“No,” Lola said, a bit too forcefully. “I’m not staying.” She tried to ignore the disappointment on their faces.
George looked concerned. “Are you ready for the inspections, my dear?”
“Yes. I’ll pass.” She’d studied everything she needed to know.
“What about your music?”
“I don’t know. We’ve written more than enough songs, but none of them are perfect. I’ve started working on one, but we didn’t get the chance to finish.” The tune came to her when she’d woken up with Braden inside of her a couple days ago. She hadn’t gotten the chance to play it for him yet. Guess she’d have to choose three from the songs they’d completed.
George’s eyes sparkled. “Well, you still have a couple of days. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Have you decided what to do with the property?”
From the start, there’d never been a question she’d keep the property. She knew how much Acropolis meant to Braden and she’d never take it away from him. “Yes. I’m not selling it. Braden can have the lease with the same rent for as long as he wants. You can give any profit to a charity of your choice. I don’t want the money.”
His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t you send the money to a charity?”
She choked back the tears and looked at the floor, not wanting to see her family’s faces when she gave them the news. “I’m not staying. Regardless of Rand’s decision, I’m leaving the morning after the audits.” She took a deep breath and raised her head. “I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry, Portia. But the earth is telling me it’s time to move on to California.”
She only hoped California would be far enough she could pretend she hadn’t left her heart and soul back in Michigan.
CHAPTER 18
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act 1, scene 5
Demetrius’s head reared back, hitting the stone wall that was keeping him upright. The three men, guards he presumed, continued to pummel him without pause. He no longer felt the blows which rained down on his battered flesh. He would not give up his Euterpe even if it killed him, preferring to die her lover rather than live as a coward. His only regret was that he could not protect her from her father, Achelous’s wrath. Or perhaps he could . . .
Taking advantage of their slowing jabs as they must have thought him close to death, he surprised his attackers by punching them in their kidneys, giving him just enough time to break free of their hold and run. He had to warn Euterpe that Achelous had discovered their affair and would kill her.
He darted across the field, racing to the hill of stones. From the top, he gazed down at his beloved, pacing the beach. He shouted her name and she turned to gaze at him with such love in her eyes, he would die a happy man.
“No. You must not come any closer,” he called. He ran down the hill to the beach, his last mission in the world to save her life. “You must go back, my Mousa. Your father has found you. He will kill you!”
A final blow to his head sent him to his knees and a spear nudged his chest.
“Any last words for you, mortal?” the guard asked with disdain.
“You can tell your master that death shall not keep Euterpe and I apart. Our love shall endure even after I have passed.”
“Let him go!” Euterpe cried.
His lover’s cry rang in his ears as the world turned black and death claimed him.
Hours after waking, the disturbing dream remained vivid in Braden’s mind. He didn’t know what it meant, but he’d already placed a call to a contractor to remove the Achelous statue from outside his home.
As Braden pulled into the driveway of his father’s house, he wondered again why his sister had insisted he come over this morning. She’d called and woken him with a plea to discuss a situation with her. He hadn’t been inside his father’s home in years, but for his sister he’d do anything.
The snow hadn’t stopped falling since yesterday, the skies gray and overcast. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and plodded through the snow to his father’s front door. He didn’t have to knock before the door opened to his sister.
“I’m glad you came,” Rose said, ushering him inside.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, taking off his jacket and tossing it over the banister of the staircase as he’d done thousands of times.
“Yes,” she answered simply before turning on her heels and walking toward the den.
He’d always liked that room the best in the house. The rest of the home was white. White carpets. White walls. White furniture. His sister and he used to worry about touching anything. The den, however, was warm and inviting where the other rooms were cold. Wood-paneled walls with shelves of books, plush beige carpet, and a wood-burning fireplace, it was the one room where Braden and Rose could be comfortable.