I couldn’t sit around the pool any longer. The chair William and I had done it on last night was pushed back into place in front of a small coffee table near the outdoor fireplace. Every time I looked at it… Fuck it. I was going inside. I had a mission.
I started in the living room and worked my way through a media room and finally to William’s study. I wasn’t exactly looking for anything specific, but just for something, anything really, that might clue me in to what the hell was going on, William’s privacy be damned.
I couldn’t get over how much different this house was from William’s penthouse in Chicago. Everything here was warm and inviting, textured and bursting with color. I found framed photos of William and his family all through the house, along with souvenirs he’d obviously collected on his travels. And the art, which was everywhere, was spectacular. The house, like the penthouse, could have been a museum, but whereas his penthouse felt like a museum, this place felt like William’s home.
In his study, I found more photos as well as several framed pictures of celebrities, all signed to William. The one from Michael Jordan seemed to occupy the center spot, though Walter Payton and Dick Butkus were prominently displayed as well.
I imagined William as a kid, treasuring these mementos of his heroes. I sat at his desk and opened the drawers. I rifled through them and found a bunch of papers but nothing terribly exciting or damning as far I could tell. No dossiers on other women George might have found for him to date.
There were framed pictures on the bookshelves behind his desk: one of his family a few years before the crash and a more recent one of him and his aunt, uncle, and his three cousins. And then I spotted another one. In a corner, almost hidden behind the family photographs, was a framed shot of a group of kids, several in college sweatshirts. It didn’t take me long to find William in the picture. He looked young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and little thinner, but just as handsome. Standing beside him was someone else I recognized—Anya Pierce.
She too looked younger, but still beautiful. She was probably more beautiful now because she’d attained an aura of sophistication. In the picture, there was no trace of that. She was looking at William, who looked out at the camera. She had eyes only for him. Anyone could see that.
So there was a history there. And there was attraction, at least on her side. I didn’t want to think about the two of them together, and I wondered if William was with her right now. That would explain all the secrecy. He left me stranded at his house while he was off with his old girlfriend, conducting important “business.” Business, my ass. Maybe he was the commitment-phobe I had originally thought he was after all, and I was just the idiot who fell for his little game. I didn’t want to believe it, but I really didn’t know what to think right now.
I felt like my throat was closing and I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of here. Now.
I walked out of the front door and arrowed toward the nearest field of grapes; I wasn’t going to wait for William’s promised grand tour of his vineyard after all.
I hadn’t strayed far from the house when I noticed I wasn’t alone. A big, muscular guy with a shaved head and a military look was following me from a distance. Maybe I was imagining things.
I wandered a bit further, trying to clear my head and burn off some of my nervous energy. I headed toward the olive grove. I saw William’s hand in the order of the trees, which were planted in perfect rows, beautifully cultivated, and pruned. I felt as though I could see William everywhere on the estate. His heart was here, I was certain of it. But where was he? I could feel the tears welling in my eyes again, but I wiped them away, irritated at my own emotional outburst.
The burly military guy was definitely still following me. I cut down a row of grapes and backtracked, flanking him.
“Hey,” I said. He spun around, clearly surprised I’d outmaneuvered him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Darius, Miss Kelly,” he said when he approached. His voice had a slight eastern European accent.
“Why are you following me, Darius?” I asked.
He gave me a tight smile. “Just making sure you don’t get lost.”
Right. I’d bet he was assigned to keep an eye on me. What the hell was William afraid of? I really had questions now. “So, Darius,” I said, “Where is Mr. Lambourne?”
“He’s fine,” he said. “He will be in touch shortly.”
How many times had I heard that already? My definition of shortly didn’t seem to mesh with my absent boyfriend’s.
I stopped near the far edge of the olive grove, which I could see was completely charming, even under my frustrated gaze. A table and chairs were set up in one area under the shade of a large tree, and I wished I had my camera. I tried again. “Will William be back for dinner?” I asked Darius casually.