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Chapter Eighteen
Raven
It was like something out of a woodland fairy tale. A foundation of stone held up two stories of rich cedarwood walls. There were windows everywhere. Stone columns supported a wraparound balcony that overlooked forest as far as I could see. I could hear the trickling of water nearby. A stream, maybe, and I could so easily picture it winding through this peaceful place.
“This is beautiful,” I said, still looking around in awe.
“Thanks,” Nico said, but the jut of his chin and the pride shining in his eyes said this was more than just a house he’d purchased.
“You designed it, didn’t you?”
His eyes widened just a little and then narrowed. “How did you know that?”
I shrugged. “You don’t just seem happy when you look at it. You look proud. You created this.”
“Yes, I did,” he said, then motioned for me to accompany him up the stone steps to the dark double door entryway at the top.
I wanted to ask him more about the house and find out his inspirations behind the design. But the odd tension in the air told me to drop it.
He pressed his large hand flat against a screen on the wall next to the door, which made a quiet click a moment later, and he pushed one of the doors wide open.
“After you,” he said, gesturing for me to go ahead.
Inside, the house was no less impressive than the exterior. The wide plank wood floors throughout the open concept main floor were dark, but everything else was light. Off-white walls, cream-colored rugs, light sage sofas in the living room, pale wood furniture in the dining room. There were no curtains or blinds on any windows, leaving an unobstructed view of the forest surrounding the house. I could imagine the interior on a bright, sunny day filled with so much light it would warm the coldest soul right through.
I noticed Nico watching me as I gazed around this tranquil oasis. It must have been a trick of the light, though, because the way he was looking at me, it was like he was gauging my response, trying to decipher what I thought of his home.
“It’s incredible,” I said, just in case.
He nodded then led me through the house without another word.
Every piece of furniture and every piece of artwork on the walls looked like they belonged here, like they’d been handcrafted for this very home. A pale wood coffee table that matched the dining table. An abstract woodland painting done in soft, earthy pastels. The only thing that didn’t blend perfectly with the décor was the scent.
I imagined this place would have smelled like pine forest and rich earth on any other day. Today, the savory scent of roasted garlic and the camphoric aroma of oregano wafted from the kitchen at the far left end of the open floor.
Nico made a straight line for the wall oven in the corner, opened it up, and slipped on an oven mitt to withdraw the dishes warming inside. One by one, he placed them down on the pale beige granite counter beside the oven: pasta dishes, potatoes, fresh breads, vegetables baked to golden perfection.
“Did you make all this?” I asked, trying not to sound surprised but failing miserably.
“No.” He barked out a laugh as he transferred the uncovered dishes to a side table next to the pretty bistro table already set ten steps away. “The kitchen was my mother’s domain growing up, mainly because my father didn’t venture in there too often.”
He flinched the moment the words were out. I didn’t have to wonder why. That was an awfully personal piece of information he’d let slip, and I imagined he didn’t make mistakes like that very often.
“I can make a mean French toast,” I offered. “I can’t explain it. I’ve been told I must have been born without a cooking gene.”
It wasn’t as personal as the bit of information he’d offered up accidentally, but it was a piece of me, nonetheless. It had frustrated me to no end all the times Greta had pulled together an eggs Florentine breakfast or an eggplant parmesan dinner effortlessly while I struggled not to screw up heating soup from a can.
“I suppose that’s why God created caterers,” he said, like it was normal to hire someone else to cook meals every day.
I scoffed. “Yeah, right. Try paying for a caterer and a full-time college education,” I said but then immediately felt stupid.
Nico Costa was next in line in Lorenzo Costa’s empire. He would know nothing about juggling bills. As the dead not-dead daughter of Vincent Luca, I should have never known what it was like either. Vito had offered countless times to pay for my college education, but I refused every time. I did not want to give him that burden. And maybe, deep down, I wanted to do something on my own. So, I had worked hard, gotten every scholarship I could, and worked and saved up every summer to pay for what I could.
Nico looked at me strangely then pulled out a chair for me without saying a word. I sat down, and his fingers at the back of the chair brushed across my back, sending shivers through my whole body. He remained still for a moment, and I thought—or maybe hoped—he was going to touch me again, but he didn’t. Instead, he took the seat across from me while I tried to ignore the wave of heaviness that weighted down my chest.
“You said you were going to school to become a nurse.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, so I nodded.
