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"Spring," he says. "My birthday is in the spring."
"I promise I won't make you a cake," I snicker, "but don't be surprised if you see a white chocolate cranberry tart sitting on your nightstand."
Something instantly shifts between us. His jovial gaze is now molten, and I just want to melt into him. "What if there's something else I'd like to see sitting on my nightstand?"
"Ask." My answer catches him off guard. "Maybe you'll get what you want."
A sharp knock on the door sounds and Eris says, "Carriage is here," without abandoning her dessert.
"Are you ready to meet Rafe and Soraya Harland?" Ronan taps his elbow against mine.
"As ready as I will ever be," I say with a smile, even though deep within my soul, I'm terrified.
Twenty-Four
Shaye
By carriage, it takes us just about an hour to reach the northern tip of the crescent. From what I know of the city, the further you travel the more exclusive and wealthier the people dwelling here become. When the road dead ends, the carriage pulls through a tall, black iron gate, and trots over a gravelly pathway leading to the front door of the most impressive house I've seen in the entire Kingdom of Tronovia.
Stepping out of the buggy, I'm left speechless. The black house has giant windows on all three levels and although the perfectly manicured green hedges block the view to the backyard, I catch a glimpse of the water. Before I realize it, my feet take me toward the dock where one small boat bobs, tied to the pier. The estate is expansive to be sure, but no one can deny being the last house at the tip of the crescent boasts the best views of not only the city but the bay as well. It's private, luxurious and quiet. All things I value.
I hear the crunch of gravel behind me and know by gait alone it's Atlas. Without twisting to meet his gaze, I ask, "Is this where you grew up?"
He settles next to me, his arm brushing against mine. "Our time was split. During the school year, we lived with Uncle Soren at Starnborough. Summers we spent here."
"It's beautiful." I glance up at him, expecting him to be admiring the bay as well, but instead, he's looking down at me.
"Yes," he whispers. "Beautiful."
For a moment, I allow myself to admire how the afternoon light casts a haloed glow over him, making his green eyes look almost gemlike. Quickly, before I can change my mind, I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, fixing the few stands that are out of place. He closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, tempting me to play with his hair just a little longer. Pine, leather and peppermint. Even if my days in Tronovia don't last much longer, I will never, for as long as I live and breathe, forget how Atlas smells, as if it's inked in my own flesh.
"There." I force myself to stop touching him, retrieving my hand.
He opens his eyes and immediately meets my awaiting gaze. His throat bobs when he swallows. I know that look. He has something to say, but it will remain a secret to me.
"Say it," I beg.
"Say what?"
"Whatever you're wanting to say but won't."
Something like fear flashes in his eyes, but it's gone in an instant, replaced with a hard-set determination. He squares his body to mine and jerks his head toward the house, beckoning me to follow. "Come on. I'll give you a tour."
Attached to the courtyard where the carriage left us, there's a narrow brick walkway that weaves through rows of ferns and leads us to the front door. When I step over the threshold, I see straight through to the back half where the entire wall is made up of windows overlooking a stunning wooden decked patio with a firepit, lounge chairs and what appears to be an inground hot tub. The view beyond that is of the open sea.
The interior of the house is very similar in nature to the Harland House. Lots of black walls, cozy leather seating, with paintings and sketches I can only assume belong to Atlas. The foyer has a forest green, velvet-tufted bench and gold hooks for jackets. Atlas offers to take mine and I oblige, sliding it from my arms and passing it to him to hang.
My sights beeline to the corner of the great room in front of us and settle on a black spiral staircase with golden spindles. Once I'm in the space, I notice the staircase leads up to the second level of the cathedral ceiling sitting room where every wall has a built-in bookshelf. Books upon books line the shelves and it takes conscious thought not to sprint up the steps to peruse through their impressive collection. Upon further inspection, I finally notice two breathtaking chandeliers that look like diamond raindrops hanging from the wooden beams above us.
I'm suddenly overwhelmed, remembering this is just the first room of a very large home.
Atlas tugs me through the living room into the adjoining dining area where a table, easily able to accommodate twelve people, sits with a view of the sea. The gargantuan kitchen lies just beyond the next arched doorway, and the way my jaw drops should probably be considered improper, but the kitchen is larger than my bedroom in Midori. Onyx marble countertops nestled over black cabinets; white wooden floors shooting toward the double doors leading out to the garden; an expansive butcher block island centered underneath the two-story ceiling skylight with three domed pendant lights dangling above. I am in complete awe of this place.
"Are you thirsty?" Atlas' voice echoes, reminding me I'm not alone. He heads to a wine bar tucked in the corner and shows me the options. "Red or white?"
I point at a bottle with the floral label, "Red."
"Good choice," he smiles, though I can sense the worry he shoulders.
