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Hotel Luna
Oh my. You were achubbybaby!” Sylvia squealed with delight as she picked up the framed photo from the table.
Rafe shot her an unamused look as a faint flush crested his cheeks.
The Dowager Countess of Fairfield glided beside her to admire the photograph, a fond smile on her lips. She was a strikingly attractive woman—intimidating, really—with hair as dark as her son’s and a pair of luminous blue eyes. It was easy to see how she had once commanded the stage. But she had warmly welcomed Sylvia when they arrived earlier at her suite to spend the holidays together. Sylvia had been a bundle of nerves from the moment they boarded the train in London, but Rafe had assured her that his mother was eager to meet her.
“She’s been begging me to bring you over formonthsnow.”
Sylvia frowned in confusion. “Really? But we haven’t even been together for that long.” It had been only five weeks since their enthusiastic reunion on the floor of Hawthorne Cottage.
Rafe turned away shyly. “I may have mentioned you in one of my letters from Castle Blackwood, long before I should have.”
Sylvia had been unexpectedly moved by this admission and hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind their entire trip.
Now the countess touched the frame with a perfectly manicured finger. “Oh, he was such a darling baby. And so sweet.Everyoneadored him.” Then she let out a mournful sigh. “I wish I had a whole gaggle of them.”
“No, you don’t,” Rafe insisted. “Then you never would have played Aida. Or Cordelia. You would have been stuck at home with us and absolutely miserable.”
The countess sighed again. “I suppose you’re right.” Then she turned to her son. “Did you ever resent me for not giving up my career? I’ve wondered…”
Rafe shook his head soundly. “Never. You were the best mother a boy could want.” Then he grabbed her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze before turning serious. “But promise me you won’t show Sylvia any more pictures.”
The countess pressed her hands to her chest. “But she mustsee the ones of you in your short pants with your pony.”
Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “You had apony?”
Rafe blushed again. “Only for a little while. When we lived in Greece.”
“Named Baklava,” the countess added. “His favorite food back then. Though the poor dear could barely say the word, so half the time he just called her Baki.” Sylvia shared Lady Fairfield’s delighted laugh. “Oh, it all passes by so quickly. Now look at you. I’m so glad you’ve come. The both of you.”
“Yes, she’s been planning activities for weeks now,” Mahmood Previn, the owner of the spectacular Hotel Luna and the Lady Fairfield’s long-standing partner, said. “You’ll have to stay at least a month.”
“Oh, atleast,” the countess happily agreed as she slid her arm around Mahmood’s, who gave her an indulgent smile. The French-Moroccan hotel magnate was about a decade older than the countess and tall and lean with a head of thick silver hair. Together they made an impossibly elegant pair.
On the journey over, Rafe explained that they had met a few years after his father’s death.
“Was that difficult for you?” Sylvia had asked, but Rafe shook his head.
“Given my work at the time, it was a comfort to know she was well taken care of,” he admitted.
Now Sylvia could see that for herself. The countess lived in a luxurious light-filled suite decorated in soothing hues of cream and lavender at the very top of Mr. Previn’s finest hotel, which was nestled on a cliff overlooking the bustle of Monte Carlo. Guests flocked to the Hotel Luna for its breathtaking views of the Mediterranean, relaxing atmosphere, and unparalleled luxury, all while being just a short carriage ride away from the excitements of the city.
“I’ve an idea,” the countess began, addressing Mr. Previn. “Why don’t you take my son to see the new electric light system you’ve just had installed while Sylvia and I have tea on the terrace. It’s so lovely out right now.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me already, Mama?”
“Of course not!” The countess waved a hand. “But Mahmood won’t stop talking about it, and I reached my limit days and days ago. Perhaps you’ll find it interesting.”
“The man who developed it worked under Mr. Tesla,” Mr. Previn added.
Rafe looked intrigued. “Oh, that does sound interesting. Lead the way.”
Once they left, the countess turned to Sylvia and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Whenever Rafe visits I always like to have them spend a little time alone together. I think it’s good for them.”
“Certainly.”
The countess then rang for tea and led Sylvia out onto the terrace. Despite the season, the weather was much milder here than in London. The brilliant midday sun sparkled off the turquoise water, while the air was lightly scented with sea salt and citrus from the lemon trees that dotted the hotel’s grounds.
