Page 70 of Unraveling Fate

The entrance doors slid open, and Vasilios Pearce strode through. A wave of air conditioning followed him, chilling the stress sweat on her neck.

“Ms. Cavalieri.” He smiled and touched his walking stick to his forehead in greeting. “What a delightful surprise.”

“Mr. Pearce.” Her ears rang, and she clenched her fist to avoid tugging on them. Crying must have swollen her throat enough to put pressure on her eardrums. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, ah, Vasilios, please. And I am a member of this club, remember?”

She made a face. “Right. Sorry. I thought in the middle of a weekday, though, that you’d be working, or doing campaign things for Canon.”

He smiled again. “You are kind to think of him. Politics is a noisy, stressful job, and I find a walk around the grounds in the quiet to be beneficial. But you seem distressed. May I be of assistance?”

“No. No, thank you, I’m fine.” She stepped back to let him pass, but her heel caught on a lip of the sidewalk and she stumbled. Vasilios caught her arm.

The thrum of the ground sucked away from her feet, like sand pulled out by a wave.

She grabbed hold of a pillar, and Vasilios let go.

“Aha! I found it!” Drostan’s voice carried from the car.

“If you are well, I’ll be off. I hope you find a quiet moment, Ms. Cavalieri.” He saluted her again and slipped between cars in the parking lot.

Drostan jogged over, waving his phone. “Wee bugger fell between the seats.”

The ground steadied under Cadenza’s feet, and she took a deep breath. Her ears cleared.

That’s better.Trust her mother to come up with a scheme that left her so upset she couldn't hear properly.

Drostan held the door for her. “Come on then. We’ll get it all sorted.”

Cadenza waited for the receptionist to finish on the phone so she could ask her about Thomas’s schedule while Drostan leafed through a stack of club brochures on the front table.

He held up one of the leaflets. “LearmonthCountry Club?”

“Yes, why?”

“Cadenza. Good, you’re here.” Thomas strolled into the lobby in tangerine frames and an asymmetrical, seafoam-green jacket. “We can get started?—”

A snarl interrupted him, and Cadenza started. Drostan crumpled the brochure in his fist. Purple mottled his face, and veins popped out along his neck.

“You,” he spat.

Thomas pulled up short. He drew himself to his full height, face cold.

“Drostan, what’s wrong?” Cadenza looked between the two men, bewildered.

“Guardian,” Thomas said.

“Guardian?” Cadenza’s stomach lurched. Why would Thomas know to call Drostan that?

“Ercildoun,” Drostan growled.

Shock iced through her limbs. “No.” She shook her head. “No, Drostan. This is Thomas Learmonth. He owns the club.”

Thomas sighed and made a shallow bow. “Sir Thomas Learmonth of Ercildoun.”

“What?” she whispered. Ercildoun. Thomas was Ercildoun? The name she’d so blithely added to her to-do list, like the person on the other side of Taran’s curse would be simply a name to wipe out. This man was Ercildoun? This man had cursed Taran? Beautiful, joking, drumsong, ocean, heartbeat Taran. Stuck forever.

Because of this man?