"You're a guest, so I'll give you a tour of the house."
Posey takes me by the hand and leads me down the hall. "This is my grandparents’ room. And this one here used to belong to my Uncle Jason when he was little. But that was a long time ago."
The casual way she mentions Jason makes me wince. I remember his predatory smile and the feeling of his foot against my sandal-clad toes under the dinner table.
"Do you know your Uncle Jason well?"
She shakes her head, then tugs on my hand. "Let me show you the gardens."
The garden is beautiful. Yet the key point of interest is Cameron, sitting in the gazebo's shade with Edison lying at his heels. I watch Cameron's fingers move across his guitar strings. The sound is low, mesmerizing.
His head lifts. Those blue eyes pin me.
"Tara."
Posey skips forward, pride in her voice. "I was just showing my new nanny around. You’d better change for dinner. It's almost six."
Cameron’s hand tightens around the guitar neck. He gazes up at me as if he wants to say something.
Then the sound of heels clicking on the path announce Mrs. Bixby's arrival.
The moment I shared with Cameron vanishes.
"Is that what you call dressing for dinner?" the nanny asks Posey. "You know better. Now let's change."
"But Tara told me I can?—"
"It's all right, Mrs. Bixby," Cameron says, his voice commanding. "Posey looks great. Let her be."
"But, sir, children need a routine. Especially now," she says, ending her sentence with a theatrical flourish.
Tension thickens the air.
"I'm not accustomed to having staff talk back to me," he says, his voice like ice. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir. Of course."
"Very well. Let's sit down for dinner."
CHAPTER 18
TARA
The tension from the garden lingers all the way through dinner.
Cameron takes charge of the seating without asking anyone’s opinion. He settles at the head of the long cherrywood table. On his right sits Posey—bright-eyed in her quirky but colorful dress. I'm on his left. Edison lies at his feet.
Mrs. Bixby sits at the opposite end of the table, silent and dignified.
Every so often, Mrs. Bellows appears from the kitchen to serve us food.
"You know, I was a nanny to the late Mrs. Abernathy when she was a girl," Mrs. Bixby says, putting her knife and fork on her empty plate. "I raised Alice and Jason. When they were grown, Mrs. Abernathy made me her social secretary. Then, when Posey came along..."
She stops herself when she sees Posey watching her intently.
"Well, that's all history now. I'll take Posey up to bed and retire for the evening. Come Posey."
Posey rises, kisses me and Cameron good night, then follows her nanny up the staircase to her room.
