Читать книгу Secret Paradise - Dara Girard - Страница 12

Chapter 4

“Get rid of her.”

Basilio shut the door and watched his brother take a shirt from his closet. “Lucian, she just got here.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I was going to tell you about her.”

Lucian buttoned up his shirt. “When?”

Basilio rubbed his chin. “When the time seemed right.”

Lucian checked his reflection in the mirror. “Seems right now.”

“She’s really talented and—”

“I’m sure she’s brilliant.” He scowled at his reflection and unbuttoned his shirt. “I still don’t want her here. Get rid of her.” He tossed the shirt on the bed and grabbed another from the closet.

Basilio looked at his brother, helpless. “I can’t just tell her to go.”

“Fine. Pay her for her time.”

Basilio sighed at his brother’s tactlessness, then watched as Lucian straightened a sleeve. They had the same parents but were different in appearance due to the nearly ten-year age gap and their different skin tones from the mix of their European mother and African father. He’d gotten his mother’s hair, and Lucian her eyes. He had their father’s chin, while Lucian had his height. Basilio had only known his brother for less than a year before the fire. He’d sought him out after their mother’s death. He had just finished college and wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life yet, but one thing he did know was that he wanted to rebuild his relationship with his brother and start fresh.

It hadn’t been easy, but he was beginning to understand him. He had watched him endure painful treatments and relearn simple tasks. Seeing Lucian’s swift movements as he changed clothes filled him with pride and he knew each year his brother would get stronger, but something was different about him now. He wasn’t himself; he seemed agitated and unsure. That wasn’t like Lucian. He was always cool and certain.

Basilio started to smile. “She got to you.”

Lucian adjusted his collar. “What?”

“What came over you out there? I’ve never seen you act that way.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t expect…” He threw out his hand, annoyed. “Why was she dressed like an ordinary washerwoman?”

“Market woman.”

“They look alike to me.”

“She’s a foreigner. She probably thought it was pretty or something.”

“How like a woman to be deceitful,” Lucian said, tossing another shirt aside.

“She didn’t mean to deceive anyone. I know I should have told you about her sooner, but this is a good thing. I think she can help you.”

“Help me?” Lucian’s voice cracked in surprise. “I don’t need help.” He checked his reflection again.

“You’ve done the buttons wrong.”

Lucian scowled. “I know that.”

Basilio smiled, trying not to laugh. “She’s really gotten you rattled.”

“I’m not rattled.”

Basilio glanced at the bed. “Then how come you’ve gone through four shirts? You don’t usually care what you look like.”

Lucian tucked in his shirt, then smoothed down his hair. “I just want to make a good impression. My first one was—”

“A shock?”

“Unfortunate,” Lucian corrected.

“I don’t think you can undo a first impression.”

“I can try.”

“I haven’t seen you respond to a woman like that since—” He stopped, not wanting to bring up the past and Alana. “Not that I blame you. She’s an attractive woman. I could imagine getting my leg over that.”

“She’s engaged. I saw the ring.”

“Before or after you kissed her?”

Color swept into Lucian’s cheeks. “I’ll have to apologize about that. Perhaps I should send flowers to her room and add a diamond necklace.”

“She’ll see that as an insult.”

“I thought women liked diamonds.”

“That’s not the point. You don’t need to worry about the ring. It doesn’t mean much.”

“How do you know?”

“I know women, and the way you kissed her, I’m surprised she didn’t slap you.”

“It’s only because she knew who I was. She was being polite.”

“No, she wasn’t being polite. She liked it.”

Lucian’s face lit up. “Really?” He held up his hand before his brother could respond. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I don’t want her here. I’ve had enough trouble with designers, and things become more complicated when it comes to friends. Get rid of her.”

“She likes you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“I’m not interested. She belongs to another man and I’ve learned my lesson. Most women can’t be trusted. Especially ones who wear one man’s ring and allow another to kiss them.”

“Like you said, maybe she was just being polite.”

Lucian frowned but didn’t reply.

“Okay, aside from your first meeting, don’t ignore this opportunity. You need to move on. Those empty rooms are a symbol of what happened. You need to think about the future.”

“Why?”

“At least think about Callia.”

“When I’m gone, she can design those rooms any way she wants.”

“At least let Nikki try one room. It shouldn’t take more than two weeks and then she’ll be gone. Just two weeks and she’ll be gone for good. No problem. We’ll all get what we want.”

“You think one room will take only two weeks?”

“I told you she’s good. It may be even less.” Basilio held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Lucian sighed. “Fine. One room, then she goes.”

Someone knocked.

“Come in,” Lucian said.

Dante Andreas, Lucian’s butler, entered. He sent Basilio a careless look, then focused on Lucian. Basilio didn’t like him. He knew he was more than just a butler, but still wasn’t sure of all his duties. He was only a few years older than Basilio, but seemed decades so. His nationality was Italian, but his appearance—tightly curled hair and dark skin—hinted at a heritage that spread far beyond those shores. At times Basilio envied the close bond he and Lucian had.

“I have Ms. Rozan waiting in the main room.”

“Fine.” Lucian looked at his brother. “Tell her I’ll meet her there.”

Basilio nodded. “Okay.”

“And stop grinning. You haven’t won yet.”

“But I’m getting close,” Basilio said, then strolled out of the room.

Dante closed the door once Basilio was gone. “She’s an unexpected complication.”

Lucian pounded his cane in exasperation. “Don’t I know it.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t aware of what your brother was up to.”

“That’s not your job. You’re too busy with more important things.”

“My job is to make sure this place is safe. He’s causing trouble. I don’t trust him. He just showed up out of nowhere and—”

“Not out of nowhere,” Lucian carefully corrected. “And he isn’t a stranger. He’s family.”

“Yes,” Dante sighed. “But everything has gone bad since his arrival.”

“Don’t exaggerate. None of it is his fault, just a coincidence.”

“I don’t like coincidences.”

“Force yourself to like this one,” Lucian said in an unrelenting tone.

Dante heard it and changed the subject. “You have two messages from France.”

“They can wait.”

“And Wanda called.”

Lucian swore. “Keep her away from here.”

Dante noticed the clothes on the bed and began to put them away. “I have. But I can’t keep her away forever.”

“Sure you can.”

Dante smoothed out a shirt, then hung it up. “She’ll just go to the press.”

“Let her,” Lucian said. He sat on his bed and put on his shoes. “Who’ll listen?”

“If she drops your name, people will. You don’t need that kind of publicity.”

Lucian sighed. “You’re right. I don’t need another complication. What does she want?”

Dante closed the closet with a soft click. “You know what she wants.”

“Fine. Schedule a time.”

“When?”

“The sooner the better. Next month. I just want to get it over with.”

“We’ll have to tell Callia.”

“Don’t worry. I will. Thanks.”

Dante nodded, then left the room. He walked outside and lit a cigarette. He had been Lucian’s right hand for nearly seven years and had helped patrol the island for even longer than that. He knew about every coming and going. His reputation was stellar, except for one grievous stain—the fire at the Kontos mansion. He’d failed and nearly gotten his friend killed, as well as little Callia. He wouldn’t rest until he uncovered the truth. He suspected it wouldn’t be pretty. But he was used to ugly things. He’d grown up on the streets of Rome and London, before an aunt shipped him off to Greece, where he was put into an apprenticeship program with a bottling company. While it didn’t pay very well, it provided Dante with the training, discipline and work ethic he would need later in life.

Dante took a long drag of his cigarette. He didn’t like Basilio. He didn’t trust a man who smiled so easily all the time. He had something to hide. How could he not have some envy for a brother whose success overshadowed his own? No, he didn’t trust Basilio and would watch him.