reconcile the knobbly joints and fine bones with those she saw in her mind, those she remembered from decades ago.
“Not for a while.”
Raf looked to Lauren and heat bloomed in her body. She was glad she wasn’t prone to blushing. His voice was gravelled, a hint of accusation in his tone as though he suspected Lauren was in some way responsible for Yaya’s incarceration. “It’s important for you to be outside. I’ll help you to the courtyard once you’re ready.”
Lauren silently approved; she too had been advocating for a relaxation on the doctor’s orders, but she’d been overruled to date. She knew with a member of the family’s agreement that the possibility of taking Yaya outside was far greater.
“They don’t let me.” Yaya’s voice grew pale, tremulous. Lauren understood. She’d seen this before. The fear, not just of death but of becoming irrelevant, a recognition that people were starting to infantilise you and remove your power. It was one of the reasons she did this work – to advocate for her client’s needs.
“Of course they will,” she soothed, moving to Yaya’s side and gently putting her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “We’ll have the doctor sign off on it today.”
Her eyes lifted to Raf’s and she saw questions there but also a hint of resolve. “I have no intention of allowing anyone to keep Yaya a prisoner in her room. This is her house and she should have the run of it as she sees fit. I hope that’s understood.”
Cristo. He hadn’t meant to scold Lauren Monroe but he heard the words and recognised that they sounded combative and critical.
Her expression though was as unchanging as it had been since he’d arrived at Yaya’s door. He’d stood there for a few minutes, a silent observer, watching the way Yaya spoke to the younger woman, her voice airy with age, his attention caught between his grandmother and the grief counsellor.
There was something in the latter’s behaviour that piqued his interest. Her manner was cool. Ice cold, in fact, as though she was determined not to like him, and that was in and of itself an unusual experience. He wasn’t an egotist but it was impossible not to recognise the effect he had on women. Lauren Monroe, however, was immune. As he’d entered the room his gaze had swept her body, lingering on her hand. He’d half-expected to see a wedding ring, and had laughed at his arrogance when there’d been none – only a simple gold band on one of her fingers on her right hand, a gold band she toyed with often.
“I’m bound by the doctor’s instructions,” Lauren’s voice was flattened of emotion. “But rest assured, I’ve already left several messages for him to call me. I agree with you. The sun, the light breeze, these are perfect environments for recuperation.” She smiled kindly at Yaya. Raf watched the way her expression changed, from the icy look she’d offered him to the relaxation he saw when she turned to his grandmother.
