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Not that taking down such things weren’t important, she just wanted to know whyhefelt compelled to do so.
Why? What is he to you?
He wasn’t anything. Her boss, maybe, if she was thinking of their marriage contract as a job. It was only that what he’d told her about what he was doing had fascinated her and she wanted to know more.
Such as what had led him to put everything he’d worked for—and to get where he was now, he would have had to have worked very hard—at risk. And not only what he’d worked for, but his life too.
What kind of man did that? That question had burned in her mind and the only answer she could come up with was the one thing she’d already noted about him: something was driving him. And it had to be personal somehow given the quiet ferocity in his voice and the glitter in his eyes.
Saving people wasveryimportant to him.
Not that she was surprised. Despite his anger with her the night at his mansion, she’d known he wasn’t the corrupt, jaded womaniser the gossip magazines made him out to be.
He was a knight in shining armour instead.
That’s not going to help your obsession with him.
No, it wouldn’t, and marrying him wouldn’t either. But then she wasn’t marrying him for herself, was she? She was doing this for Annabel.
The helicopter descended, heading for the helipad on a flat piece of ground near the most beautiful house. It was constructed of white stone on the side of a cliff, overlooking the sea, and consisted of a series of boxes and terraces on different levels, the terraces bordered by low stone walls. Greenery surrounded it, olive trees and cypresses and all sorts of other trees and shrubs.
She should have been staring out the window at her first glimpse of it amazed, yet her attention kept getting drawn to the man beside her as the helicopter came into land. He wasn’t looking at her, his attention out the window, and he was still talking to the pilot. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses again, the expression on his face giving no hint as to what he was thinking.
Why had he suddenly ended their conversation on the plane? Was the reason he was doing this painful? Because yes, it had to be, didn’t it?
Why are you so curious? What does it matter?
Perhaps it didn’t matter. Not that she had the right to demand answers from him anyway and she didn’t want to pester him. Annabel used to get irritated with Glory constantly asking her how she was, and she didn’t imagine Castor would take it any better than her sister had.
The helicopter came in to land and instantly Castor leapt out. A man was waiting on the helipad and Castor went over to speak to him. They chatted a few moments, then Castor was back, pulling open the door of the helicopter and helping her out.
‘I have some things to attend to,’ he murmured, his hand strong around hers as she got awkwardly out of the helicopter. ‘But Nico here will show you around.’
Then before she could say anything, Castor let her go and strode off down one of the white gravel paths that wound through green lawn and low shrubs towards the house.
Nico, who apparently managed everything, introduced himself, then organised for her bag to be unloaded, picking it up and carrying it himself as he led the way to the house.
It really was a beautiful house, all whitewashed stone, the pretty terraces she’d seen from the air shaded by pergolas overlooking the deep, pristine blue of the ocean beyond. Inside it was white too, with white stone floors and white ceilings. The rooms were large and airy and full of light, with lots of white linen couches and jewel bright cushions scattered here and there. White gauzy curtains fluttered in the warm breeze coming through open windows, and the air was full of the scent of salt and sun and oranges.
The effect was of casual luxury with a rustic touch that Glory found incredibly appealing. As she did the little touches of art here—folk art sculptures, and paintings and hangings, along with the odd black-and-white photograph that were clearly of the island itself.
Nico showed her to a room in the upper part of the house, with a big bed facing a long line of French doors that opened out onto a private terrace. The room was as white as everywhere else in the villa, as was the en suite bathroom complete with a bath and shower before huge windows that looked out over the sea.
It was incredible, and after Nico had left her alone, with instructions to treat the house as if it were her own, Glory had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Used to the LA heat, grime and pollution, and the run-down decor of the apartment she shared with Annabel,being here, where even the air smelled different, was astonishing.
After all the hours spent travelling, she felt tired and gritty-eyed, so she treated herself to a shower, revelling in the huge, white-tiled space, then stood wrapped in a towel in front of her suitcase, pulling a face at her clothing choices. Not that she had many choices. Eventually she pulled out her only skirt—a denim one—along with a clean white T-shirt.
She wasn’t sure what to do next and since Castor hadn’t given her any instructions, she decided to explore the villa, wandering through a series of interconnecting white rooms and short corridors.
Of Castor himself there was no sign.
Eventually she found herself in one of the smaller rooms where the walls were lined with rustic bookshelves that looked hand carved, the shelves stuffed full of well-thumbed paperbacks in various different genres, plus hardbacks on art and history and science and all kinds of other things.
There were a couple of large, comfortable-looking chairs positioned near the shelves, plus a generous window seat covered in cushions that looked far too inviting to resist. So Glory didn’t, curling up in it and gazing out the window at the afternoon sunlight bathing the island in a warm, golden glow.
She should probably call Annabel and tell her she’d arrived safely, but she didn’t move, gazing at the view and enjoying being in this beautiful place, in the kind of house that graced expensive home and garden type magazines.
