A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) (8 page)

We stayed like that for a few more minutes and then finally, William spoke. He whispered against my ear, “Do you still doubt I’m yours? You own me, Catherine.”

And then he kissed me, lifted me up, and carried me inside.

I opened my eyes and knew without even turning my head that William wasn’t in bed with me. There was just the cold expanse of crisp 600-thread count Italian sheets on either side of me and barely an indentation of where William had been the night before. Exhausted after my swim and our poolside sex, I’d pretty much passed right out after carried me upstairs and tucked me in. The last thing I remembered was him undressing, crawling under the covers, and then spooning my naked body with his. His arms had pulled me tight against him, wrapping me in a delicious warm embrace as I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I had no idea when he’d gotten up. I fumbled for my phone and peered at the time. A little after 8:30. Great. I was all by myself in William’s giant bed. Again. What a way to start another day at the glorious Casa di Rosabela. I wanted to wake up in his arms like I did at The Peninsula and spend the morning talking and laughing and exploring each other.

I sat, but I knew William wasn’t in the master suite. I could usually sense him—when he was near, all the little hairs on my arm prickled. My arms felt absolutely nothing, but I looked around for him anyway.

Empty.

William’s words from the night before came back to me. He’d assured me we were safe. He’d told me the security team was here. Obviously he viewed this new Wyatt, whoever or whatever it was, as a threat he took seriously. Equally obvious, he didn’t want to talk to me about said threat because he thought I’d be safer that way. Or maybe he thought the less I knew the less I’d worry. Yeah, right. Worry was practically my middle name. What he didn’t seem to understand was I worried about
him
. And about us. I didn’t care about safe nearly as much as I cared about him—I owned him. Just thinking about what he had whispered in my ear last night made my pulse race. I wasn’t sure that a man like William could ever give himself completely to a woman, but I wanted to believe him. Desperately. God, I loved him.

I flopped back down and closed my eyes. I could almost hear my yoga instructor’s soothing voice as I slowly inhaled and exhaled a few deep, cleansing breaths through my nose, trying to expel any negative thoughts. But it wasn’t working.

I took another deep breath. I had to stay cool. I couldn’t let Cat the Dramatic win the day, so I’d try to think positive. William probably got up for his usual before-dawn workout and was downstairs, doing something to stave off the mysterious crisis that brought us here. Or maybe he was out tending to his grapes and he didn’t wake me up because he was just being considerate. I could give him a break.

With those thoughts, I took a quick shower, put my wet hair into a ponytail, pulled on a pair of jeans, a tank top with a T-shirt layered over it, and a pair of flip flops, and then headed downstairs for coffee and to find William. On my way, I glanced out the front windows and noted the Porsche was parked out front, but all but one of the big black SUVs the security team used were gone. Okay, something was up. “Oh no,” I muttered as I tried not to panic.

When I walked into the kitchen, I expected to see Fernanda. I stopped and stared instead at a man and a woman I’d never seen before, both in black pants and starched white shirts and looking very professional. It jarred me, having people I didn’t even know in the house with me while I’d been sleeping.

“Good morning, Miss Kelly,” the man said. “I’m Sam, and this is Nancy.”

“Um, good morning. Where’s Fernanda?”

“She has the day off, Miss Kelly,” Nancy, a woman with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, told me a little too cheerfully.

“And William?” My cheeks burned when I said his name. Was Nancy the one who’d changed the sheets after the night with the honey? Did Sam know about the kinky stuff William and I had done? Handcuffs, sex by the pool... I wanted to turn around, run back upstairs, and bury myself under the bed covers. With William. As it was, I couldn’t make eye contact with either of them.

“Mr. Lambourne is fine,” Sam said. His hair was long, grey, and pulled into a ponytail. I hated ponytails on older men.

“What do you mean fine? Where is he? If he’s out in the vineyard, you can just point me in the right direction and I’ll walk out and meet him.”

Sam kept looking at me, his face expressionless as he answered, “He had some business, but he’ll be in touch soon.”

For a minute I was too stunned to speak as I processed what Sam just said. William couldn’t possibly have done it to me again, but it was obvious that he had. Sam and Nancy were trying to play it cool and act like it was no big deal, but William wasn’t here. He left me on my own again, this time without telling me and without waking me up to say goodbye. And that was a huge fucking deal in my book. “Some business? Where is he exactly?” I sputtered at Sam. I was about to lose it and I didn’t care if they knew.

“Mr. Lambourne is fine and will be in touch with you soon,” Sam said again.

“Is there something I can get you?” Nancy chimed in. “Coffee?”

I ignored chipper Nancy. William had left and that fucking hurt. I thought we were so past the waking up alone, leaving without saying goodbye or even a note stage, especially after the last two nights. Then the niggling thoughts began—he was never going to let me in. He was never going to be what I needed him to be, starting with honest. How could I possibly keep trusting him like he asked when he obviously didn’t trust me? I could feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes. “Great,” I said. “Just great.” Then I turned around and stormed out.

I ended up out by the pool again. I’d gone upstairs first and grabbed my laptop thinking I’d try to do some work to calm down. I was parked on my lounger for about five minutes before Sam appeared and set out a carafe of coffee along with a tray of cups and pitchers on the table.

“Nancy is bringing you some fruit and yogurt,” he told me. “Is there anything else?”

“Nope.” I glared at him. I wasn’t in the mood to be polite and I hadn’t even asked for coffee or breakfast. I surveyed the three little pitchers of milk marked skim, 1%, and 2%, the selection of sugar and its various substitutes, and the half dozen little cups of coffee flavorings I could add. There wasn’t much else I could want for.

Except William.

And explanations.

But I wasn’t going to get those, so I supposed I would have to content myself with coffee.

Yesterday work had distracted me, so I fired up my laptop again and worked for a while on the Fresh Market pictures of asparagus and cherries for the Fresh for Spring campaign. The shots were good, but they needed to be edited, retouched, and refinished. I lost myself in my work for an hour or so, but I was too distracted to really focus. I kept checking my phone, hoping for some word from William, but there was nothing.

Then my phone buzzed, indicating I had a voicemail. I couldn’t push the buttons fast enough. It was from a number I didn’t recognize, but maybe William had called from another number.

“Hi Catherine, this is Emmy Schmidt.”

As soon as I heard the woman’s voice, my heart sank. It wasn’t William. And did I even know an Emmy Schmidt? I kept listening.

“
I work for Hutch Morrison, executive chef at Morrison Hotel. I’d like to set up a meeting with you and Mr. Morrison at your earliest convenience.”

Hutch Morrison? I didn’t know him, but I remembered Beckett talking about Morrison Hotel. It was one of the hottest restaurants in Chicago right now.

Emmy Schmidt rattled off her contact information and asked me to call her. I jotted down the number, but I kind of wanted to know more about this guy before I committed to a meeting. I called Beckett, but it went straight to voicemail. “Hey, Beckett, it’s Cat. I just got a call from the PR person for Hutch Morrison. She wants to set up a meeting. Do you know anything about him? Any idea what this could be about? Call or text me when you get a chance. Bye.”

I couldn’t sit around the pool any longer. The chair William and I had done it on last night was pushed back into place in front of a small coffee table near the outdoor fireplace. Every time I looked at it… Fuck it. I was going inside. I had a mission.

I started in the living room and worked my way through a media room and finally to William’s study. I wasn’t exactly looking for anything specific, but just for something, anything really, that might clue me in to what the hell was going on, William’s privacy be damned.

I couldn’t get over how much different this house was from William’s penthouse in Chicago. Everything here was warm and inviting, textured and bursting with color. I found framed photos of William and his family all through the house, along with souvenirs he’d obviously collected on his travels. And the art, which was everywhere, was spectacular. The house, like the penthouse, could have been a museum, but whereas his penthouse
felt
like a museum, this place felt like William’s home.

In his study, I found more photos as well as several framed pictures of celebrities, all signed to William. The one from Michael Jordan seemed to occupy the center spot, though Walter Payton and Dick Butkus were prominently displayed as well.

I imagined William as a kid, treasuring these mementos of his heroes. I sat at his desk and opened the drawers. I rifled through them and found a bunch of papers but nothing terribly exciting or damning as far I could tell. No dossiers on other women George might have found for him to date.

There were framed pictures on the bookshelves behind his desk: one of his family a few years before the crash and a more recent one of him and his aunt, uncle, and his three cousins. And then I spotted another one. In a corner, almost hidden behind the family photographs, was a framed shot of a group of kids, several in college sweatshirts. It didn’t take me long to find William in the picture. He looked young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and little thinner, but just as handsome. Standing beside him was someone else I recognized—Anya Pierce.

She too looked younger, but still beautiful. She was probably more beautiful now because she’d attained an aura of sophistication. In the picture, there was no trace of that. She was looking at William, who looked out at the camera. She had eyes only for him. Anyone could see that.

So there
was
a history there. And there was attraction, at least on her side. I didn’t want to think about the two of them together, and I wondered if William was with her right now. That would explain all the secrecy. He left me stranded at his house while he was off with his old girlfriend, conducting important “business.” Business, my ass. Maybe he was the commitment-phobe I had originally thought he was after all, and I was just the idiot who fell for his little game. I didn’t want to believe it, but I really didn’t know what to think right now.

I felt like my throat was closing and I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of here. Now.

I walked out of the front door and arrowed toward the nearest field of grapes; I wasn’t going to wait for William’s promised grand tour of his vineyard after all.

I hadn’t strayed far from the house when I noticed I wasn’t alone. A big, muscular guy with a shaved head and a military look was following me from a distance. Maybe I was imagining things.

I wandered a bit further, trying to clear my head and burn off some of my nervous energy. I headed toward the olive grove. I saw William’s hand in the order of the trees, which were planted in perfect rows, beautifully cultivated, and pruned. I felt as though I could see William everywhere on the estate. His heart was here, I was certain of it. But where was he? I could feel the tears welling in my eyes again, but I wiped them away, irritated at my own emotional outburst.

The burly military guy was definitely still following me. I cut down a row of grapes and backtracked, flanking him.

“Hey,” I said. He spun around, clearly surprised I’d outmaneuvered him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Darius, Miss Kelly,” he said when he approached. His voice had a slight eastern European accent.

“Why are you following me, Darius?” I asked.

He gave me a tight smile. “Just making sure you don’t get lost.”

Right. I’d bet he was assigned to keep an eye on me. What the hell was William afraid of? I really had questions now. “So, Darius,” I said, “Where is Mr. Lambourne?”

“He’s fine,” he said. “He will be in touch shortly.”

How many times had I heard that already? My definition of
shortly
didn’t seem to mesh with my absent boyfriend’s.

I stopped near the far edge of the olive grove, which I could see was completely charming, even under my frustrated gaze. A table and chairs were set up in one area under the shade of a large tree, and I wished I had my camera. I tried again. “Will William be back for dinner?” I asked Darius casually.

“I can’t say, Miss Kelly. You’ll hear from him soon.”

The answer didn’t placate me, but clearly Darius wasn’t going to tell me anything. And I couldn’t help but feel William was in some sort of danger. Why else would he leave without telling me?

I spent the remainder of the afternoon back on my chaise by the pool, my stomach knotted with worry. I heard nothing from William. No texts, no phone calls, nothing. The staff was as cheery as ever, acting as though the communication blackout was the most normal thing in the world.

Around six o’clock, I walked into the kitchen to demand some answers from Sam and Nancy. I wanted to know what the hell was going on, but I was met with tight lips and the unmistakable scent of pasta sauce. They were cooking, probably for me, but I didn’t want to eat another dinner alone. Both Sam and Nancy remained pretty much unresponsive to me, but I saw them exchange a few nervous glances. Then Darius appeared and escorted me out of the kitchen, saying, “Relax and enjoy your stay, Miss Kelly. Mr. Lambourne will be in touch very soon.”

Why wouldn’t he stop saying that? It was a lie. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t relaxed and I wasn’t enjoying my stay. Food was the last thing on my mind, so I escaped to the master suite. An hour or so later, Nancy timidly knocked on my door and brought in a dish of pasta and a carafe of wine, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I picked at the food, but I drank all the wine and flipped channels on TV for a while. Finally, I fell asleep, alone, my heart breaking as my eyes fluttered closed.