by Sandra Scott
A coveted horse and Andra.
Obviously, he would never compare his sexy, intelligent wife to an animal. Yet he now realized his childhood memory was an analogy for his brother’s present behavior.
Stefano desired Andra.
Yet it appeared Stefano’s prejudices against his wife evidently hid that reality from Stefano himself. The thought caused Jason to slam a fist into his open palm, and he barely noticed the pain.
Stefano has some nerve treating Andra with disdain yet all the while desiring her.
Jayson’s mental processes paused to insert another thought.
Maybe it was a good thing that his brother’s feelings were smoke-screened by his stupid prejudices against his wife. At least his aversion to her would keep him at bay, therefore preventing Stefano from pursuing his true feelings for Andra.
Realizing his conclusion was a negative positive, Jayson shook his head. Sooner or later, his brother’s psyche would force him to acknowledge his feelings for Andra.
Then what would his big brother do once those feelings were unlocked?
Preferring not to figure out the answer, he decided to shelve the matter for later contemplation.
Again, Jayson paused to stare out the window toward the villa’s backyard acreage. To most, the green scenery had a serene appeal, the sun-drenched fields appearing open, free, and fresh.
To him, it was a grass-carpeted prison.
He sighed heavily, again scanning the business papers in collective disarray upon Stefano’s desk. Even those represented a ball and chain made to tether him there.
Why had he ever talked Andra into returning home with him?
He resumed pacing.
For as long as he could remember, he’d always wanted to dedicate his life to the church. For him, ministry represented personal freedom as well as a way to express his walk with the Lord spiritually. His calling was a personal thing, deeply private, yet at the same time, he felt led to openly share it with others.
He wanted to do this for himself apart from the family. His desire to pursue his calling solo had led him to travel abroad to America in order to attend seminary school there.
At least he had initially believed so. Now he knew he’d followed God’s providential will to the States to meet and fall in love with Dr. Andra Williams.
Jayson stopped before an old family photograph. The picture, taken when he was about fourteen years old and Stefano was around twenty, had begun to fade around the edges. Nostalgically, he studied it, vaguely recalling the events surrounding its taking. Stefano had just returned home on college spring break, and his expression displayed a grin both smug and easygoing—the epitome of most college students’ demeanors. His eyes shifted to his father, who stood tall and erect within the center of his family. He studied his papa’s distracted expression. Jayson often had pondered over the years what had happened behind the scenes to make him appear so melancholy.
After hesitating, his eyes eventually gravitated toward his mother, who at first glance projected a beautiful, youthful radiance. However, if a person looked closely enough, behind her beauty, she too masked a deep-seated sadness.
He shifted the frame a little straighter on the wall, still gazing at his mother.
Although Andra and his mother were different in their physical appearance, Andra was the spitting image of his mother spiritually: beautiful, witty, intelligent, and similar in the special way she carried herself.
“Mama, you would’ve loved Andra—she’s a lot like you,” he whispered, tenderly fingering her one-dimensional likeness. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave?”
His watery gaze eventually visited his teen self. His face was slightly turned to stare up at his grinning older sibling; he recalled being engulfed with genuine euphoria at being Stefano’s little brother at the time.
Smiling wistfully, he left his youthful image to study Stefano’s once more. He couldn’t help but compare the happy-go-lucky college student in the photo to the stoic man he was today. Right after his mother had abruptly succumbed to a rare form of breast cancer, Jayson had noticed a subtle change in his father—a despairing listlessness and soul-numbing lethargy.
However, her death had vastly affected Stefano as well. Unlike the days in the photo, when Jayson couldn’t recall ever seeing Stefano without a grin, nowadays his big brother had a dark disposition and rarely smiled at all.
Jayson believed his mother’s untimely death had been the beginning of Stefano’s surly trend, as well as a contributing factor in why he’d never married.
Well, he silently told his brother’s image, at least you had our mother longer than I did.
Upon hearing a noise behind him, Jayson swung around. Stefano abruptly materialized inside the room, his face clean-shaven. Looking at his older brother, Jayson swiftly thought about Andra alone in their bedroom, lying naked across the bed, the bedroom door slowly opening ...
“You’re late,” Jayson said, taking in Stefano’s crisp light blue shirt, which was different from the white polo he’d worn at breakfast. “Where have you been?”
Stefano walked past Jayson, his eyes averted, to stare at the clutter on his desk. He stopped, picked a sheet from among many, and studied it. “I spilled coffee on myself and went to change,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jayson observed his brother’s underlying discomfort and immediately thought about the conversation he’d had with Sly. Anger clouded his thoughts as he switched gears to think about Andra, of her wanting to hide out in their bedroom like a criminal—due mainly to Stefano. His hands shook.
Studying his brother closely, Jayson jammed his hands into his pockets. “Stefano, we need to talk.”
“Oh?” Stefano said, sitting down. He paused to take out his handkerchief and cough into it. After glancing at it, he quickly folded the cloth and returned it to his pocket. “What about?”
You know what! Jayson silently fumed. My wife, Andra! Then he heard Sly’s voice in his mind: Do a Trojan-horse thing on him! He angrily raked a hand through his hair as he watched Stefano shuffle papers into some manageable order.
“You will go bald if you keep that up, little brother.”
Jayson suppressed a frustrated, throaty sound; his fist shook with the desire to connect squarely with Stefano’s averted jaw. Instead, he headed for the chair Sly had earlier vacated; however, in his agitation, he remained standing.
The stifling silence inside the office hung thick and heavy.
“You want to talk about what, little brother?” he repeated.
I want you to stay away from my wife. She’s mine.
“The family business,” Jayson finally said, feeling like a coward despite the Trojan-horse plan.
Briefly, papers rustled. “What about the family business?”
“Stop pretending you haven’t a clue,” Jayson said, shifting on restless feet. “I want no part of it.”
More silence followed. Finally, Stefano swiveled in his chair. “May I ask why not?” A facial tic appeared above Stefano’s left eye, its throbbing pulse faint yet perceptible. “Because of her?”
“Her who?” Jayson demanded. His eyes narrowed at the telltale brow spasm. “Her being my wife, Andra? That’s her name, as you well know.”
Stefano swiveled back to resume tidying his desk.
Again, Jayson found himself staring at the back of his older sibling’s head. He let out a mirthless laugh. “You can’t even say her name—can you, big brother?” As much as he didn’t want it to, Jayson’s volume rose. “Why is that?”
Maybe you might discover just how much you like the taste of it on your tongue?
As if he’d heard Jayson’s thoughts, Stefano placed both palms upon the desk and slowly rose, his spine as stiff as a rod. Not bothering to turn around, he inhaled deeply only to let air o
ut gradually and methodically. His eyes stared out the huge picture window before him.
Jayson took a moment to glance toward the glass too, trying to envision what Stefano saw, knowing he probably couldn’t see anything beyond the blockage of fury his mind now constructed.
“Why don’t you grow up, little brother?” Stefano finally said. Persisting in his refusal to face Jayson, he performed a 180-degree turn and headed for the exit. “Why can’t you see past your own selfish needs when it comes to this family?”
Jayson winced at Stefano’s suggestion he grow up—those were the same words he’d thrown at Andra earlier, before escaping into their bathroom. The embarrassment of being fed his own words nearly made him gag.
His eyes followed Stefano’s robotic frame as it disappeared beyond the doorway. He was pissed off at his abrupt departure, yet deep inside, he was glad to see him go.
21
Across the way, her mother stepped out into the hall just as Racine did. They both reached behind themselves and, at the same time, pulled their bedroom doors shut.
Believing her mother should be the first to speak, Racine waited.
Their silent contest lasted a good thirty seconds—an eternity in dog years, Racine determined, knowing that if a dog had been sitting in the hallway between them, it would’ve gotten up and left two seconds into the game.
“I just spoke to a travel agent,” Al finally said.
Intrigued, one of her eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” Racine casually asked. “What about?”
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted as well.
“Mama?” she said, urging her to continue.
Sighing heavily, Al produced a wry smile. “I’ve booked us open-ended first-class tickets to Greece.”
Excited, Racine clapped. Although she possessed a virgin passport, Racine never had any money to purchase an airplane ticket anywhere, let alone overseas, in order to break it in. But for Andra, come hell or high water, she would’ve found the resources, even if it meant selling the cherished coin collection she and Daddy had built together when she was little.
Daddy wasn’t there to stop her anyway.
“Are you serious, Mama? Really?”
“Yes, really.” Her mother stood in silence until she finally exhaled in defeat. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you. Despite your past threats of glorious international trekking, this time, I believe you’d hop your butt on a plane. At least by my buying the tickets and tagging along, I can keep an eye on you.”
Eyes brimming with grateful tears, Racine crossed the hall to give Al a hug, only to stop halfway at seeing her mother’s irritated face. Evidently, she wasn’t currently in the forgiving mood for being manipulated into international trekking in order to run after Andra.
Shoving her hands in her jeans pockets, Racine stared at her feet, kicking an imaginary rock. Seconds crawled by at a snail’s pace before she was able to bravely glance up, entreating Al with her frequently used impersonation of a round-eyed Little Orphan Annie.
“Thank you so much, Mama. You’re so sweet,” she said. Her voice took on a hero-worship tone. “You know, you’re the greatest! I’m always telling my best bud, Tracey, that my mother’s Superwoman and how—”
“Cut the crap, Racine,” Al said. To Racine’s relief, her mother’s expression softened a degree. “Your daddy used to try to handle me the same way, so I’m familiar with the procedure.”
“And it worked, right?” Racine asked hopefully.
The hallway fell silent once more. In the end, Al relented. “Every time.”
Together they laughed, the sound carefree and unrestrained.
“When’s our flight, Mom?”
Her mother checked her watch, causing Racine to do the same. Sheepishly, Racine clucked her tongue when Al bestowed her with a “Gotcha!” look and giggled with delight, sounding like a young girl herself.
“Sometimes you make it too easy, Race.” The older woman wiped away a merry tear. “Anyway, it’ll be three days from today. We’re flying out at six fifteen sharp, tomorrow morning. That’ll give us plenty of time to pack and get our affairs in order before traipsing off internationally after Andra and her husband.”
Not caring if her mother was still irritated, Racine closed the distance between them and threw herself at Al. Her mother sighed as if extremely put upon, yet in the end, she hugged Racine tightly.
“I’m only doing this for two reasons,” she said. Racine pulled back, putting just enough distance between them to stare into eyes so similar to hers. “First, I sense this trip would be good for you, baby girl. Let you take in some different scenery and get away from … things.”
At those words, Racine stiffened inside Al’s arms, waiting for the same old turbulent emotions to wash over her. Yet to her surprise, she discovered that her overwhelming excitement about traveling abroad to see Andra left little room for a painful invasion of the past. “And the second?” she asked, breathless in her joy at the discovery.
Al took a moment to kiss Racine’s cheek and then pulled her close. “I’ve always wanted to see Greece.”
“Me too,” Racine said, feeling a tear slide down her cheek.
22
A soft knock sounded, faint yet insistent.
What now?
Straightening in her chair, Andra placed her medical book on the table beside her. Seconds lapsed as she worried her silver crucifix, her eyes fixated on the locked bedroom door. She couldn’t decide whether to answer the beckoning knock or simply pretend she was in a deep blind, deaf, and dumb sleep.
She bit her lip in contemplation, knowing it couldn’t be Jayson on the other side. He wouldn’t have knocked; he would’ve just entered.
Maybe it’s Stefano.
She shivered remembering his arresting face, her thoughts rolling back to her encounter with him. She prayed it wasn’t his return; one electrically charged run-in with her husband’s brother was enough.
Then again, she doubted it could be Stefano either. He too would’ve barged arrogantly into the room without so much as an invitation, as if he owned the joint.
Well, she thought, technically, he does.
She heard another soft tap, followed by the sound of a female voice calling her name.
Sly.
Andra sighed loudly. Was a visit from her any better?
Momentary confusion furrowed her brow. In a way, she was surprised at Sly’s unexpected visit—even more so than a dreaded reappearance of Stefano.
At least he belonged in the house.
Andra rose, crossed the room, and threw off the lock. She opened the door.
Hating herself for doing so, she immediately compared her attire—a worn and shapeless yet comfortable sundress and flat white sandals—to the younger woman’s green sleeveless buttoned blouse, flared floral peasant skirt, and matching olive-colored strappy sandals.
Her first instinct was to slam the door in Sly’s face, call out that she’d be only a moment, and change into an outfit she believed would accentuate her figure flawlessly.
Andra pushed aside the fantasy, knowing she couldn’t pull it off without appearing totally nuts.
“Hello, Sly. What are you doing here?” At Sly’s raised eyebrow that implied Andra was being rude, she bit back words concerning the rudeness of uninvited guests. Andra stepped aside, opening the door wider. “My apologies; please come in.”
“Thank you,” Sly said, glancing about the room as if looking for someone else. “I almost thought …”
The younger woman’s words trailed off accusingly as she breezed by, wrapped within a subtle fragrance of lilac and lavender. Andra closed her eyes. Silently counting to ten, she took a cleansing breath. Shutting the bedroom door a little harder than she’d intended, Andra turned to face her accidental nemesis.
“So,” she said, feeling as if her face would break under
her manufactured smile, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Sly chose not to answer right away; instead, she stopped before the chair Andra had vacated, pivoted, and gracefully lowered herself onto it. She stretched out the silence further by reaching for Andra’s discarded book.
Her Grecian smile was vague as she studied its title, The Art of Medicine, only to grimace prettily and return it to the table with a flourish.
Unblinking, Andra stood by the door, waiting.
Sly’s smile turned cagey as her eyes shifted about the bedroom. “By your tone, I cannot determine if it truly is a pleasure on your part.”
Again, Andra waited. Beyond the open balcony doors, two birds called to one another in cheery salutation.
“I’ve come by to check on you,” Sly said. Soon enough, she gave Andra her undivided attention. “I haven’t seen you since our family dinner on your first night here. You arrived, what, four days ago?”
Warily, Andra nodded.
“So have you—what is the word?—acclimated to our Greek lifestyle?”
Although impressed Sly knew the word acclimate and even more so that she’d used it correctly in a sentence, Andra shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Mmm,” Sly said with a toss of her shiny hair. “One wouldn’t imagine so. You have not been to dinner since. You were most absent at breakfast this morning.” Innocently, Sly peered at her. “Are you in hiding?”
Andra suppressed her own grimace, because hiding out was exactly what she’d been doing. However, she wasn’t about to admit that to the brat who sat watching her like a demented hawk.
So you’re aware I’ve taken all my meals in this room since my arrival and wasn’t at breakfast today. Don’t you have a home to go to? What’s on your agenda, Ms. Thang? My husband maybe?
Taking a cue from Sly, Andra withheld a verbal response and instead strolled over to the made bed and the small pile of clothes strewn atop it. She picked up an item and carefully folded it.