Dr. Sunil cuts in, redirecting her attention. “Marlene, Mr. MacBrady and Ms. Boschett are here for their visit.” He pats his pockets, frowning, then turns to Cyan. “Please excuse me, Mr. MacBrady, Ms. Boschett. I must retrieve my phone from my office. I need to keep it with me at all times in case of emergencies. I’ll be back.” Fumbling, he hurries down the corridor.
The second he’s gone, Marlene pivots in Cyan direction not missing a beat, gliding toward Cyan. She doesn’t acknowledge me, her gaze locking onto him like she’s trying to melt into his suit. She steps around the reception desk, hips swaying like she’s following a choreography titled:Come Take Me, Mr. MacBrady.
She grabs hold of his arm. “Thank you, Mr. MacBrady, for all you’ve done for us here,” she purrs, pressing her body against him. Bitterness snaps through me like a live wire. I fold my arms tight across my chest, and my nails dig into my sleeves. I shift a half-inch closer to him before I even realize it, a coil of scorn rising sharp and vicious. Cyan doesn’t pull away.Of course he doesn’t.The smug bastard. The corner of his mouth twitch up. He thinks this is funny.
“It’s my pleasure,” he answers, voice dipping into a tone he absolutely knows will piss me off. “It’s a worthy cause.”
Marlene plasters herself to him, angling those double D’s against his arm like she’s offering a fucking pillow. Her eyes flutter up at him, dripping with suggestion. “If you need anything, Mr. MacBrady… anything at all… please ask.” That’s the final straw.
I snort loud enough that Marlene’s head jerks, in my direction. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Ariel, was it?”Ariel.The slow blink I give her could level a city.Oh, she didn’t.As Tasha would say:Step up or be stepped on.
My smile is all fake, honey. “It’s Aria. Ms. Boschett to you… and according to him…” I gesture with my thumb toward Cyan, “I’m his girlfriend. I didn’t realize ‘seductive receptionist’ was a career path, but you wear it well.”
Her eyes widen. She glances at Cyan, wordlessly begging him to correct me. He doesn’t. “Just remember, you’re at work, not a bar,” I add, my voice sugar-dipped venom. “Act professional, Marlene.”
She stands there frozen, throat bobbing with a tiny swallow she tries to hide. Then with a huff, she spins on her heel and clicks her way back behind the desk, her posture now rigid.
Cyan laughs, deep and unrestrained. “Why, Dove,” Cyan throws his arm over my shoulder, leaning down until his lips brush the edge of my ear. “Did you just lay claim to me?”
My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. “Don’t get the wrong idea. That woman should have more pride.”
Cyan hums low in his throat, pleased. “Just physical, my ass,” he throws my earlier line back at me. “Jealousy looks good on you.”
I jerk back, heat flooding my cheeks. “What? I’m not jealous!”
His grin is pure sin. “Tell yourself whatever lies you need to, Aria. I know better.”
Before I can fire back, someone clears their throat. Dr. Sunil is standing behind us, having returned, eyes flicking between us–me flushed and fuming, Cyan smug and relaxed. He gives a polite but knowing smile. “Ready?”
“Y… yes,” I mumble, stepping away from Cyan.
Cyan’s gaze lingers on me a moment longer, but for once he doesn’t push. “Lead the way.”
We follow Dr. Sunil to a security checkpoint where two guards hand us visitor badges. His tone turns more formal as he gestures to the double-glass doors ahead. “Ms. Boschett, this is the main entrance to the village. The first set of doors must close all the way before the second set opens. For safety.”Why does a place like this need safety protocols?
My stomach churns with nervous anticipation. The first set of doors slides shut behind us. The second door opens, a small-town centre stretches before me. Arealone–coffee shops, hair salon, supermarket and restaurants.
People stroll along the sidewalks, chatting and smiling. They move in and out of stores, carrying grocery bags and cups of steaming coffee. It appears to be an idyllic older suburban community. I’m not focused on Dr. Sunil and Cyan’s conversation as we move out the towns’ centre, my eyes scan the bungalows lining the streets.
It’s surreal. Like stepping into a pristine, suburb tucked inside a sealed world. A hopeful ache rises in my chest when we stop in front of a larger bungalow with a porch and wide windows.
“This is it, Ms. Boschett,” Dr. Sunil says. “Ring the doorbell. The caregiver will let you in.”
My heart pounds too hard, too loud.This can’t be… did he bring…I swivel toward Cyan, voice trembling. “What is this?”
His expression is unreadable. “This project draws inspiration from the European Dementia Village model; Dr. Ochco adapted it. It’s the first of its kind in this state.”
Dementia Village.My eyes burn, “Cyan…” My voice cracks. “Is my Nonna here?”
Cyan brushes his hand across my cheek. “Ring the doorbell, Aria.” Something in his voice sends me rushing up the walkway before I can think better of it. My hand trembles as I press the buzzer. The door opens almost immediately.
Pauline stands there, hands on her hips. “Aria!” she gasps, eyes bright. “Finally, you came for a visit.” She shakes her head like a disappointed aunt. “I was going to call you tonight. To scold you and thank you for the job recommendation.”Job recommendation?
My lips part, brain blanking. I swivel to Cyan.“Go inside, Dove, see for yourself.” A lump lodges in my throat. I step past Pauline, into the house, and the air leaves my lungs. It’s beautiful.Soft pastels, wide hallways, an open floor plan with enough space for wheelchairs to glide through easily. Plush furniture. Warm lighting. Framed pictures of my parents, of me and some with just Nonna and I. These pictures were stored in a moving box. Now line a feature wall like a curated family gallery.
Sunlight spills through the enormous windows. The house feels open and alive. This is nothing like the cramped, suffocating bedroom I trapped her in at my Crescent Bay house. This place was built with her in mind—her mobility, her dignity and my eyes sting.
“She’s in the sunroom,” Pauline says pointing in it’s direction. I walk toward the doorway in a daze. My feet move faster than my thoughts, and I see her. Nonna sits curled in a recliner, a patchwork quilt over her lap, head resting lightly to the side as she dozes. Her breathing is soft, peaceful. Untroubled. My hand flies to my mouth to hold back a sob. I stand there, simply watching her, memorizing how she looks here. Not trapped. Just... at peace. For the first time since Cyan took her from me. I don’t feel like I’ve failed her.Cyan must have planned this even before he took me.I back out, unwilling to wake her. My fingers tremble as I return to the living room.
