Zia smiled at that. "I know. But if you know bigger words, you can share them with me."
"Honestly, right now I can't think of words big enough. This is…" She set the label down on the desk, squared it in front of her with her fingertips, and looked at it again. "It's perfect, Alara. It does everything we need it to. And thatRooted in Stillness—" Her hand came up to cover her heart. "It does what the market needs it to."
She looked around then, as if taking in the office—the window, the vines beyond it—for the first time. "But it does what this place needs it to as well. This place might have stood still in time, and that could be viewed as a negative. But it's not. The tide'sturning." She turned back. "It sounds too trite for what you've captured here, but old-school cool is back in. I can guarantee you Aaron will love it."
"What about Caleb?" Alara asked.
"I expect he will." Delaney tapped one nail against the edge of the paper. "The only reason I didn't guarantee both of them is that Caleb thinks from a numbers perspective. It's all about logic with him. Aaron's the creative in that team, and I know he'll get this."
"So you think I'm on the right track?"
"Absolutely. This we can work with." She smiled at them, then picked the label up again and held it at arm's length, the way someone might hold a photograph. "And the gold leaf? You hit it out of the park. It's exactly the kind of premium move that will tip the scales for Caleb."
"But you just said he works from the numbers. Won't he think it should be produced more economically? Gold embossing, maybe?"
"No!" Delaney said it forcefully enough that Zia's eyebrows went up. "Damn, girl, I need to teach you about premium marketing. Raising the cost of production by using something like gold leaf raises the perceived value five times over." She frowned. "What I mean is, yeah—you have to spend a lot more. But it means you end up making a whole hell of a lot more."
Alara smiled. "Then good. I'm glad."
"So you should be." Delaney laid the label down on the desk between them and looked around at them all. "We're ontosomething here. I know it. And this is a whole new beginning for House of St. James. And I'm glad to be a part of it."
"You really think it's enough to get us included in the Provenance line?" Alara asked.
"I believe it is." She picked up her purse from beside the sofa and slung it over her shoulder. "But what Icanguarantee you is that even if Sterling Hartman passes, with this branding we'll have no problem getting you picked up by someone else."
Alara didn't understand when she turned to Reaves and said, "So I hope you meant what you said."
"I meant every word of it."
Chapter Sixteen
When Reaves arrived at the estate on Thursday morning, he hesitated at the sound of laughter drifting from the terrace out back. He headed around there instead of going up the front steps, smiling as he passed the sunflowers along the side of the house. He'd always vaguely known that his dad planted them for his mom, but he didn't know the story. He didn't really remember his mom. He imagined she must have been a wonderful woman for his dad to have loved her, to still love her, the way he did. But if he were honest, he'd come to associate the sunflowers more with Zia than with his mom. That kid really was a little ray of sunshine.
He hurried around the back of the house to discover what all the laughter was about and came out onto the terrace into full morning sun. The stone was already warm underfoot. Beyond the balustrade, the vines ran away downhill in long green rows, still holding the last of the mist in the low ground, and the hills beyond them had that soft, bleached look they got before the heat really set itn.
The sight of the four of them sitting around the table under the big umbrella made something loosen in his chest. His dad was buttering a piece of toast for Zia. Alara and Faye were giggling like schoolgirls. He hurried to them, desperate to know what that was about.
"Prince Daddy!"
Zia got down from her chair and ran to greet him. He squatted down to scoop her up, and she greeted him with her customary kiss on the cheek.
"You're here in time for breakfast. It's very good breakfast. Mrs. Faye made sure it is, and it's all good for Mom." She glanced back at the table before lowering her voice. "I think Mrs. Faye might be magic, you know."
He chuckled. "I think you might be right. She's like some kind of fairy godmother, isn't she?"
Zia's eyes lit up at that, and she nodded solemnly. "She is." She glanced back over her shoulder. "Do you think she might be one? I think she might."
"It wouldn't surprise me," he told her honestly.
He knew exactly how she felt. With his mom having died when he was so young, Faye had been a central figure in his life. He couldn't think about home without thinking about her.
"Come sit down and join us," called his dad. "There's more than enough to go around."
He took a seat next to Alara, who greeted him with a smile and a mumbled, "Morning."
"Morning." The sun was full on his back already, and the table was a mess of good things—platters, and a coffee pot, and a pitcher of orange juice sweating in the light. He eyed the spare plate in the center, and Faye nodded.
"I didn't set you a place because I wasn't sure that you'd be here, but I brought everything out in case you were."
