Each time he reads her name, he jolts a little.
I glance behind me to Yasmine, who is trying, and failing, to hide a smile. She came to the garden with me and bullied me as I agonized over the right varieties and despaired over the growing costs. She takes my hand now as we watch Aiden touch almost every flower he passes, and I think maybe she finally gets what I’ve seen in him since the beginning.
“Do you promise you like it?”I ask after we drop Yasmine back at the Baptistes’ house. He’s said he does every time I ask, but I like hearing it. “If you don’t, I can have it renamed. I donated a lot to the botanical society, so they won’t care what we call it.”
As he drives down St. Charles Avenue under the canopy of massive oaks, he takes my hand where it’s knotted by my thigh and brings it to his lips. “No matter how many times you ask, the answer is still going to be the same. I love it. Thank you for giving it to me.”
“The gardens?”
He pauses at a stop sign and catches my eye. “Peace.”
I’m grateful for the honk behind us because it tears his attention away, and I can breathe again. Somehow, he still has that heart-stopping effect when he focuses all that considerable scrutiny on me.
“Where are we going?” I ask as historical homes crawl by outside the window. I’ve always loved this street. The history. The ties to the city. Mom and I would plant ourselves here for the parades. Ride the streetcar for fun before Father became too notorious to be out in public. Since we got back from Ireland, I forced Aiden to take a tour of my favorite places, regardless of the attention. Restaurants. Tourist hot spots. Tarot readings inJackson Square. Walking tours through the cemeteries. “Did you want to ride the streetcar again?” I tease.
Aiden doesn’t answer. Instead, we pull to a stop and park on the side of the street. “Maybe another time. C’mon.”
I glance around. All I see are houses and the lacy overhang of trees. Sidewalks of people strolling by. “Come on? What are we doing here?”
But instead of answering, he’s already striding up the sidewalk to a house with a green construction barrier surrounding it. I jog to keep up with his ground-eating pace. When I reach him, he’s punching a number into a lock on the fence. My mind is on the internship and keeps fluttering back to Aiden’s face when he realized what the garden meant as I read a sign next to the gate.This property, Allain-Cavaille House, has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places by the United States Department of the Interior. Maybe it has something to do with one of his investments? I’ve given up trying to keep track of his various business ventures and charities. His poor assistant, Finn, must be run ragged by the vastness of his empire.
The gate swings open with a squeal of protesting hinges. Aiden strolls through, then stops when he realizes I haven’t followed. “You comin’?” he asks over his shoulder.
I creep closer, glancing around and expecting a security guard to come running at us. “Should we be here? I don’t know how much more Reggie can put up with, you know. Breaking and entering will be another notch against us at this point.”
His mouth curls up on one side. “We can’t break into a place we own.” With that, he continues up the half-circle drive and through the double front doors.
“Own?” I mouth at his back, then scramble up the steps and follow him through. “What do you meanown?” But the demand trails off as I take in the interior.
Glossy acres of wide-planked heart of pine floors. A twinkling chandelier. Massive staircase with intricate millwork on the rails. It’s stunning. And empty. Most of the spaces I can see are finished, but there are also areas still clearly under construction. Blank. Full of possibilities.
“The owner owes the casino quite a fair amount. I offered to clear his debts in exchange for the property. It’s unfinished, as you can see. The exterior is about 60 percent completed. The interior is less. But it’s got potential, I think.”
“I’m pretty sure that arrangement wouldn’t hold water in court,” I say with amusement. But I’m too awed to give him too much of a hard time. “Aiden, it’s beautiful. But you do realize we already have a house. Several, if you include your townhouse.”
He comes to stand behind me and presses a hand to my belly to pull me against him. His mouth flirts with my ear, voice low. “I know you don’t like the estate, baby. It reminds you too much of your mother, and not in a good way anymore. I wanted to give you a new start.” I open my mouth to object, but he interrupts me before I can say a word. “Don’t say anything yet. Let me give you a tour first before you make any decisions. Please?”
I shiver at his touch. We’ve been so busy since we got back from Ireland that there hasn’t been much time for intimacy beyond sharing the same bed. First, there was his mother and my sister. It had been a nightmare. Understandably, the mood hadn’t been right. Then he had many, many long nights of calls to Niall, which left him moody and exhausted. Mara tried to explain to him that she was a big girl who could take care of herself, but Aiden still hated putting her in the crosshairs.
Not to mention my father, who was still missing in action. The police are convinced he’s been kidnapped or something equally dramatic, but the truth is, when he heard Cian was dead and Aiden was gunning for him for colluding with Elizabeth to have me killed, he ran scared. Aiden’s guy, someone he refers toas King, is supposedly tracking him down. But I’m determined to look to the future. Cockroaches like my father will always scurry away. It’s only a matter of time before they get squashed beneath someone’s boot.
A breath escapes me. “If you insist.”
He tugs me through, but instead of narrating his thoughts, he lets me study the space without comment, and I’m grateful. I wouldn’t have been able to force responses from my dry throat. The entryway is grand, at least ten feet wide with soaring ceilings. The staircase is immediately to the right, next to a space that could be for a table or extra seating. To the left is what I think should be a formal living space with a fireplace and lots of windows. It feeds through a small walkway—a half bath to the left, a closet to the right with doors that go through to the main entry—with a formal dining room on the other side.
The dining area is unfinished, with no walls and construction materials covertly tucked out of the way. Ceiling stripped, innards exposed. But there’s a massive bay window on the far side and another fireplace. Looks like it’s original to the house.
Aiden shadows me like a ghost as I move across the main hall. To my left is a back door. On the other side of the hall is another open space. This is where he finally breaks his silence. “This would be a family room, breakfast area, maybe. And then the kitchen to the right.” I can see it. It makes my throat close around my response, so I only nod. “Want to keep going?” he asks.
At my nod, we go back to the staircase and climb up to the second floor, arriving at a landing with a hallway and several open doorways to more unfinished rooms and another flight of stairs leading to a third floor. Christ, how big is this place? Aiden tugs me to the left and through a door.
“This would be the primary suite,” he says. There’s an eager note to his voice now. Hopeful. The walls are bare to the studsagain, but double doors lead to a wraparound balcony. Polished floors. A side room meant for the bed with arching windows. A giant bathroom with a massive walk-in closet.
“And if we go this way by the stairs, there’s the laundry room. And three more bedrooms for guests or…or whatever…” Two of the bedrooms share a jack-and-jill bath. The third has its own, and all have generous walk-in closets. Off the bedroom with its own bath is access to a rooftop garden, or it would be if it weren’t empty.
“So much space,” I say loftily and see him sweat.
I hide my smile as we climb the stairs to the third floor. It opens to another landing. A bonus room sits to the right. Aiden’s anxious now, tugging me through a door to the left and then I realize why he’s so excited.
