Villa Blue (11 page)

Chapter Seven

They both reached the bottom platform at the beach and a guide helped to unhook and collect their gear.

“Judging by that smile on your face, you had a good time,” Aiden began once they stepped off the final platform and onto the sand. He was still charged from the rush of bulleting down the hill, and he hoisted her up by gripping her hips, spinning her around.

Her laugh filled the air as she held on to him. “That was…” she began, still a little breathless, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

“Now you can’t say you’re not an adventurous person.” His body hardened as she slid against him then stayed pressed to him when her feet found the ground. “You’re unpredictable, Ivy Van Noten. Confusing, beautiful, frustrating, and unpredictable.”

“Frustrating?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then I’m going to frustrate you even further by telling you that you’re buying me champagne. A nice glass of something fruity and maybe a little sweet. I’m too buzzed to be working right now.”

“Deal,” he said, letting her lead the way down the promenade, enjoying the spark in her eyes, wanting to see more of it.

The craving hadn’t ceased, hadn’t relented in its demand. He wondered, idly, what her face would look like during five orgasms.

“This is it,” she said, steering them in through the open door to The Popped Cork.

The place had a modern vibe with shiny red acrylic tables and clear acrylic chairs, most of them filled with cheerful beachgoers in their evening layers of vacation attire. But Aiden didn’t much care about the décor or the dress; he simply wanted Ivy. To figure her out, to feel the tender curves of her, to see her face wild with pleasure.

“Mom. Iris. What are you two doing here?”

His brain skid to a stop at Ivy’s words, switched gears, and took a hard left turn. He went from wanting to peel back the layers of her, sliding into her, slowly, intently… Jesus, he thought. Down boy. Then the next moment he was looking at the face of her mother, a woman that he could only think to call formidable.

“And who might you be?” The woman ignored Ivy’s question and instead eyed Aiden.

“Aiden James, ma’am.”

“Helen, please. He’s dapper and he has manners,” Helen announced to no one in particular. “Unlike my eldest daughter here who hasn’t returned my calls in days.”

“Mom, my—”

“Never mind. I see that you’ve been busy. And now the pair of you are joining us, of course.”

“We’re not a pair, Mother.”

“A pair means two, so unless you brought your imaginary friend from childhood, I suggest the four of us sit and enjoy the rest of this rosé.”

“Imaginary friend?” Aiden asked, as they each scooted in around the vibrant table lit by tea lights. In response to his inquiry, he received a sidelong glance from Ivy and was sorry to see that her eyes had cooled considerably.

“Gustav. That was her imaginary friend,” Iris offered.

“And this is my sister, Iris, who’s drinking in a bar and not yet twenty-one.”

“It’s vacation,” Helen informed Ivy. “When we were in Paris last month, it was just fine for her to enjoy a glass of wine there. And if it’s good enough for Paris, then it’s good enough for me.”

“You guys went to Europe together?” Ivy asked.

“If you weren’t in hiding, you could’ve joined us.” The lines around Helen’s pursed lips stiffened.

Blond hair—and single-mindedness—clearly ran in the family as each of them featured their own unique versions of it. Helen’s was coiffed and unyielding, skimming just above her shoulders, Iris’s was a darker blond straightened into submission, and Ivy’s was light, wavy, flowing, and a little bit unruly. Aiden decided their personalities basically ran along the same lines.

“And what do you do for a living Aiden? How do you support yourself?”

“Mom, let the man settle in his chair first.”

He reached for Ivy’s hand under the table, letting her know it was all right. “I work in business development for a company based in New York.”

“New York. See, that’s a perfectly respectable place to live. Don’t you agree, Ivy?”

“It is if you want to live in New York,” Ivy responded flatly.

“Tell me Aiden, were you raised there?”

“Born and raised, yes.”

“I knew it.” Helen beamed. “You’ve got that look about you. You’re not a California man. California men are sloppy. Surfers and whatnot. Tell me, do you like wine? Of course you do, you’re a cultured man. I’m ordering another bottle for us.”

He looked at Ivy, watched her face glaze over, though she made no move to leave. Family duty, he thought, understanding. More than most, he knew a thing or two about the weight of responsibility and those sharp expectations that stung along with it.

Helen ordered a bottle of chardonnay and four glasses without consulting anyone at the table.

“It’s a terrific night for a little getaway to the island, isn’t it?” Helen began after the waiter left. “An exquisite place to visit.”

“It’s my favorite place, this island,” Ivy told her.

Annoyed that her speech had been interrupted so soon into it, Helen cut to the chase. “Your father has lined up an interview for you at the hospital for an administrative position.”

“Mom, I have a job.”

“Doing arts and crafts is not a job.”

Ivy closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath, wishing she could escape to the sidewalk with a bucket of chalk like she’d done as a kid—something simple, something in solitude. “I’m an artist.”

Helen solemnly finished her glass of rosé then set her empty glass down with a clank.

Aiden gave Ivy’s hand another squeeze under the table. For all the faults of his parents, particularly his father, his mother always took interest in the lives of her children, which was more than he could say about Ivy’s mother.

“So, tell me. What’s the story of you two? How do you know each other?”

“There is no story, mother. Aiden is a guest at Villa Blue.”

“My daughter, living in a hotel.” Helen let out a huffy breath.

“It’s not a hotel, it’s a villa. And I don’t live
in
it. I have my own place on the estate.”

“A greenhouse is not a home.”

Having navigated his share of tense family occasions, Aiden decided it was time to dive in as the outsider, cut through some of the tension. “Villa Blue is by far the best spot on the island. It’s as if someone found an overlook then built every room of a villa facing another facet of the view. Not one room in the place has a bad view,” he said, registering that he’d collected his thoughts about the property without realizing it. But he was right—it truly was a spectacular piece of real estate and the life of it had crept into him over the past days spent working in the courtyard, chatting with Donatella while she cut flowers for each occupied room, talking with fellow guests over meals, drinking coffee and responding to emails each morning from the veranda, hoping for a glimpse of Ivy as she worked.

“Well you sure do sell it, don’t you? You must be an excellent businessman. See, Ivy?”

“See what?”

“Business is a perfectly acceptable career since you’re no longer married. It affords you the opportunity to visit
tourist
places like this then return to a proper home.”

“I am home. And I’m sorry, Mom, I know it’s confusing for you, but I’m not interested in being a business person, or an admin at dad’s hospital, or a housewife like you wanted me to be.”

Aiden watched as Helen’s otherwise flawless face scowled. “Ivy Van Noten, you watch your tongue. There’s nothing wrong with being a housewife. I am the CEO of the household you grew up in, young lady.”

Ivy’s hand tugged from Aiden’s and her spine straightened. Though her voice remained calm, there was a hiss snarling at the edge. “Of course there’s nothing wrong with whatever profession you choose. Just like there’s nothing wrong with the profession I’m choosing.”

The wine arrived and the cork popped before any further frustrations could be pitched across the table like weapons.

Helen sampled the test pour, approved, then silently stared at her eldest daughter as the waiter filled their glasses.

Aiden held up his glass in cheers, figuring that he better do something before there was a bar brawl between the blondes. “To being the luckiest man on the island, surrounded by three beautiful women.” Then he held his glass to Ivy’s, remembering why they’d gone to celebrate, and said quietly, “And to you.”

Helen watched with mild interest—was her daughter capable of landing a polished businessman such as Aiden James? She’d been bred with the capability, that much was true. But some wires had crossed somewhere, short-circuiting her otherwise agreeable, disciplined daughter. Her girl was sowing some wild oats, which was normal enough after a divorce. But one year was enough. And enough was enough.

“Are you married, Aiden?”

“Not married.”

“Ever been?”

“Mom,” Ivy interrupted, scolding.

“I’m just asking. That’s what people do when they share a bottle of wine. They get to know each other. There’s no harm in asking questions. He’s a grown man and doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to.”

“It’s all right,” he offered. “No, never been married.”

“That’s a shame. Such a decent man should have a woman by his side.”

Helen heard Ivy sigh heavily and snubbed it with the usual sneering disregard. “Iris here is dating a boy in school studying to be a dental surgeon. He’s a good man, a solid man, but he’ll be a better man with Iris at the helm of his home life.”

“Thanks, Mom. This wine is delicious, by the way. Great choice.” Iris chimed in to the peace, ducking from all else, as she was prone to doing.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Helen patted the table in front of Iris in an act of affection.

Ivy massaged her temples, took a drink, feeling the fuse of calm conformity getting shorter by the minute. “Can we please just speak straight so that I understand? What really brings you both here? Neither of you like Parpadeo.”

“Your imagination really is quite a puzzle. It’s a wonderful island, and as such, we’ve come to see what you’re up to. A whimsical weekend.”

Right, Ivy thought. Her mother didn’t take whimsical weekends, nor had she asked Ivy even once what she’d been up to. Everything her mother did had a purpose. “Are you staying at Villa Blue?”

“Of course. Where else would we stay?”

Ivy did her best to keep her face even. “I wish you would’ve told me. I have a lot going on this weekend. Getting ready for my show in—”

“I left you voicemails and sent you texts but you didn’t respond. For all I knew, you’d dropped off the earth.”

In response to Helen’s choice of words, Aiden and Ivy shared a small, private glance of amusement. They had dropped off the earth together—into the ocean while holding hands.

“Ivy, don’t be rude. Drink your wine.”

Happy to oblige her mother in the latter instruction, she did exactly that then stood after the fast gulp. “Thank you for the wine, Mom. I trust you two rented a cart to get up to the villa? Do you need help getting up there?”

“It’s easy enough. We’ve already checked in,” Helen speared back. “We’ll find our way just fine together, won’t we Iris?”

Iris’s head bobbed in agreement.

“Then you’ll excuse me. I have to get back to work.” At her mother’s silent scoff, Ivy excused herself and walked out without another word, with Aiden following behind.

The cool night air was reprieve from the long-fingered hold her mother had on the air in the wine bar. Helen Van Noten had a way of sucking up all the oxygen, Ivy thought to herself, breathing deep as she made a quick getaway.

“You okay?” Aiden strode faster to catch up.

“Yes. Or I will be.”

She sped along at a steady pace then stopped short, turned to Aiden, and pressed her fingers to her eyes, wishing she could return to flying through the air. “My mother’s here.”

“I noticed.”

“Hard not to. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. We’ve all got family we deal with.”

Her fingers moved to her forehead where she massaged, then her hands fell by her sides and she looked at him. “I don’t think my family even likes me very much. I don’t know why they insist on trying to convince me to live how they want me to live. I’m just not as forceful as they are. I’m not like them and that confuses the hell out of them. I’m twenty-six, for Christ’s sake. You’d think they’d have given up by now.”

She hummed out a sound of frustration. “My mother’s here.”

He stepped in, laid his lips gently on her forehead in a soft kiss. “That can’t be the only place around here with champagne. What about that bar and grill? Or that dive bar at the other end of town?”

“I should get back to work.” She started back toward the villa

In response, he took her hand and trekked up the trail with her, neither saying another word.

And while she led them on a narrow dirt footpath under the moonlight, amid the shrubs and wildflowers, up the hill toward Villa Blue, she tried not to let it mean something—his presence, his comfort—to her heart that yearned to protect itself from the possibility of any further hurt.