Timothy (11 page)

I was very glad I hadn't when, on our last night in Manhattan, Carlo said his name in his sleep.

I'd spent that last afternoon in the city packing up everything I'd purchased—some of my clothes I'd had the stores ship directly to Spindrift—so that Roberts could take them with him that evening. Carlo had a car in the city, parked in a garage, that he wanted to return to Spindrift—and by sending Roberts ahead with our luggage, on Saturday morning we could simply throw what was left into an overnight bag and hit the road.

I was nervous and excited—Spindrift was going to be my new home, and while I'd looked it up online, even seen pictures of it—the thought of living in a house that made that huge place where Carlo had proposed to me in Miami look like a cottage was rather off-putting. And there were servants to get used to, as well. I knew there were several live-in servants, including the remarkable Carson, who ran the household. I was getting used to Roberts and to having Ferguson take care of flagging cabs for me whenever I needed one, but I wasn't so sure about actual live-ins.

We stayed in that last night and ordered Chinese food to be delivered, and watched some old movies on a pay cable channel while we ate. I'd had a wonderful week—other than overhearing those two horrible women—and was sad to see it end. Carlo had been wonderful, more wonderful than I could have ever dared hope, and I was looking forward to getting settled in and started on our married life. I loved the penthouse, and always would—but it didn't seem real, perhaps because Carlo kept referring to the week as our honeymoon.

We went to bed early, since Carlo wanted to get off to an early start the next morning. As always, he wrapped his arms around me and we cuddled. I fell asleep almost immediately, as I had ever since we'd arrived. I'd been worried, having always slept alone, how I would adapt to sharing a bed once we were married—but my worries were for nothing. I slept better inside the comfort of Carlo's strong arms, with his warm body pressed against mine, than I ever had in my life. Every morning we awoke, almost at the same time, having barely moved in the night.

But this last night, Carlo pulled away from me, and slept restlessly, tossing and turning. At three in the morning his restlessness woke me, and I found myself staring at the digital clock on my nightstand, reading 3:03 a.m. in red lights. He tossed and turned again, and I wondered whether I should wake him, maybe he was having a bad dream, when he groaned and said out loud, “Timothy, why?”

I froze completely, and my heart almost stopped beating.

His voice sounded heartbroken, desolate, devastated, like it had been ripped from an anguished soul in constant torment.

I slipped out of the bed and walked barefoot into the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water from the tap in the sink. My heart was pounding, and my General Tso's chicken felt like a lump of heavy lead in my stomach. I realized my hands were shaking as I raised the glass to my lips.

Get a hold of yourself
, I told myself as I gulped the ice cold water down,
you knew all along he was still in love with Timothy. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you.

Like you can compare to Timothy
, Valerie's voice mocked me inside my head, echoed by the voices of those awful women.

I went back to bed, and Carlo seemed to have relaxed in his dream state. As soon as I slipped back under the covers again, he moved toward me and his arms went around me again—but this time, they didn't feel as comforting as they always had before.

And I wasn't able to get back to sleep the rest of the night—and it seemed only minutes had passed when the alarm went off at six.

A hot shower and several cups of coffee didn't help, either. I was still yawning and sleeping when I headed down to the lobby of our building, carrying the overnight bag with our shaving kits and the dirty clothes we'd worn the night before. Ferguson politely asked me when I thought we might be back in the city, but I just shook my head and shrugged. He opened the door for me and I stepped out into the warmth of the morning. The gray morning sky was beginning to turn blue as the sun rose in the east, and the streets were empty. I only stood out on the sidewalk for a few moments before a red Jaguar convertible pulled up to the curb with Carlo at the wheel.

Ferguson seemingly materialized out of thin air and opened the passenger side door for me, and I slid into the seat with a weak smile for him. “Have a safe trip, sirs,” he said, saluting smartly as he closed the door behind me.

“You can nap if you like,” Carlo said over the roar of the wind as he sped through the city, heading for the Queensboro Bridge and the Long Island Expressway. “Didn't you sleep well?” His tone was sympathetic.

I shook my head while covering a yawn with my right hand.

“I'm sorry, I just hate driving in traffic,” he replied as I yawned yet again and slid down in my seat, resting my head against the door. “And there isn't any at this hour. I suppose I could have let you leave with Roberts at a more decent hour, but I didn't want you to see Spindrift for the first time without me at your side.”

I could hear the pride in his voice when he talked about Spindrift. Tired as I was, his words filled me with trepidation. I knew the shift in my feelings about the house had come about because he had said the dreaded name last night in his sleep—and I just knew that Timothy had fit Spindrift like he was born to live there. The servants would compare me to him, and I would be found lacking, the way those two horrible women had found me lacking. There were the neighbors as well, and Carlo's friends—they would be polite, of course, as were his friends in the city, but while the penthouse somehow had seemed like a kind of enchanted world where I could hide out in an ivory tower with my handsome prince, avoiding the dragons and sorcerers, Spindrift seemed different. Spindrift was reality, not a magic kingdom, but it couldn't be put off forever. If I was going to be married to Carlo and make the marriage a success somehow, I would have to do it at Spindrift. It was going to be our home; it had been home to the Romaniello family for generations, since it was built in the 1880s.

While the penthouse seemed to me to belong to Carlo, for some reason now, in my mind, Spindrift seemed to be Timothy's house, and I couldn't help but feel like an intruder, an outsider, an interloper who didn't belong there.

As the car made it over the bridge into Queens, I glanced over at Carlo, his face wrinkled in concentration as he focused on driving.
No, I can't say anything to him
, I decided,
I swore to never bring up Timothy to Carlo, and that was the smart way to handle it.

I closed my eyes again and heard him again crying out Timothy's name in his sleep, in the bed he'd shared with Timothy first.

Learn to deal with it
, I reminded myself,
he's already shared everything with Timothy.

I must have fallen asleep. I woke with a start when the car swerved violently to the right and then back to the left again.

“Sorry,” Carlo said cheerfully. “I was avoiding a rabbit, didn't mean to wake you.”

I yawned and stretched. I could smell the sea, and the air was much cooler than it had been in the city. “How far is it now?”

“We're very close.” He reached over and tousled my hair. “You were sound asleep, Mouse. I know I had a restless night—did that keep you awake?”

I shook my head and yawned again. “No, not at all,” I lied. “I think I was just nervous about today is all.”

His smile faded a bit, and he glanced over at me quickly before turning his attention back to the road. “But why? There's nothing to be nervous about, Mouse. Spindrift is going to be your home, and I know we're going to be very happy there, I promise you that.”

“I'll be happy wherever you are,” I answered.

“Don't sweet-talk me and try to change the subject,” he replied. “Are you worried? There's no reason to be.”

“I know,” I said, wishing I could go back in time a few minutes so I could say something innocuous instead of what I had actually said. “I—I'm just not used to having servants, is all. It's just going to take some getting used to.”

He laughed. “Is that what you're worried about, Mouse?” He reached over and patted my leg. “Within a few days I'm sure you won't even notice them anymore. And Carson is wonderful.”

“Yes, you've said that before,” I said. I'd heard him talking to Carson on the phone several times. “What exactly does he do?”

“He's invaluable, worth his weight in gold,” Carlo went on. “He runs the house—kind of a combination majordomo and personal assistant. He'll take care of everything for you. If you want anything, just tell him and he'll take care of it. I don't know how I ever got by without him. He's almost like a part of the house now.” He began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “He oversees the staff, makes sure the pantry and liquor is stocked, keeps the accounts—you'll of course take over signing the checks from me—I can't imagine how we'd get on without Carson.” He shuddered. “I certainly hope we never have to.”

“He sounds perfect.” I replied, trying to stifle yet another yawn. “I'm sure we'll get along famously.”

“He's been a godsend,” Carlo said, smiling as I yawned. “There's coffee in a thermos in the glove box, if you need some, sleepyhead.”

Gratefully, I retrieved it, pouring some into the lid. It was hot and black, and so strong that I gasped as I swallowed some—which made Carlo laugh. I drank the entire cup quickly, feeling the warmth flowing through my body. The cobwebs in my head began to clear somewhat—which was a good thing; I hardly wanted to meet the amazing Carson while groggy. I put the cup back on the thermos and put it back into the glove compartment.

We rode along in silence for a while, and we exited the highway, driving through the country on a narrow paved road. In a matter of moments, enormous houses came into view, standing at the end of long driveways and emerald lawns. One tall brick fence gave way to an enormous hedge, and Carlo turned where a paved drive penetrated out through the hedge. He pressed a remote control attached to the sun visor, and the enormous black iron gate began to creak open by sliding to the left.

Carlo leaned over and kissed me. “Welcome to Spindrift.”

I smiled back at him, and he drove through the open gate—which began closing almost immediately.

I gasped.

The articles I'd read online, and the accompanying pictures, hardly prepared me for the reality. Photographs never give an indication of scale. I had known the house was big, but the reality took my breath away.

The lawn was enormous and perfectly manicured; not a single blade of the emerald green grass was the slightest bit taller than the rest. The lawn was boxed in on both the left and the right by the enormous hedge, which seemed to be the property line marker. The driveway made a big circle, leading around to the front of the house and then continuing on to the right around the side of the house. A huge fountain was directly centered in an enormous pond in the part of the lawn encircled by the driveway, and as we passed it I could see the statue in the center of the fountain was Apollo grasping on to Daphne as she turned into the tree. The water cascaded out of the top of her head, which more resembled a tree trunk.

But the house itself—it was breathtaking.

I knew that it had been built in 1880 and was modeled after a country house in England called Easton Neston. The house appeared, from looking at it, to only be two stories high—with enormously high ceilings on each floor. It was constructed of pink marble and granite, so that with the sun shining overhead it seemed to have a mild glow, like a sunset. Eight huge windows let the sun in on each floor, and there were stairs on either side of the porch that led to the enormous front doors. Two wings, made of red brick, branched off from the main portion of the house; chimneys towered about the house's magnificence. I knew the house had forty-eight rooms, and there were basement apartments for the servants who lived in. As the car came around the circle to one of the flights of stone steps leading up to the porch, I could see the sun reflecting on the glass windows—they were completely spotless—and I couldn't imagine how difficult it was to keep that glass clean.

I also knew that the main part of the house was primarily for entertaining—it was where the kitchen and dining room, the ballroom and the massive library were located—and the bedrooms were in the wings.

Carlo stopped the car and turned off the engine. “What do you think?”

I couldn't form any words.

I got out of the car and just stared, afraid to go any closer to it.

Carlo walked around the car and put his arm around me, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Your new home, darling Mouse. I hope you like it.”

Still speechless, I followed him up the steps to the front door, made entirely of all glass panes. He unlocked the door and I followed him inside.

We entered into an enormous foyer, and my jaw dropped.

I'd seen pictures of the grand staircase, but again—they didn't prepare me for the awesome sight before me. It was a hanging staircase, made of gray marble with a polished oak banister, that led to a landing and continued up to the second floor after a 180 degree turn. Over the landing was another enormous window. About halfway up to the landing an alcove in the wall held a statue of a Greek god, and the wall alongside the stairs had been painted in oil—what appeared to be a scene from the Trojan War. The walls in the entryway were hung with enormous oil paintings in gilt frames, and at the opposite end I could see another glass door that led to a back gallery—and in the far distance, I could see the ocean.

“Close your mouth, dear, you look simple-minded,” Carlo said absently as he crossed the foyer into the hallway.

I closed my mouth and followed.