Page 39 of Her Dark Lies
I do, and the naked fear on his face almost makes me cringe. It shifts to sweetness and love the moment his eyes lock on mine.
“You’re mine now,” he said. “Forever.”
We dress, straighten ourselves, giggling a little at the headiness of being in love. Then we stand together, staring out at the sea. I sense the dogs moving near us.
“Do they live outside?”
“No. Well, yes, technically, but their kennels are the size of your sister’s apartment in New York. Heated, cooled, cushy beds. There’s even a therapy pool in case one of them needs work. You know these larger breeds often have hip dysplasia as they get older.”
“So they’re not spoiled at all.”
“Lord, no.”
I take a deep breath, blow it out. I am suddenly exhausted.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Jack asks, so solicitous, so warm.
“Just...worried about my parents and Harper getting here okay.”
“Ah. Don’t worry. They’ll all get here in time.”
Tell him your fears. Admit your obsession. It’s time he knows everything about you.
“It’s a funny thing, Jack—”
“Wait. What is that? Hold on.”
He dashes away, leaving me standing alone on the edge of the grove. I follow slowly, picking my way through the brambles and stones. While the labyrinth path is well tended, the cottages and the grounds surrounding them have been left to decay. I don’t know why they would have let it go, unless it’s something to do with Jack’s grandfather, and his dementia.
I find Jack at the farthest cottage. He’s gone inside—the door is propped open. A musty scent emanates from inside. I look closer at the eaves above the door. All of the wood has been left to rot, we’ll have to restore them, too. Olive wood or Cyprus would be good, both are rot resistant.
“Damn it.”
“Jack? What’s wrong?”
He emerges from the darkness, turning off his cell phone’s flashlight.
“Don’t come in here.”
“Why not?”
“Someone’s been camping in here. It’s disgusting. The cottages are closed—they’re unsafe, as I’m sure you can see.”
“Someone? Like who?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to have a conversation with Karmen. We can’t have strangers wandering the grounds. She should have a tighter hold on things.”
“Is she here?”
“Everyone’s here, darling. But she’s not a part of our wedding party. She’s tucked away in her lair, handling security.”
I wonder, just for a moment, how many of our thirty guests are Compton staff. Henna handled the list, as she handled most everything else.
Compton staff are family—long-term, well liked, privy to all the little secrets. I’m sure they’ve all signed the same nondisclosures I have.
Jack wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt. “We need to go back to the Villa. I need to let them know. It’s probably someone from the restoration team who didn’t want to go back to the mainland over the weekend—there’s food and trail clothes in there, plus a sleeping bag and blankets—but everyone who isn’t family or staff are supposed to have left the grounds to give us our privacy. We don’t want any media sneaking in—you know that.”
Oh, boy, do I. The Comptons are notoriously private when it comes to family affairs.
