“You say that as if you expected me to be a covert paparazzo.” She relaxed her shoulders, realizing for the first time that she hadn’t really expected to get through the gate. Like it had all been a cruel joke.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He took her driver’s license and ran it through a reader. “Plenty of fake florists have tried to come through here.”
“So what am I in for?” Bryn asked when he handed back her ID. “Any advice before I storm the castle?”
He gave her an apologetic look and hit a button that opened the heavy gate. “Avoid direct eye contact.”
“What? Like with a bear?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
Danny nodded, expression unsettlingly serious.
More nervous than she’d been all weekend, Bryn drove slowly while searching for 108. With houses so far apart from each other, it would be impossible to miss her destination, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Relieved when she finally found the house, and grateful that gate was open, Bryn pulled in.
She was thinking about how gates within gates seemed pretty redundant and incredibly claustrophobic when she reached for her bag and enormous water bottle. When she got out of the van, she jumped at the sight of a woman standing next to her.
“Jesus,” Bryn shrieked.
The woman, curly salt and pepper hair blowing in the sweltering breeze, smiled at her instead of outwardly judging her jumpiness.
“Ms. Garbo,” she said in greeting. “My name is Iris. Can I help you bring anything down from your…” She eyed the Plantamonium logo splashed on the side of the van. “Vehicle?”
“No, um, I’ve got it.” Bryn slung her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks,” she added before reaching in to grab the plant. “Oh, and hi.” She kicked the door closed and extended the hand not juggling too many things toward Iris. “Please call me Bryn.”
Iris shook her hand, attention on the plant.
“My mom’s real big on not showing up empty-handed,” Bryn explained as they walked up the massive circular driveway. Instead of going up the steps to the huge front entrance, they took a stone path around the side to yet another gate.
“That’s very thoughtful,” Iris replied, like she wasn’t so sure.
“African violets aren’t a lot of work,” Bryn said but couldn’t help sounding defensive. “They can live up to fifty years as long as Vivian avoids over-watering it and keeps it in the shade.”
Iris opened the code-protected metal door. “Are plants your day job?”
Shame hit Bryn like a fiery meteor. She didn’t want them to know that all her voice acting work didn’t pay enough to live on. Not when she was walking into a backyard fit for low-level royalty. A huge pool, outdoor kitchen, sprawling garden, and a-whole-nother house. The guesthouse wasn’t enormous, but the entirely bonus nature of it still impressed Bryn since she essentially rented a room.
“My family has had the plant nursery for generations,” Bryn explained without exactly answering the question. “My first job at twelve was to prepare the little soil pots for cuttings and seedlings.”
Iris led them around the pool and toward the guesthouse. “That’s very sweet,” she said, sounding like she meant it, and knocked on the door before opening it.
Relieved to be out of the heat, Bryn followed her inside. The entire space appeared to be one giant room apart from what she guessed was a bathroom. A living room with built-in bookshelves was across from the kitchen. What she reasoned had once been a small dining area was now a celebration of Vivian’s accolades and achievements. Awards and framed photos and clippings lined the walls.
Curiosity was pulling Bryn toward them when, behind her, the sound booth door popped open and out stepped Vivian del Castillo.
Bryn’s lungs failed her first. After doing it pretty regularly for the last twenty-nine years, breathing suddenly became a manual activity. Her brain short-circuited next, and she forgot she was holding a potted plant. Forgot until her grip slipped and she fumbled not to drop it.
Bryn had known Vivian was attractive. She had Google…and eyeballs. But photos didn’t do the woman justice. Tall, golden, and unforgivingly beautiful, Vivian moved toward her like embodiment of elegance.
Vivian’s blonde hair, a cascade of soft, honey-gold waves that fell just past her shoulders, seemed to catch the light and hold it captive. It gave Bryn the sense that she was in the presence of a fairytale princess who had saved herself. Who was all grown up and trying to live among the commoners. But her hair was too reminiscent of a spun-gold crown. It framed a face that was all sharp, elegant angles and regal contempt.
“You must be Bryn,” Vivian said, voice low and smooth and sliding straight down Bryn’s spine.
All Bryn had to do was stare a stunning, statuesque blonde in the face and say hello. That’s it. Just say hello and not look like an orangutan learning how to use a fork.
“Hi,” she managed, sounding like a fucking clarinet. “Nice to meet you. I brought a plant.”
Yup. Nailed it.
Dark eyes swept over Bryn, slowly and painfully unreadable. Vivian looked at her like she was skimming a menu at a restaurant she didn’t choose and wasn’t planning to enjoy.
