I nodded. “Yes. Once you get into the realms of Prix St George level dressage horses, the prices are mostly ‘POA’.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m not unfamiliar with the equine industry. I just didn’t expect you to compare the menu lacking prices to the lack of prices on horses.” He started chuckling as he looked down the list of foods available.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” I said, a smile tweaking at my lips.
We fell into silence as we decided what to eat. I settled on some posh sounding grilled king prawns to start and lobster for my main. Seafood I could never get enough of. The waiter came over and took our orders. Marcus decided to eat the same as me, his sapphire eyes twinkling with mischief as he told the waiter two of the same.
“You like seafood too?” I asked.
“I usually have it for starters, then red meat for mains. I’m intrigued how it follows to have both courses entirely seafood.”
“Is this where you tell me that you have to have the right wine to go with the right meat?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Technically, yes.” He glanced sideways at his precious bottle of wine. “Actually, that wine there would be a perfect compliment.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The wine that’s still got an empty place in your wine cellar?”
He nodded. “I’ve been missing it all this time anyway. Never thought I’d get it back.”
He lifted it from the bucket and before I could protest further, unwrapped it, and pulled the cork out like it hadn’t even been there. Pouring the rich red liquid into my glass, he filled it before then filling his own.
“Enjoy,” he said, lifting his glass.
I picked my glass up and smiled at him before taking my first sip of expensive vintage wine. The fruity flavour exploded over my tongue instantly. As I swallowed the thick rich liquid, spices, and I swear an earthy, leathery taste, chased down my throat.
“Wow,” I said. “This is…intense.”
Marcus sipped at his and then put the glass down. “The year this was made, was quite a year. It was intensely hot, over thirty-five degrees, and everyone expected the harvest to be an absolute disaster. Grapes were shrivelling on the vines and in September, harvest time, the heat was blistering. However, Cheval avoided the damaging effects of the heat purely down to its positioning—on a gravel bank to the right of the Dordogne, which made it cooler than other vineyards. Whilst other growers were fighting to get hold of ice to throw in their vats to cool the wine, Cheval left theirs alone, which resulted in this intense vintage at fourteen-point-four percent alcohol.” He took another sip and closed his eyes. “It’s almost like port. Absolutely delicious.”
I raised my eyebrows and smiled at him. “You really know your wine, don’t you?”
He opened his eyes, vibrant and full of vigour. “You could say.”
“You talk about it like you were there,” I said, thinking over the history of the wine and the way he told it.
“I’ve spoken to a lot of people who are familiar with its origins,” he replied, very quickly.
The waiter came over then with our drool worthy starters, halting the wine orientated conversation. I wasn’t going to say anything to him but his strange behaviour this evening hadn’t been missed.
Thankfully, the rest of the evening went without a hitch and we managed to enjoy our food and the entire bottle of wine. Marcus settled the bill, not letting me look at the prices which in one way made me feel relieved, but in another made me anxious about just how expensive the meal had been.
Drinking half a bottle of wine had definitely taken its toll on me. It would be fair to say I was more than a little tipsy. I couldn’t help but think about my last night with my mum. Marcus slid his arm around my waist and helped me out of the restaurant. The fresh air hit me like a bulldozer, making my head spin even more.
However, stepping outside brought its own bout of problems. Marcus pulled his car keys out of his pocket and a dawning realisation hit me.
“You can’t drive,” I said. “We’ve just shared a three-litre bottle of wine!”
He chuckled. “Caitlyn, I’m fine. Trust me.”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. I lunged at his hand, trying to grab his keys. “No way. Just because you feel fine, doesn’t mean you are fine. There’s no way you’re driving. We need to call a taxi.”
He effortlessly moved his hand out of my reach. “Caitlyn, I’m not leaving my car here overnight.”
“You should have thought about that before you cracked open that bottle of wine.”
“I’m ok, Caitlyn, trust me. I won’t even measure on a breathalyser.”
I laughed. “In what world could anybody drink a litre and a half of wine and not have any measure of alcohol in their system?” I shook my head. “Do you think you’re Superman or something?”
He grinned at me. “No. Batman.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. “Marcus, let’s just call a taxi. Please?”
“Will you just trust me?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to willingly get into a car with someone who is drunk. I don’t want to die and neither do I want to be a part of any accident that involves the death of someone else.”
He sighed. “Nobody is going to die, Caitlyn.”
The fact he didn’t have a problem with drink driving became a serious turn-off for me. How could he even begin to justify his actions here? I couldn’t understand it. Everything else about him was so…perfect, this just didn’t make sense.
“You know what?” I said, pulling out my phone. “If you want to drive, that’s ok, but I’m going to find my own way home.”
“Caitlyn,” he said, putting his hand on my phone screen. “Don’t do that. I’ll call us a taxi, ok?”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Even though my world spun, and my body tingled from the sheer amount of wine I’d consumed, I had enough mind to consider the possibility that maybe my dad had been wrong about this guy all along.
Chapter 19
The taxi ride back to Marcus’ house turned quiet and tense. Despite him holding my hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of it, I could do nothing but stare out of the window. I kept replaying our last conversation repeatedly in my mind. Everything about this man seemed perfect…too perfect. He definitely appeared too good to be true. Everyone had a vice. Maybe his vice happened to be drink driving. If that were the case, could I pursue this relationship?
I squeezed my eyes shut. Deep down I knew the answer without a doubt—no. When the taxi finally came to a stop, I pulled myself out of my negative musings. We’d come to a stop in front of a huge country mansion.
As Marcus paid the driver and stepped out of the car, I could do nothing but stare up at the grand white three storey house. When a cool draft breezed over me, I realised Marcus had opened my door. I turned my head to see him stood with his hand out, waiting for me to get out.
“This is your house?” I said, placing my hand in his and letting him take my weight as I stood up.
He grinned. “No. I just like to pretend it is by getting random strangers to bring me here and pay them for the privilege.”
“Not funny,” I said, giggling. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”
Marcus closed the door on the taxi and slid his arm around my waist. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Humble? This is like something the National Trust should own.”
He laughed. “It’s belonged to my family for five centuries.”
I gazed around me in awe. A carriage drive with sandy coloured gravel encircled a white stone fountain, complete with a black iron ornate water feature in the middle. The grass had been perfectly edged to the gravel, not a blade out of place. When I looked to the left of the house I saw a stunning view of the sea that took my breath away. I’d never seen anything so picturesque.
“Where are we?”
Despite staring out of the window all the way here, I hadn’t really paid atte
ntion to where we were headed. Several dozen trees created a barrier on the neatly cut grass, obscuring any view in the direction of civilisation.
“We’re in between Saltwick Bay and Hawsker-cum-Stainsacre. Nothing but green fields that way—” he pointed to the right “—and sea views that way,” he said, pointing to the left.
“It’s incredible. I’m totally in love.”
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath of salty fresh air, letting the cleanliness wash through my veins.
“Are you ready for the grand tour?” Marcus asked, squeezing my waist.
I opened my eyes and took a final glance around. As beautiful as this was, something felt off, missing. It seemed staged, almost too perfect. I smirked at the irony. Too perfect house, too perfect guy. Still, I kept my thoughts to myself as he led me towards the black wooden front door.
When he opened the door, I don’t know what I expected, but I certainly didn’t expect such simplistic luxury. Black and white marble flooring covered the entrance hall, it sparkled yet still somehow held an aged tone to it that fit with the old style of the house.
The walls were a beautiful deeply polished mahogany, a couple of oil paintings hung up with softly lit spotlights hanging over them. An archway to the right led through to what I presumed were rooms. Against the left-hand wall, the staircase curled gently round back on itself as it wound upwards.
To the left sat a beautiful dining room, no doors, just a matching archway to the other side of the entrance hall. A long glass table complete with black leather high backed chairs stole the middle of the room.
“I don’t know what to say. It’s gorgeous.”
“Most people say they expected the house to be kept in time with its age,” Marcus replied, chuckling. “But my father has always liked keeping with the times and loves the whole modern look.”
“He’s got great taste.”
Marcus laughed. “He hired an interior designer. This is what his money produced, not his own thoughts.”
He took me around the house, showing me the reception room, living room, games room complete with a full-size pool table, and even an impressive and extensive library.
When he led me back into the entrance hall, I realised we were then going upstairs. My heart started pounding and my mind started racing with endless thoughts of what could happen. When we reached the top of the stairs, I became strangely disorientated.
The landing split left and right but then also split backwards as well, joining back up behind us. A large window in front of me gave a view of the drive, orientating me to the front of the house. The soft cream carpet massaged my bare feet. I wanted to lay on it and fall asleep.
As I turned around, a huge oil painting stole my attention. It hung on the back wall, three spotlights positioned above it casting dull yellow tones onto the aged picture.
“Oh my,” I breathed. “That’s extraordinary.”
A family of four stood together, the mother and the father sat down, their gold chairs turned slightly towards each other. Stood behind them were a young man and a young woman. The young man had a hand on his father’s shoulder, and the young woman a hand on her mother’s shoulder. The beautiful corset dresses immediately screamed Victorian to me, but I could have been wrong.
Long red curls tumbled either side of the mother’s face, her hair pinned into a fancy up-do. Her daughter, her hair also red but lighter, blonder, had her hair braided one side. The father had a moustache that reminded me of Poirot and the son held a regal stance that sent a shiver down my spine.
“My ancestors,” Marcus said. “My father’s grandfather is the older gentleman.”
“That’s so cool. You’re looking at your grandfather when he was just a young man. How old would he have been there?”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Around eighteen.”
I couldn’t help but stare at his grandfather. His eyes were just like Marcus’. “You have your grandfather’s eyes.”
He smiled but said nothing, instead gently tugging my hand to lead me to the right. I presumed for some reason we were going to turn right again and head along the landing towards the painting, but we didn’t. He led me on past the mini T junction down a corridor with a door at the end. I counted thirty steps before we reached it.
Hanging on the walls either side of me were more oil paintings of fields, birds, dogs, horses, and even scenic views of lakes and mountains, each with their own spotlight of course.
“This is my sister’s room. If you need clothes or anything, she has an entire room full of them.”
He opened the door to reveal a king size bed pushed up under the window to the left, then the rest of the room filled with clothes, like a walk-in wardrobe. Tops, trousers, jeans, dresses, ballgowns, shelves of shoes, handbags hanging from pegs, scarves. I didn’t need clothes shopping with Hannah—this was the shop.
“She sleeps in her wardrobe?”
He laughed. “That’s Emaleia.”
“That’s a pretty name—Emma-Leia,” I repeated, sounding it out.
“Don’t ever call her Em, Emma, Ems or anything of the sort. She hates it. It’s full pronunciation or you suffer her wrath.”
I giggled. “I went to school with a girl called Kimberley. She would get so angry when people shortened it.”
He closed the door and then proceeded to tell me the room at the far end of the other corridor belonged to his parents. For obvious reasons we weren’t going to go in there. Taking us back to the little junction, he then turned us down the landing that led towards the painting. I couldn’t stop staring at his grandfather. He was striking, Marcus had inherited a lot of genes from his father’s side for sure.
As we reached the back wall, a door sat at the end, on the left, and one matched it across the other side. A landing between the two doors led right underneath the painting and I wondered how small I would feel in comparison to the painting if I stood under it.
“I wonder how long it took the artist to paint that,” I said, still staring at it. “It’s ginormous.”
“About seventy hours.” He then said quickly, “That’s what grandad said anyway.” He placed a hand on the door to the left and said, “This is the guest room. It’s not very big. Emaleia knocked into it when she ran out of space in her wardrobe.”
I laughed. “Makes sense.”
“My room is over there,” he said, pointing at the door on the other side.
As he led me across the landing underneath the painting, I couldn’t help but gaze up at it in awe. The intricate detailing on the gold picture frame had me as mesmerised as the painting itself.
“You’re really quite taken with that, aren’t you?” he said, a smirk tweaking up at his lips.
I nodded and stopped. Craning my neck backwards, I couldn’t see the full picture like I could on the other side of the landing, but his grandfather’s startling blue eyes stood out like cats eyes in the dead of night.
“That also looks like it should belong to the National Trust,” I said.
He laughed. “Not sure they’d be interested in my family tree.”
I finally tore myself away from the painting and let him lead me into his room. I expected modern and minimalistic, but I found myself stepping into something comfortable, and, in comparison to the rest of the house, old.
A four-poster bed stole the middle of the room. A dusky red paint decorated the walls halfway down, then polished mahogany for the lower half. In the far-right corner, a door led somewhere, and to my left, glass double doors opened out onto a balcony.
“En-suite,” Marcus said, nodding towards the door in the corner.
“Very posh,” I replied, giggling.
He kissed the back of my hand and then walked over to a record player nestled against the back wall. A couple of seconds later, classical music quietly filled the air, smooth, relaxing, and subtle tones immediately relaxed my nervousness.
As he walked back to me, he held his hand out and gave me a warm smile. “Come w
ith me.”
I took his hand, my heart jumping as our skin touched. He opened the glass double doors, letting the cool night breeze in. The delicate white lace drapes he had in front of them rippled like they were alive.
He led me out onto the balcony which was nothing like I expected. It stretched the whole length of the back of the house and had enough width to almost be another room if it had a roof. At each end of the balcony, a cute black round table and four chairs provided seating. Three black outdoor heat lamps were next to the tables, with one in the middle of the balcony too.
“You can access it from the guest room too,” he said. “Not that anyone has ever stayed in there since we had this installed.”
He took me to the middle of the balcony and switched on the heater. It lit up slowly, adding an orange-reddish glow to the darkness.
“This is my favourite place in the whole world,” he said, letting out a sigh. He opened his arm and moved it outwards.
I’d been so preoccupied with this whole house, soaking in the details of his room and this gorgeous balcony, I’d completely missed the stunning sea view stretching for miles. The cliff edge couldn’t have been much more than twenty metres from the house. The gentle splash of the water against the rocks below combined with the classical music streaming from his room seemed to spiral me into a different dimension.
“I’m speechless,” I said, leaning against the balcony. “I could stay up here forever.”
“Me too,” he whispered, slipping an arm around my waist. “Especially if you’re here.”
My insides somersaulted with giddiness. I knew it was a line, a cheesy one, but that didn’t stop me from reacting to it. This entire scenario felt like something from a romantic movie and as much as I knew that, I loved every moment and wanted more.
I turned my head and glanced up at him over my left shoulder. He gazed down at me, his eyes glittering gems of warmth and care. He moved his hand up my back, gliding his fingers across my dress in such a way, it sent shivers down my spine. When he reached my head, he carefully brushed my hair back from my face, pushing it over my shoulder.
Love, Lies and Immortal Ties: A young adult paranormal romance (Love, Lies and Ties Book 1) Page 16