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“Rose...”
Goose bumps had covered Rosalind’s arms as her mother’s raspy voice descended into a coughing fit.
“Mom?”
“Darling... I’m so proud of you.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Never stop living your life to the fullest. Reaching for...reaching for those goals.”
Another hacking cough came over the line, sending cold fingers of fear down Rosalind’s spine.
“You’ll be a senior lawyer at Nettleton & Thompson one day. I know it. You won’t give up on that, will you?”
“I won’t.” Her fingers tightened around the phone as her heart hammered in her chest. “I’ll make you proud, Mom. And when we go to Italy this summer we’ll—”
“Italy...” Her mother’s voice turned dreamy, as if coming from some faraway place. “Such a fun trip.”
“Mom...”
“Yes, darling?”
She stood in the middle of Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, passengers streaming by, tears pouring down her face as she clung to her phone, like if she held tight enough she could keep her mother tethered to this earth through sheer will.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, my baby girl. My pretty rose.”
Rosalind closed her eyes against the hot sting of tears. Time had softened the sharpest edges of her grief. Yet there were times like now, moments she knew her mother would have embraced with a delighted smile and a hearty laugh, that brought it rushing back as if it were yesterday.
She’d known when her father had taken the phone from her mother, had told her that things weren’t going well, that she wasn’t going to make it. That hadn’t stopped her from boarding the flight and paying the extra charge for Wi-Fi to stay in touch with her brothers as she’d flown north.
The plane had been just south of the Great Lakes when she’d gotten the message. Her mother, her biggest champion and her best friend, had passed. She’d spent the rest of the flight with her face turned to the window, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
She opened her eyes and stared out at the sea. The weeks she’d spent at home had passed in a gray haze, with many hours spent on the dock that jutted out into the bay, sometimes crying, other times just staring at the horizon. Always awash in grief, an aching loss that haunted her every waking moment.
She’d always been able to see the good in everything, to focus on the positive, just like her mother. But this...it had shaken her foundation, introduced true sorrow into her life. Moving to London, to her internship at Nettleton & Thompson, had been the lifeline she’d desperately needed to pull her out of her heartache. She’d thrown herself into her work. Knowing that she had made her parents proud, that she had achieved everything her mother had dreamed for her, had kept her going for the past two years.
And it had sustained her. At least to start with. It hadn’t stopped discontent from starting to creep in, to fester, especially in the last month or so. A feeling that in her quest to be a responsible, mature individual, to do everything her parents had expected of her, she’d missed out on something crucial.
She was liked well enough at work, occasionally shared lunch with her coworkers. But she didn’t go out with them for dinner, to clubs or on weekend trips to the Continent. She rarely dated. When she did, it was someone she had met through work. Conversations inevitably turned to the legal field and the dates ended up feeling more like a job interview than something romantic.
Even the one thing she did make time for, reading, had become a chore instead of a source of relaxation as she’d prepared herself for a potential promotion. Instead of romances and cozy mysteries, she’d read legal briefs, case studies and samples of wills until she could recite them in her sleep.
She was good at finding the happy things in life. But when was the last time she had enjoyed a long lunch? Said yes to a coworker’s invitation to go out or traveled outside the comforts of London?
A year. Maybe more.
Past the garden lay a meadow of tall grasses swaying in the breeze. Then a cliff, and beyond that the ocean, the same deep and mesmerizing blue as the pillows on her bed, the throw tossed over one of the chairs by the fireplace.
Her brows drew together. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to maintain this house, keep it in working order. Yet from what she could tell, Griffith Lykaois was the only person in residence. He hadn’t been here in the past month. Did he pay to have someone keep it like this? If so, why? Did he come here often? Why this place and not one of his other properties?
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Griffith Lykaois’s intentions and preferences were his own. The only choice she cared about was whether or not he signed for his inheritance.
A thought came as she turned away from the window and the spectacular view, one that filled her with resolve and cautious hope. As much as she could have done without the almost getting flattened by a tree, she could see the storm had been a blessing. It had given her a second chance to catch her breath, refocus her attention and secure his signature before she left.
Concentrating on business had the added benefit of shifting her attention away from the memory of Griffith’s brooding stare and the decadent desire he could inspire with a single glance.
