But my giddiness dissolved when, sandwiched between Oliver and Stephan in the back seat of the limo, the Bow Springs Estate’s towering spires came into view. They poked up into the sky like the mountains themselves, a structural marvel that was impossible to miss.
Home sweet home.
Built 150 years ago on the edge of an impressive cliff, it looked like a castle. On the east side, a massive jagged rock face dropped down to meet the Bow River, and on the South side miles of forest stretched up the side of a mountain to snow-covered peaks. The valley sprawled out in front, sloping gradually down toward Banff and miles of winding trails and pristine lakes. It had been a hotel when my grandfather owned it and gave it to my parents as a wedding gift. Dad closed it shortly after Mom’s death and made it our private residence. Now the priceless art, crystal chandeliers, stained glass windows, and immaculate gardens were hidden from the public eye, just like me.
It hadn’t always been so bleak. From what I’d heard, when Mom was around, the place was warm and inviting. It used to be buzzing with actors, politicians, and royal families, the elaborate architecture loved and admired. People even liked my dad back then. But when Mom died, power and greed took over his brilliant mind and within two years, he was in Forbes Magazine’s “The Forbes World’s Billionaire List”. If there were most-hated list, he’d have been on that too.
The car pulled up to the first gate, and a massive iron structure large enough to keep out Godzilla opened with motorized arms. After a series of commands and verifications, we made our way to the lobby. I wished the old revolving doors still worked because they were great to drive Stephan crazy with. Now big, bulky metal monstrosities were in their place and two large men were stationed permanently on either side just to open and close them. I wondered, as I glanced at their bored faces, if that was their career choice: big, metal door openers.
A maid greeted us in the foyer. She was a plump woman with ginger-colored hair and a genuine smile. I handed her my jacket, the pockets filled with shells and stones.
“So, how was the run, Miss Kaya?” she asked as the doors locked behind us.
“It was fine until the zombies came out of the ground and tried to eat us,” I replied nonchalantly.
“Oh, how unfortunate. Good thing your spaceship was fueled up.”
I smiled. It was rare for staff to play along with my feeble attempts at humor.
“Breakfast is being served on the second terrace,” she added, “but unfortunately, your father won’t be joining you. He got called away on business.”
“Shocker,” I said sarcastically.
“Or, maybe the zombies ate him,” she joked.
“I’m not that lucky.”
Oliver’s eyebrows drew together and he cleared his throat. “Really, Kaya, you know he’d be here if he could.”
I would have argued, but Oliver would have defended Dad until the cows came home—and we had no cows. My father was pretty much nonexistent in my life. Affection never emanated from his perfectly polished, self-centered, wildly corrupt heart. I was fiercely protected and guarded, living under a million rules and regulations for my own safety, but I was beginning to question whether it was out of love. When he moved me to the opposite end of the estate, started missing my birthdays, was gone for months, and returned with new girlfriends without so much as a hello, it started becoming obvious that he didn’t care about me. I was just an object to him.
Like I did a hundred times a day, I pushed him out of my mind and followed Oliver and Stephan up the marble stairs, through the observatory hall, and out onto the second terrace. The aroma of breakfast wafted in from the patio, a place with a view that I’d admired since I was a kid. The scenery still took my breath away. Hundreds of feet below us, the river gently flowed through miles of untouched forest, and above, snow-topped mountain peaks met an endless sky. The birds sang as we ate, some brave enough to steal crumbs from beneath the serving table while the staff bustled about in crisp black-and-white uniforms. I took my usual chair next to Oliver and attacked a loaded plate of potatoes and pancakes—the one good thing about living here was the food. Dad was adamant that we only eat vegetarian, organic ingredients. In fact, he was completely neurotic about it. Sugar might as well have been the devil in his mind.
“So, what’s on the schedule this morning, Kaya?” Stephan said between mouthfuls. “French? English? Snake charming? Deep-sea diving?”
I avoided paying attention to my schedule to remain ignorant of the monotony. Oliver, however, was a walking day planner.
“Nope. She’s got Ms. Elms for swimming, and then piano and theory lessons all afternoon.”
Stephan had a twinkle in his eyes as he flared his nostrils in disgust. “Bach and that nasty Mozart? Why does your father insist you learn that classical crap? I don’t get paid enough to sit through it. Why not study the blues? Now that’s real music.”
I knew he secretly enjoyed Bach and Beethoven. He always pretended to read while I practiced, but the pages of his books never turned.
“And for heaven’s sake, fencing and Japanese? Is he training you to be a ninja?” he added, reaching for a glass of water. His hand shook as he took a sip, water dribbling down his chin. He was about to say something more, but a harsh cough burst from his lungs and his whole body jerked like a bee had stung him.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He coughed again, causing water to spill over the sides of the glass and onto the crystal butter dish. As he struggled to clear his throat, the wind picked up, fluttering the edges of the white tablecloth and rocking the vase of fresh-cut flowers in the middle of the table. I reached to steady them.
“Yeah, just ate too fast,” he said softly.
“Are you sure? You look a little… off,” Oliver asked anxiously.
Stephan didn’t reply. His cheeks turned a horrible shade of grey, and then the glass slipped from his hands and shattered into a thousand bits on the stone patio.
“Stephan!” Oliver yelled, bolting from his chair.
But before Oliver could get to him, Stephan’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed face-first onto his breakfast.
The clock on the sickly-green hospital wall ticked so slowly I thought time itself had stopped. The minute hand passed twelve thirteen times while Stephan’s heart monitor kept setting off alarms and bringing nurses running into the room. They’d push buttons and reset devices, then casually wander off like it was no big deal. Every time it happened, it felt like my own heart had stopped too.
I sat at his bedside and rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb. Every scar, mole, and blue-green vein was familiar and clearly memorized from the many times his hands had comforted me. For as long as I could remember, Stephan had been at my side. He said once that he held me as a newborn before even my own mother did, and I didn’t doubt it. He taught me how to fish and how to ride a bike, got me on ice skates when I was terrified, and spent every holiday with me—and many times, it was just the two of us. We shared an intense love of nature, a passion for science fiction books, and a mutual dislike of almost all the other nannies. The scar between his thumb and forefinger was there from saving me from a dog attack and the others scattered across his palm were from four thwarted abduction attempts. He was my bodyguard, mother, father, best friend—everything to me. If I lost him…
Oliver was worried too. His pacing next to the foot of Stephan’s bed had made little black trails of scuffmarks on the polished, white floor, and he’d probably cracked his knuckles a hundred times. Usually, he answered to Stephan, who was his superior, but now he was in charge—talking to the doctors, calling family, increasing security, hovering over me…
“We need to get some fresh air and something to eat, Kaya,” he said for the fifth time.
I ignored him for the fifth time.
He crossed the room to grip my shoulder with a subtle demand of obedience. “Are you listening?”
I nodded my head numbly, squeezing Stephan’s hand a
bit tighter.
“Let’s go across the street for a quick bite. I’ll give the nurse my phone number so she can call us if he wakes up.”
I could have been completely stubborn, which was my default, but his brown, bloodshot eyes were weary, and the look on his face was a mixture of sadness and concern. Oliver was normally so stoic that seeing him emotional in any way tugged at my heartstrings. Reluctantly, I obeyed.
We left the hospital, followed by them. Although they tried to be discreet, the odd trio of ‘golfer’, ‘businessman’, and ‘drug dealer’ tagging along so closely was as discreet as toilet paper trailing from your shoes. I hadn’t left the safety of the estate since my birthday, and under the yellow glow of the streetlights with my strange entourage in tow, it hit me that I was out in public. Part of me was scared to death. Another part was… excited and devious—if Dad had been around, this would never be allowed. I reached for Oliver’s hand and noticed a slight upturn in the corners of his mouth as he laced his fingers through mine.
The Derrick Bar was the only place with an open sign in the window. We found a dimly lit table in the corner and went unnoticed by the patrons, who were completely immersed in the slot machines. By the look of the near-empty place, eating the food here was the real gamble.
A pink-haired waitress with an orangey, fake tan didn’t even bother to check if I was underage. She was just eager for a tip. She handed us menus, and I felt as if I were in a dream inquiring about the strange food… Was everything deep fried? Was there anything vegetarian? The strawberry tattoo on her arm had me asking if they had any organic fruit. She laughed like I’d told a joke.
Oliver suggested I get fries. “They’re strips of potatoes boiled in oil,” he explained. I trusted him, but I secretly wondered if starving might be better than putting something Dad would have called poison in my mouth.
“So, a healthy plate of deep-fried taters for the lady and two BLTs with extra bacon for you, sir. Will that be all?” the waitress asked in an accent I couldn’t place.
“Pie. Don’t care what kind,” Oliver said wearily, and I felt oddly jealous as he watched our shapely server stroll away.
“Man, I must look like a disaster,” I muttered, suddenly inexplicably worried about my appearance. I could feel the puffiness around my eyes, and I was sure my red nose—raw from tissue overuse—rivaled Rudolph’s.
“I don’t know. I never look at you,” Oliver said with a grin that made butterflies dance in my stomach. I tried to drown them with coffee.
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” I said.
“The waitress? Sure, but she’s got nothing on you.”
I laughed. “Liar.”
His eyes settled on mine. I should have looked away, but I didn’t. The look on his face was intense—too intense—and it stirred up feelings in me that were wrong on every level. I absolutely could not, must not, have a crush on my bodyguard.
Swigging back the rest of the vile coffee, I faked needing to visit the ladies’ room. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was horrifying; I was still in my running clothes from earlier that morning, and my tank top was smudged with dirt. I pulled off the baseball cap Oliver had used to try to disguise me—an ugly purple thing purchased in the hospital boutique—and undid the messy braid beneath. Tangled waves fell to my waist and I wondered what I would look like with short hair—or maybe pink hair like the waitress…
I rinsed my face with cold water but my cheeks remained paper white. At least the hospital smell was gone from my hands. Desperately trying to untangle my mop of hair, I wished I had a hairbrush or at least a tube of lipstick so I didn’t look so… terrible. But really, what did it matter? It was only Oliver getting a close look at me… the same guy who saw me every single day for the last five years. But I had to admit, today felt different for some reason, and as much as I didn’t want to, I cared, and that sucked.
Our food—if you could call it that—was on the table when I returned.
“Did you hear from the nurse?” I asked.
Oliver sighed. “No, Kaya. Everything is all right. Just eat something.”
I dragged a mangled French fry around my plate, completely unable to bring the horrid, greasy thing to my mouth. I tasted the ketchup; it made a better paint than a condiment. I swirled it into macabre circles on the chipped plate.
“You sure adore Stephan, don’t you?” Oliver asked bluntly.
Did I detect a tinge of jealousy in his voice? “Yes. I adore him,” I answered truthfully. “I love him more than anyone in the world. He has been with me since I was born. I mean, I’ve had lots of nannies, but Stephan was the one who always went above and beyond. Without him, there’d be no love in my life. So, yeah I adore him. It really hit me today that he’s… he’s all I’ve got.”
Saying those words made my chest hurt, and the ketchup and fries became even more repulsive.
“I know how you feel, Kaya,” he said softly and his eyes became watery, “you don’t always realize how much you love someone until things like this happen.”
I knew what it was like to lose a parent, but Oliver had lost his entire family. All of them—mom, dad, two sisters and a brother—killed right before his very eyes. He had experienced the worst kind of sadness imaginable and refused to talk about it. A few times, late at night when there was nothing on TV and we were both wide awake, I would gently bring it up. I would ask what his mom looked like or fish for a name of one of his sisters, but I would get nothing. Zero. Zip. We could share our love of Radiohead and Renoir or have heated debates on politics, but discussing anything about his life before he came to work at the estate was off the table.
“You can talk to me about that, you know,” I said cautiously.
His brown eyes fluttered. “Talk to you about what?”
“You know… about what happened to your family. You can talk to me.”
“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat, “there is nothing to talk about. You’re my family now.”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine. I didn’t pull away. Our hands contrasted beautifully, mine pale and small, his coffee-colored and strong. I stared hard at him, like I’d never really looked at him before, and he reeled me in on an invisible line with his sleepy brown eyes. With his other hand, he reached for my cheek and brushed aside a lock of hair, and then I couldn’t resist—I turned my palm over to touch his… I felt his warm skin with my thumb and then wound my fingers through his. All the air left his lungs. He blinked rapidly. Then, as if I had suddenly developed a flesh-eating disease, he yanked his hand away and almost knocked our coffee off the table.
“It’s time to go,” he said abruptly.
“Sorry, I won’t ask about it again. I promise,” I said, seeing his flustered face.
But I knew it wasn’t my bringing up his family that had thrown him for a loop. It was because our hands wound together in a way that felt far different than it ever had. He stood, staring down at me while I fished for something to say, but thankfully, we were interrupted by the phone ringing in his pocket. I watched his face while he said barely more than two words to whoever was on the other end of the phone.
“That was the nurse. Stephan is awake,” he said, hanging up.
I bolted out of my chair so fast I stumbled backward. Oliver lunged for my arm, reached around my waist, and pulled me close—his lightning-fast reflexes preventing me from an embarrassing fall. The scent of cigars and citrus surrounding him made my head swim, and as he held me longer than necessary, everything about the look in his eyes made me tremble.
“You need to be more careful,” he said in a breathy whisper. “You’re all I’ve got.”
What?
My world came to a grinding halt. You’re all I’ve got? His arms briefly tightened around me, my body feeling so light that I feared it might soar up and away, and when he let go, I felt like I’d fallen back to earth. His words swam around in my head like a bunch of piranhas gnawing at the shield I’d built to keep
words like that out. Dammit. It was becoming impossible to dislike him.
But now I was on the receiving end of a silent treatment that made the five-minute walk back to the hospital torture. I snuck in a few sideways glances, but couldn’t read the expression on his face. Was he embarrassed about what he’d said? Was it an insignificant slip of the tongue? Or was it a confession of deeper underlying feelings? I suspected the latter, and that was terrifying.
To add tension to my inner turmoil, my bossy, over opinionated, ex- nanny was waiting for us at Stephan’s bedside when we got back. Anne had received my texts but couldn’t remember how to reply, so she decided to come and talk to me in person instead. I stared in awe at her outfit, which was a head-to-toe lavender pantsuit with kitten appliqués that looked like it had been made by the Easter bunny. There were brightly colored peacock pins artfully placed on the lapel of her blazer to pull the whole ‘look’ together, and a heady perfume clung to her curly, grey hair like smoke from a pack-a-day habit.
“You look tired, dear,” she said.
I noticed her eyes were bloodshot when she pulled away from my respectfully distant hug. The clock over the door said three-thirty in the morning. “Yeah, I’m exhausted. I didn’t want Stephan to be alone.” He was sound asleep again, the crisp, white sheet pulled up under his chin. He looked like he was dead. I was grateful for the reassuring, steady blip of the heart monitor.
Anne inspected the dismal room through thickly framed designer glasses, her grey hair shifting around like a helmet on her head. “This place is dreadful. Your father should put some money into this hospital.” Then her eyes drifted to my chest and widened in alarm, and she lowered her voice into an angry whisper. “Kaya, we had a deal. You promised not to wear that necklace. Why must you always defy me, girl?”
Serenade (The Nightmusic Trilogy Book 1) Page 2