Shadows of the Past (12 page)

"...and if I'm right, that makes him Lord of... Kayla? What is it?" His voice is full of concern, and he's trying to make me look at him.
 

I'm having trouble focusing on anything but the names on the stone. I finally tear my eyes away to look up at him; he's so worried about me. "I'm all right. I just suddenly feel a little dizzy."
 

Please, please, please don't make me explain. Don't ask me any questions or call me on the crappy excuse. Just give me a minute, a month, a year.
 

Please. Don't. Ask.

He nods, looking around before leading me carefully up the nearby steps and inside the church. We walk slowly over to the last pew, and he helps me sit down.
 

"Sit right here, okay?” He puts me on a stone bench. “I’ll get you some water. Don't move."
 

“I’m not planning on it.” I manage to smile at him quickly.

Oliver puts his hand on my shoulder. He clears his throat making the bile rise within me. I press my lips together and tuck my chin so he can’t see my eyes. Whatever he was going to say remains unspoken.

“I’ll be right back.” Oliver walks briskly.
 

I sit in the silence of the churchyard waiting for him to return, uninterested in my surroundings for the first time today.

A person sits down beside me, and I expect it to be Oliver, but it's not. It's a woman wearing the black garb and white collar of a priest. She looks friendly, her smile soft and her eyes warm. She doesn't say anything at first, just sits next to me. After a couple of minutes, she turns to me.
 

"Lay your burdens down, child. Grace and mercy abound for all, even you."

I stare straight ahead. There's nothing for me to say.
 

I'm not even sure how this woman can see deep inside me where I hide all the things that hurt. What I've lost I can never get back, so there's no point in talking about it.
 

“I’m all right,” I lie. Oh crap, I just lied to a priest.
 

She smiles softly and gazes at the tombstones. “That’s what most people say when they don’t want to talk. It’s all right. I just thought I saw something. It was the way you looked when you read that small stone. Something called me to you.” She shakes her head. “Not many people have to endure such loss so early in life.”

I glance over at her. “You lost a child?”
 

She smiles sadly. “No, not quite. When I was younger, my mother had another daughter. I was thrilled to be a sister, and then—a few days after birth—she was gone. It left a mark on me, a mark I can see on others.”

I clasp my hands in my lap and stare straight ahead, suddenly feeling like I can talk. “The past never leaves me; it's always there in the shadows keeping me still, unable to move forward, unable to move on.”

I'm saved from having to continue the conversation when Oliver finally returns with a paper cup full of water. He still looks concerned, like he’s afraid I will break at any moment. He doesn't even notice the priest sitting beside me at first, but she introduces herself and pulls him into a conversation about the church and the nearby village.
 

I tune them out, not wanting to think anymore.

Oliver thanks the woman for the conversation, reaching out to shake her hand and looking a little nonplussed when she hugs him instead, whispering something in his ear that makes his eyes go wide. He masks his emotions quickly and just nods in response, leaving me to wonder what she said. I can't help but feel a little disappointed he doesn't volunteer the information as we leave the church and stroll down the road leading to the village.

It's late afternoon or maybe early evening by now, I'm not sure, and we stop in front of an orange colored building with a big front window and a black front door.
 

"Have you ever tried Indian food?" he asks. Between growing up near New York and the traveling I've done in the past four years, I've tried all kinds of food.

"Indian food is one of my favorites," I tell him reassuringly, watching as he almost sags in relief.

"Thank heavens. I wasn't planning to come here, but Liam at the castle recommended it when we arrived and the smell is mouthwatering." He's right; it smells magnificent.
 

The aromas of good food and the well-planned decor work together to create a welcoming impression. The walls are painted bright green, the tables are dark wood and the chairs are scarlet red. I can see the napkins are even done up in a little design when we walk down the hallway and into a room with more tables and chairs.
 

The place is pretty busy. We only wait a few minutes to be seated and then a lovely dark-haired waitress rushes by to take our order. She's tall with a friendly smile and gives us her name though I don't catch it. I'm too entranced watching Oliver go through the menu, asking questions about each dish and finally asking the waitress to just bring us her favorite. After she leaves, we talk about the sights we've seen today and what we still want to see until our food arrives. It's the best non-date I've had in a long time.

CHAPTER 20

After eating the best Chicken Makhani I've ever had, we head back in the direction of the castle. Between the conversation and the freedom of being where no one knows me, I allow myself to relax a little bit.

I was afraid the priest told Oliver that she suspected I lost a child, based on our chat in the cemetery. But he didn’t mention at it dinner and he’s not treating me like I might break, which makes me think he doesn’t know.

Thank God. I don’t want to be lost in the past tonight. Okay, well, not my past. All this Tudor stuff is awesome. I don’t mind hearing about them.

Back safely in the library, we choose a small reading area and drop down onto a sofa. We sit in silence letting the fire warm us from our walk back. His thigh is touching mine, the heat of his body leeching into me and making me feel drowsy and safe. There are only a few people in the room, and I'm watching them intently, trying to focus on anything but the man sitting beside me.
 

One guest sits in a chair nearby reading a book, while two other guests play chess in another corner of the room. Judging by the crowing sounds of victory from the leggy brunette, I decide the dark-haired man must be losing the game.
 

The woman lifts a big camera to her face and snaps a picture, before putting it back under the table. She laughs lightly.
 

“Nick, you’re such a sore loser.”

“I didn’t lose, Sky” the man grumbles and frowns. Stubble lines his jaw, and when he looks up, I recognize him.

Leaning into Oliver, I whisper, “Is that who I think it is?” I want to take a picture. I’m suddenly giddy, feeling like I found a pot of gold on the sidewalk.

Oliver glances over at them and shrugs, unimpressed.
 

“I suppose. All the Ferros look the same.”

My jaw drops and I gape at Oliver. “You did not just say that.”

“Sorry, it’s the Ferro way that irritates me. They make lousy friends, for the most part, although that one might have earned my admiration.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to explain.
 

Oliver walks me over to the bartender and orders for us. We take the glasses and sit in armchairs opposite the huge fireplace that illuminates the leggy brunette and the dashing Nick Ferro.
 

Oliver takes a sip and then tips his glass toward Nick.
 

“That family has more money than God, and as you know, most people want to be them.”

“Right, and you’re impressed with Nick because…?”

“Because he walked away. From what I know of the guy, he chose to run a photography studio over his inheritance. Who does that?”
 

We both look over at the couple. Oliver openly stares, but my gaze darts between Nick and the hot chick with the camera.

She must sense me staring because she looks up and smiles. With the tips of her fingers, she waves at us. I jump in my seat and start to apologize, but Oliver talks over me. He lifts his glass to Nick.
 

“To ingenuity and independence. I wish you the best.”

Nick nods in response, then stands and walks over. I tug on Oliver’s hand, ready to squeal. Nick is tall, with a cut body, in slim jeans and a cream sweater. He stops in front of us.
 

“Oliver Jackson.”

Oliver smiles, and I squee at such a high pitch that dogs everywhere go deaf—except for Barkley because he’s really a bear in disguise. “Nick Ferro!” I slap my hands over my mouth.

“You know my work?” He looks down at me.
 

I slapped my hands over my mouth so I would shut up. I start nodding, wishing I could say yes, but the other word tumbles out of my mouth. “No.”

He laughs. “It’s okay. If you need a photographer for anything, let me know. We’re here shooting a wedding, but there are lots of great places on the grounds for a nice portrait session.”

Oliver nods, taking Nick’s card. “I’ll keep this handy. I’ve heard good things about you.”

“Great. It was nice meeting you both. Have a great night.” Just as Nick turns away, I get a glimpse of his date. She’s perching on the edge of her chair and loses her balance. She slips and falls to the side, swiping the chessboard. All the pieces go flying.

She swoops her arms frantically and manages to not do a faceplant, but not before smacking the table, which tips to the side. The woman looks like she’s doing a tap dance routine. I love her!

She finally catches her balance and stands up straight. She shoots Nick a huge, toothy grin before tilting her head toward the mess.
 

“Yeah, I kinda dropped that.”

He laughs and goes over to help her pick up the game. They soon leave the room with him murmuring in her ear. She laughs lightly, and the way he looks at her is swoon-worthy. Their hands are all over each other just as they pass through the doorway, and I can hear her giggle just before they turn the corner and disappear.

“That was awesome. I like her.” I say it like I’m a proud parent or something. Anyone who can walk away from a klutzy move like that with a guy going nuts over her, well—it’s a worthy goal for me.
 

Oliver is grinning, watching me.
 

“You like her, or you like him?”

“Aw, don’t tell me that you’re jealous of a Ferro.” I tease him and smile.

“The only time I see more drool is on Barkley.”

I kick his ankle. “Hey! Did you just call me a dog?”

“No, of course not. I’m far too clever to say something that ridiculous.” He grins at me. “Come on, let’s move over to the sofa.” Oliver takes my hand and leads me across the room to the couch in front of the fire. The reader gathers his things and walks out, leaving us alone together.
 

Oliver leans back to stretch, letting his arm rest behind me along the back of the couch. My spine stiffens, wondering what he's planning, but he just rests his head against the cushion and closes his eyes like he's tired.
 

I was tired, but now that he's touching the back of my neck with his arm, sleep is the last thing on my mind.

I don't know what's wrong with me. This man is young, rich, and too good-looking to fathom. I should be all over him, but he's the exact opposite of what I need.
 

I need to run. I can't trust my own judgment, and experience has taught me not to trust anyone else's either.
 

Oliver's fingers play with my hair and startle me out of my thoughts. I turn my head to find him staring down at me, his brows furrowed in concern. "Where were you just now?"

"What do you mean?" Crap, crap, crap. I'm deflecting, trying to put him off, but I know he's going to call me on it. His eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to say something. Think, Kayla.
 

"You were almost in another world. What were you thinking about so deeply?"

"Uh... I was just thinking about—" about how good you smell, how safe I feel "—how much fun I'm having." I smile up at him, but inside I'm cringing. Really? How much fun I'm having? That's the best I can do?

Thankfully, he doesn't call me on the lackluster sentiment. Instead, he smiles back at me, still twirling a lock of my hair with his fingers. "Me too."
 

We stare at each other, inching closer until our noses are almost touching. I can see the reflection of the flames from the fireplace in his eyes. It makes him look dangerous, and I’m attracted to danger.
 

The hand that was playing with my hair is now drawing tiny circles on the sensitive skin on the back of my neck, and his breath is getting faster. Mine speeds up in response, and I know all I need to do is tip my head to the side and stretch for our mouths to touch.

Oliver realizes that at the same time I do and jerks back. His breath is no longer on my skin and his hand drops.
 

He clears his throat, moving his hand to the back of his own neck and massaging it. I watch in morbid fascination as his cheeks redden, and his eyes dart away from mine to look all around the room as if he's just noticing we're alone. "Uh," he clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable, "It's getting late."
 

I know where he's going with this. Nodding, I agree. "Yeah. We should probably go to bed."
 

Oliver sags in relief, thankful I'm not arguing with him. He reaches out a hand to help me off the couch, holding mine for just a beat too long before gesturing toward the door. "Come on. I'll walk you to your room."

Nerves swirl within me, rising higher with each step. Is he going to expect a kiss goodnight? I want to kick myself for even thinking about kissing him. Now all I can focus on is his lips, lips that are full and look soft. But he pulled away before. I’m not sure what to do with that.
 

By the time we reach our rooms in the tower, tension arcs between us. Oliver's careful not to touch me and the more he doesn't, the more I think about the possibility.