Page 67 of Claimed By my Father's Enemies
It got me through then. And it has been helping ever since.
I go to the kitchen garden and see that Celia has done most of what was planned. She looks up when I approach. "All good?" she asks.
"Yeah," I say.
She nods and goes back to what she was doing and I am grateful for that. For people who understand that sometimes yeah means no and that it’s better to leave it.
I dive into work. Rosemary that needs spacing. Two sections of ground cover. A stretch of edging that's been waiting two days. I stay in my body and let my hands do what they know how to do. The weight of the shovel. The resistance of dry soil. The specific ache across my shoulders after too long bent over. I don't think about Carter or Adrian or William. I just work.
By the time one of the hotel staff appears with the usual basket with snacks and water the light has shifted and my arms are tired in the right way.
I take the sandwiches. I take the water.
At the bottom of the basket, under the napkins, there is something wrapped in tissue paper.
I unwrap it.
Gardening gloves. Good ones. The expensive kind, reinforced on the palm, supple leather fingers.
The kind that last.
24
ADRIAN
Most romantic things to do in LA.
The cursor blinks in the search bar. I look at what I've typed. Consider it a moment. Then I press enter.
The results come back. Sunset hikes. Rooftop bars. The Griffith Observatory. Venice Canals Walkway, quiet and scenic, arched bridges. Horseback riding at sunset in the Hollywood Hills.
I scroll.
This is not something I do. I don't search for romantic things. I show up, make it good, and leave before it becomes something it has to be named. I don't plan the next part.
I certainly don't sit at my desk at nine in the morning with a case brief open in another tab while I look up moonlit picnics in Malibu.
And yet.
I click on a link about a private botanical garden in Pasadena that does evening tours. Read the first paragraph. Close it.
She was the first woman who ever stayed the night. That's what’s on my mind. Not what happened between us, but the after.
And in the morning I panicked. I went cold and clipped, and she felt every degree of it before she left. I've been trying to figure out how to undo that ever since. Hence, my research about romantic activities as a form of apology.
Sienna has me twisted in knots. Acting out of character.
Exhibit A: I allowed a woman to spend the night.
Exhibit B: I am currently researching horseback riding at sunset.
I scroll past a jazz cruise. Past an architectural tour of downtown that has no business being on a romantic list. Past a cooking class in Silver Lake.
The desk phone rings, rescuing me from a deep dive into finding out more about hot springs.
I pick up. "Mr. Kade?" My secretary's voice. "Mr. Hill is here to see you."
That’s odd. I wasn't expecting him. "Send him through."
