Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter 6 

We cruise along the Rickenbacker Causeway, surrounded by calm, crystal blue seas and cars that cost more than my apartment. The air is warm and the smell of the sea fills my nostrils. The road is perched precariously above the shallow waters, while supercars and super tramps cruise back and forth from one of the richest areas in all of Southern Florida, Key Biscayne. The village is quaint and charming. The same cannot be said about houses, each one bigger than the last, hiding behind manned gates and ten-foot privacy walls. The drive stretches and the houses become fewer and more massive, the narrow strip of land swallowed by sprawling gardens and manicured pool patios.
A boat in every slip.

Rhys pulls into a curved drive that leads to an ornate wrought iron gate, adorned with fleur-de-
lis. He punches a code into a post shrouded by oversized bushes and the gate swings open, slowly revealing the decadence that lies beyond. The drive is long and lined by tall sweeping palms, swaying in welcome, perfectly manicured grass expanses stretch to the water on both sides of the property. The house, if it can be called that, is imposing and commanding. Graceful archways anchor a wraparound portico, lending an air of Mediterranean charm. The house glitters against the clear blue waters, whitewashed stucco and dark wood accents stand out against the tropical backdrop. Rhys is waiting, his grin wide and contagious, as he watches me take it all in.

“This is my family’s house. The wedding will be here tomorrow. I thought you would want to see how it is all coming together. Please,” he offers his hand, gently pulling me from the car.

Electricity flows between us, sending my pulse racing. The gentle tug of his hand pulls at my deepest recesses. Rhys leads me through the heavy front door, holding my hand possessively, and into a glimmering marble entrance hall, a vast chasm around which the rest of the house seems to radiate. The marble is cold and colorless, but the dark wood is warm and carries its age with grace. Museum quality art adorns the walls on either side, an impressive collection that even an art novice such as myself would easily recognize. Colorful watercolors of blooming hills, lazy rivers, busy Paris streets and the beautiful sun soaked south of France. Monet is well represented. I remind myself to return to these paintings for a closer look, their beauty so powerful, every brush stroke draws you deeper. Rhys leads me through to the inner atrium, flanked on either side by grand curved staircases leading to a dramatic balcony and more, fine, collectible artwork. It is like nothing I have ever seen, I can only compare it to the inside of Tara, expecting a weeping woman to come sweeping down the staircase at any moment. The grandeur is more than I can comprehend. He pushes open a pair of heavy, intricately carved wooden doors, revealing a buzzing scene.

“This is the ballroom where dinner will be served and then dancing.” He scans the room, checking each and every employee that is hard at work preparing every little detail for the impending celebration. Round tables are being set up all around the perimeter of the room, while a group of women flutter about the swaths of blush colored organza and silk, creating a dreamy canopy above what will surely be the dance floor. At the back of the room a pair of French doors leads to a wide open patio overlooking a large lawn of perfect emerald green grass.

I hear a faint melody, familiar, floating about. I reach into my hidden little pocket to find my phone ringing. I almost forgot it was on me, the damn thing hasn’t gone off in days. I reluctantly remove my hand from his and excuse myself to take the call. I look down at my phone to see an unfamiliar number, but it’s from my home area code so I answer.

“This is Sophie.”

“Where are you?” The voice is smooth and controlled, yet the current that flows beneath is pulsating with frustration. “I drove all this way to see you.” Honey laced with poison.

“You shouldn’t have because I told you to leave me alone.” My pulse breaks into a sprint.
             

“I think we both know you didn’t mean that, you never do. Now, where are you?” His tone is clipped and icy, losing patience.

“It is none of your business.”  Barely able to bite back the frustration, hearing his controlled even breathing, undercut by his smug assumption that he can walk in and out of my life whenever he feels the urge. My toe taps on the stone patio, nervous energy and anxiety building with every measured breath. It has been over a month since he contacted me last, I had hoped it would be the last time.

“Oh, wait,” a threatening pause sends my pulse racing
, “here we are, an invitation to Olivia’s wedding, so you are in Miami, huh? Oh, and look a copy of your itinerary. Good, so I will see you at the airport.”

“Are you in my house?” I can feel the bile rising in my throat, thinking about him moving through my home, the home we used to share.

“
Your
house? This is
our
house. Why didn’t you tell me you were going out of town? I can only assume it is because you knew that I would not approve.”

“I don’t care what you think. What I do and where I go is none of your business anymore. I do not want to see you. I want you to leave me alone. Please leave your key and get out of my house, and stay out of my life!”  Tears threaten to spill over, standing at the edge of reason.

“You are very bold when you are so far away. I wonder if your resolve will be equal when you are in my arms. I know how to make you agreeable, Sophie, and I am sure I can help you to see things my way. I will see you at the airport on Sunday.” The last statement a demand before he cuts me off and the line goes dead. I turn the ringer off and shove the phone into my pocket, unwilling to be caught off guard again. I am left shaking and angry, momentarily unaware of my surroundings, and my uncomfortable company.

“Sophie?” Rhys’ soft, cautious voice a stark contrast to the bile
-filled conversation my ears just endured. I wipe the singular proof of my pain away from my cheek and turn to him with an overzealous smile. “Are you alright?” He moves a step closer, slowly, careful not to startle.              

“I’m fine.” Pushing back anxiety and worry, I paint myself cheerful and change the subject. Unwilling to let the momentary distraction ruin my time with Rhys, I
hook my arm into the crook of his elbow and ask him to finish showing me the grounds.  A beautiful distraction is surely the best remedy to a horrible ex-boyfriend.

Rhys’ wheels are turning, clearly pondering what he had just overheard. His face is set in a gracious, practiced smile, that does not meet his eyes. His eyes are hard, shadowed by a furrowed brow. He takes my hand in his and tightens his grip as we follow the stone patio that circles the back of the house. It all leads to a small circular stone portico and then splits into two paths, one leading to a second level, surely offering amazing vistas of sunsets and the incoming cruise ships. The second leading down a short pathway to a sunken patio boasting a half moon infinity pool, the edge perched over the seawall, melting into the surrounding azure waters. Directly in front of the portico is a perfectly laid stone path that winds through a ghostly veil of overgrown weeping willows and heavily blossomed wisteria, leading to a perfect spot overlooking the water, where two men are hard at work putting the finishing touches on the arbor Olivia and
Matthew will stand beneath.   

The chairs are being set up in a half moon formation around the arbor, mirroring the shape of the pool
and the shoreline, lending a beautiful fluid curve to the whole scene. Rhys’ hand is possessive around mine, leading me, demanding I follow. The caress of his finger against the inside of my hand is calming and erotic. The rest of my body hums, wishing the caress went beyond my lucky, lucky palm. He stops and sighs before turning me to him, placing his hand on the small of my back, anchoring me in his sights.

“Please forgive me for asking
, Sophie, but is everything alright? You seem upset. Is there anything you need?” 

“Everything is fine.” I look into his eyes and he strips away any falsehood I had hoped to offer. The truth is bubbling to the surface and I cannot stop its flow, he has cast a spell. I sigh in resignation and launch into the highly edited version of events. “That was my
ex. He likes to throw his weight around. All bark and no bite.”

Rhys’ face is impassive as he listens to me divulge information I really don’t want to share. I try and slither from his grip, uncomfortable talking about the past with Mr. Right Now, but he refuses to let me back away, his palm gently locking me in his sights. He patiently waits for me to open up, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I guess I was hoping that this week would wipe it all away, that I could hide for a while. That maybe I could forget about it, reinvent myself, be somebody else.”

“How is that working for you?”

“Life has a funny way of forcing you to be who you are.”

“And who are you?”

“An idiot.”

“I
don’t think so. You are no idiot, Sophie.”

“I didn’t protect myself. I knew better, but I still let the wolf in the house.”

“And now you will know better.”

“Will I?” Looking into his crystal clear eyes, I am not sure. With this wolf I will surely make a host of mistakes.

“We live and learn, Sophie. You of all people know that. Don’t let someone else’s weakness become your downfall. You are too special, too strong.” He brushes a curl away from my forehead with his finger, tucking it behind my ear, lingering about my lobe. I am completely floored, his words floating around me like smoke, dissipating into thin air. I want to grab them and shove them in my pocket, take them with me wherever I go. Yet in a blink they are carried away, the proof evaporated.

“I don’t always feel strong.”

“You are strong,” he interrupts, his voice ripe with frustration and something that sounds like concern. “Look at you. On your own, you are strong and smart and very tempting. Any man who would make you second guess yourself is no man at all. Excuse me if I have overstepped, you need someone who knows what you need, someone to show you some respect.” The words clearly do not relay the true weight of his feelings about what he thinks he heard. He is clipped, controlled, but unsatisfied.

“Like a friend?” I poke him with my words.

He seems inclined towards a speech when a tall, thin young man appears in the doorway behind us, clearing his throat to announce his presence. He is younger than Rhys with ginger hair and a heavy swath of freckles across his pink face, but his eyes are familiar, warm green like a rolling Irish hill. He grins at me, confident and crooked. Rhys turns his eyes to him and scowls, effectively erasing the young man’s impish grin. Before I know what has happened, they are in a playful embrace, slapping one another on the back, frantically shaking one another’s hands.     

“Sophie, this is my cousin
Charlie. He is here from Ireland, he just finished school and has come to work for me this summer.” He turns to Charlie with the look of a proud older brother “Isn’t that right, Charlie?” This is the first I have seen Rhys be so familiar and warm with anyone other than Matthew. I had come to consider him a man unto himself, an island. Now, to see him with family is endearing and revealing. 

“Sophie, if you will excuse
me, I just need to speak with Charlie. Please, feel free to look around, I won’t be but a moment.”

I watch the men finish the arbor as the gardeners begin to prune bushes for tomorrow’s event. Large urns filled with wisteria and lacy tropical foliage anchor each row of chairs, as the aisle is marked out and cleared. I find myself pacing, wearing a path in the stone, uneasy being away from Rhys. I decide to head inside and look around while I wait.

“Quick and clean, Charlie.”

“Not a problem, Cousin. If there is nothing else, I will make the call for the plane and we should be on our way within a couple of hours.” I peek around the corner of Rhys’ large office door to hear him wrap up his conversation with Charlie. He nods at me then quickly turns to dismiss Charlie.

“Keep in touch.”

“You can count on me.” He nods at me
, tipping his newsboy cap like a proper Irish rogue, his freckled cheeks aflame as he leaves us. “Lass.” The heels of his shoes click on the cold marble floors and echo through the vast foyer.

Rhys’ office is warm and cozy and not what I would expect in such an ornately decorated home. The desk is heavy old wood, clearly well worn. The polish dulled by years of hard work, daily frustrations scar the surface. Every wall is covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, packed with cloth covered volumes, leather
bound classics and rows and rows of biographies, broken up only by two large sunny bay windows. Were it not for the windows, the room would be much darker and heavier. Looking closer I notice an entire wall dedicated to megalomaniacs, tycoons, billionaires, leaders of men and builders of empires, a wall of ego unparalleled. The thought of Rhys among those men, powerful and cunning, taking what he wants, never being satisfied, rattles my mind. I turn to find him, settled in his overly large, leather chair, casually reclined, fingers laced, the picture of intimidation and authority. Looking like he would fit comfortably among the shelves, nestled between the biographies of John D. Rockefeller and Howard Hughes. He brushes his fingers against his lips, watching my every move, his eyes probing. I tear my eyes away, the threat of spontaneous combustion looming heavily.