“That’s right.You, sir, are being very rude.” Raphael slammed the door on his angry retort.
Francine stopped limping. Her lips parted in surprise. Her eyes opened wide. She couldn’t believe he’d closed the door in Uncle Bandore’s face. She bent to rub her battered knee.
Raphael shook his head. “Your uncle is quite a piece of work.”
“That is the truth. However, perhaps you shouldn’t have thwarted him.”
“He deserved it.”
“He did. Trust me, I know. He always does. I just don’t want him to be another issue we have to deal with or watch out for during this trip.”
Raphael shrugged. “Okay. I’ll call the concierge and report that he needs help. Maybe that will earn me some points.”
“Doubtful, but I appreciate your willingness to help out when he’s been such an entitled, spiny little crust fish.”
He laughed out loud. “I haven’t heard that term in quite a while.”
Francine smiled, realizing she’d never seen Raphael laugh so boisterously. And for something she’d said. He was even more attractive when he laughed. She melted.
Raphael crossed the room to use the communication device to call the front desk. Her uncle would likely never appreciate the gesture, but she did.
The next knock at the door was the food he’d ordered. Once they’d been served, Raphael made sure the delivery boy went next door to check on Uncle Bandore.
They’d just finished their lovely late breakfast when Jacques Pierre called to inform Raphael their wedding apparel was ready to be delivered, along with an outfit each for their coming travels. The rest would be delivered early the day of the wedding, before their departure from Ichor-Delta.
Once the wedding clothing and accompanying accouterments were delivered, tried on and laid out for tomorrow’s festivities, they pondered what to do with the rest of their afternoon and evening.
Raphael asked, “Have you ever seen an unobstructed view of Scharffjell?”
“No, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful, in a brutal sort of way.”
The most famous mountain range on Ichor-Delta was the tallest range on the planet, according to an article she’d read during her efforts to learn about all things Ichor-Delta, due to her interest in a certain bounty hunter.
His brows lowered. “Who told you that?”
Heat crept into Francine’s cheeks. Her former love, H.R., had furnished that tidbit long ago. “No one important,” she responded quickly.
If he saw her flush, he didn’t mention it. “Would you like to see it for yourself?”
“Yes. I would.” She could make her own judgment about Scharffjell’s beauty and perhaps create her own adjective to describe it.
She and Raphael left by way of a side exit to lessen the chance they’d see anyone either of them knew. The problem with a large, well-attended upscale wedding was that lots of invited guests were likely staying at establishments in the area. Being seen by other wedding attendees was socially desirable, so others knew one was important enough to secure invitations to the most exclusive events. Lucy and Wyatt were staying at the Duvall’s temporary residence on Ichor-Delta, as were all the close family members. Except Francine. She refused to be affected by the slight. She had made her own way here with the perfect man to accompany her. As far as she knew, her parents didn’t have a clue that she planned to attend.
Hand in hand, they walked casually toward the closest lookout. Ichor-Delta’s terrain was as mountainous as Alpha-Prime was arid and desert-like. Some part of the Scharffjell mountain range was visible from many places, but few offered such a pristine, unobstructed view. A barrier prevented rockslides from battering towns at the foot of the mountains. The barrier featured special viewing areas inside the structure as well as spots along the parapets, with long, winding staircases to platforms for the masses of residents and visitors to enjoy the wild beauty.
Other than the one visit to the exclusive shopping area in her youth, and that had been at night, Francine had never spent enough time on Ichor-Delta to explore it. At best, she’d caught obstructed glimpses of the mountains from the shuttle landing port.
Not everyone appreciated the jagged, dark terrain of these mountains the way its people did, according to the material she’d read.
Raphael took her to an uncovered viewing place by way of a mechanical lift that rose up the side of the rampart instead of forcing her to climb hundreds of steps. Her sore knee appreciated that gesture.
Once they reached the platform, Raphael guided her to one of several open viewing stations with metal viewfinders. They looked like large binoculars on a stand, the larger end pointed at the Scharffjell range. Raphael adjusted the stand lower so she could look through the small end of the viewfinder.
“What does Scharffjell mean?” she asked, pressing her brows to the rim of the viewer and focusing on the jagged mountain peaks. It looked like shards of dark quartz had been pushed up through the terrain at various angles to form peaks and valleys. They weren’t all dark, but a very deep purple so dense that only help from the solar light near the summits emphasized the color. Ichor-Delta was known for its limited yearly sunshine. Some viewed it as a dark and mysterious planet.
“Savage mountain, I believe.”
That was an apt description. “Do people ever climb the peaks?”
