How I Found You (4 page)

But I
didn’t
know him. How could I?

His lips parted as though he were short of breath.

I
did
know him.

“I know you,” I murmured.

Oscar pressed his lips together and swiftly tore his gaze from me. Without a word, he stalked out of the dining room. No one else seemed to notice the unusual reaction, because Mary and Roger continued to chat casually with Caicus as they escorted him into the hallway.

I found myself frozen to the spot, staring after them, numb.

An eerie chill ran down my spine.

Whoever the Valero brothers were, it became apparent to me at that moment that they were here to stay.

Intuition

THE NEXT MORNING I AWOKE
before sunrise. I squeezed my eyes shut in the hope of drifting back to sleep. But my attempts were in vain and I soon abandoned that wishful thinking.

Kicking off my quilt, I rolled out of bed. I went through the motions of rummaging around for my wash bag and plodding down the attic steps. All of these things I did with my eyes closed. It was far too early to use my eyes.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the house was still asleep – it was Saturday, after all. I borrowed a clean towel from the airing cupboard and crept into the family bathroom.

Okay. Time to turn on a light. 

I tugged the cord.

Tentatively, I opened one eye. And then the other. All around me, the sparkling ivory floor tiles glistened. In the centre of the room stood a grand, mother-of-pearl bathtub with gold taps and four gold clawed feet. A shower cubicle stood separately, matching the bath in its impressive elegance.

I draped my peach bath towel over the radiator and brushed my teeth at the corner sink. Once that was out of the way, I moved on to the shower, twisting the gold taps until a light stream poured from above. I hovered around while the water built up a gentle steam and then stepped under the flow.

It only took a few minutes before I started to unwind. The warm water from the shower poured over me, and if I hadn’t been so fond of dry land, I probably would have been tempted to stay under there forever.

But my respite was short lived.

There was a bash against the bathroom door. It was as though something, or some
one
, had fallen against it.

I held my breath, listening carefully for any noise. But all I could hear was the patter of water as it splashed against the base of the cubicle.

“Hello?” I called.

There was no response.

I fumbled to turn off the taps. The final drips fell from above as I hopped out onto the cold floor tiles.

Wrapping my towel securely around myself, I edged across the bathroom and pressed my ear to the door.

I quickly pulled the bolt across and flung the door open.

Nobody there.

The hallway was deserted, just as I had left it. Not that I was unfairly accusing anyone, but I glanced over to the guest bedroom at end of the corridor.

Caicus and Oscar’s room.

Their door was closed.

It was feasible that I’d imagined the whole thing. Old houses like this one were full of creaks and groans. Or maybe it was a mouse. A
giant
mouse. 

Alone in a dim, empty corridor, I wasn’t particularly keen to dwell on the incident, so I bundled my clothes together and made for my bedroom.

Given that I hadn’t finished unpacking, I was able to occupy myself with that for a while. Finding space for my clothes proved to be the most challenging task. I hadn’t brought much with me, but the only storage space was the small pine chest of drawers and the narrow wardrobe. I did my best to cram my clothes into the three shallow drawers, keeping aside a pair of jeans and a beige top to wear that day.

Outside the sun was still quite low, meaning that the others would probably still be sleeping. Having done everything I could think of to pass the time—including dressing and blow-drying my hair—I decided to head downstairs.

It was hard to cross that house without disturbing anyone – like I said, creaks and moans – but I successfully accomplished it. I tiptoed all the way to the ground floor and ducked through the first door I came across.

That door happened to lead into the conservatory – a quaint, airy room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the forest, a mahogany bookcase, and a coffee table encircled by salmon-pink armchairs.

I strolled over to the bookcase and skimmed the selection. There was every genre imaginable, ranging from classic literature to romance novels and political biographies. Admittedly, I’d already read most of them at least once over the past few years, including the cringe-worthy trashy novel,
Amour in Paris
, as well as the brick-sized
Biography of Winston Churchill
, which, ironically, was rather exciting—though I would never divulge that secret out loud.

With some deliberation I eased out a leather-bound copy of
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
. It seemed like a safe bet.

Book in hand, I retreated to one of the armchairs and tucked my legs up on the soft pink cushion. Once I was sufficiently comfortable, I began leafing through the dog-eared pages. I doubted that I would actually read it, not cover to cover anyway, but it was something to do all the same.

As it happened, my initial cynicism was proved wrong and I found myself engrossed in a chapter entitled
Sonnets
. I was about halfway through the chapter when a voice behind me made me jump out of my skin.

“Ah,” breathed Oscar Valero in his smooth, sultry tone. He peered over my shoulder and read aloud from the open page. His warm breath brushed against my neck as he recited, “All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.” He reached over my shoulder and tapped the page. “Significant, wouldn’t you agree?”

I was stunned. So stunned that I didn’t even hear what he had said. The words themselves were lost on me; all I took from them was the breath that brushed my ear.

I slammed the book shut. “I didn’t hear you come in.” My speech sounded stammered.

Oscar meandered around the coffee table and took a seat in one of the vacant armchairs. He stretched his arms up over his head and yawned loudly.

I watched him from across the table. “Can I help you?” I asked curtly.

“No, thank you.” He smiled.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I said again, fortunately more in control of my voice this time.

After adjusting to the initial shock of his materialisation, I realised that what baffled me most of all was the fact that I hadn’t heard the door open, nor had I felt the breath on the back of my neck until he had spoken.

“Okay.”

“Okay,
what
?” I stared at him, mystified.

“Okay, you didn’t hear me come in,” he replied casually.

My eyes narrowed. “How long were you standing behind me?”

Oscar shrugged. “I’ve forgotten. It was a while ago now.” He sat perfectly still, his arms resting on either side of the chair. He wore a black shirt that was open over a deep red T-shirt, and the same jeans that he had been wearing the night before. His dark hair fell with effortless style and he seemed to be smirking, though his mouth was indifferent.

Much to my irritation, I realised that I was blushing. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was blushing because he was so attractive.

But, good looks aside, there was something else that drew my focus back to him. As odd as it might have sounded, I simply couldn’t shake the feeling that I
knew
him. It was uncanny. I felt like I knew everything about him—every thought and feeling he’d ever had, the good, the bad, I knew it all. And yet, I’d never met him before in my life.

He returned my gaze with his warm, russet eyes. Eyes that were animated with a lifetime of secrets and mystery. They were utterly disarming.

Trying to maintain my last shred of composure, I looked away, returning my attention to
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
.

“How’s the book?” Oscar enquired lightly, now exhibiting a much more obvious smirk.

“Fine.” I refrained from looking up, pretending to be absorbed in a randomly selected page.

“Which is your favourite?”

“Which is my favourite
what
?”

“Sonnet. Which is your favourite sonnet?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I like them all.”

That wasn’t true. I had favourites.

Oscar bent forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. A few strands of ebony hair fell in front of his eyes. “Recite one for me. Please,” he added as an afterthought.

Now my cheeks reddened even further. “No.” I turned the page, bluntly illustrating the fact that I was reading. Well, pretending to read.

“Then I’ll recite one to you.” He reached across the coffee table.

“No!” I clutched the book to my chest, out of his reach.

“Hmm.” Oscar sat back down in his seat. “Possessive.”

“I’m not possessive. I’m…” I fumbled for a feasible defence. “Reading!” I finished. 

“Oh. Would you rather I let you read in peace?”

“Yes, please.”

We were silent for a minute or two. Oscar sat, pensively looking out at the garden while I pretended to read.

Then he spoke again. “This is boring.”

I exhaled loudly. “Not my problem. Where’s your brother?” My voice had a cold edge to it. “Shouldn’t it be
his
job to entertain you?”

“Caicus is sleeping. Otherwise he
would
be entertaining me. But instead, I’ve got you. Or you’ve got me, if you prefer.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I don’t really prefer either.”

Oscar shot me a playful grin. “You’re hurting my feelings.” 

“I’m sure you’ll get over it,” I replied, wryly.

He reclined in his seat with a contented sigh. “Yes. I can’t imagine it’ll be hard.”

I went back to ignoring him and gazed out of one of the windows. It was light out now, so I could clearly see the meadow garden leading down to the evergreen forest. A few wood pigeons fluttered around the tree tops, rustling the leaves as they flapped their wings.

“What are you looking at?” Oscar demanded, following my line of vision. I was beginning to get used to his unpredictable manner of speaking—his tone would constantly switch between blunt and smooth. It was hard to tell which would be next.

“The birds,” I told him.

He craned his neck to get a better view. “Pigeons?” He made a noise of revulsion. “Pigeons aren’t birds. They’re rats with wings.” Blunt.

“I like pigeons,” I said.

“No. There’s nothing to them.” Smooth.

“I didn’t say
you
had to like them. I said
I
liked them.” It was hard to be diplomatic with Oscar; he made you want to argue.

“Well, you
shouldn’t
like them.” Blunt. “They’re just…
there
. Now, an eagle on the other hand,
that
’s a bird. A true predator.” Smooth.

“Just because they’re a bird of prey, doesn’t make them better.”

Oh God, he’s sucked me in. I’m arguing about birds!

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” Oscar told me. “Predators aren’t just better, they’re the
best
. Every species needs one. Without hunters, the world would be bedlam. Total chaos. And sure as hell they get the better deal. The thrill of the hunt is…” he searched for an apt description. “Well, it’s exhilarating.”

I frowned. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Nope,” Oscar answered simply. “I’m just an excellent spokesman for the eagle.” He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing toned, muscular forearms. “Do you play?” he asked suddenly, nodding down at the coffee table.

Imprinted onto the varnished mahogany surface was a decorative chess board.

“No,” I admitted.

“Do you want to play?” Oscar rephrased his question.

I shook my head. “No.”

“I’ll teach you,” Oscar decided.

“I said I didn’t want to play!”

He stood up and walked over to the bookcase. Without even searching, he took a small leather box from the top shelf and brought it back to his seat. Opening the lid, he emptied the contents onto the coffee table: thirty-two carved wood chess pieces.

Okay. That was weird. He’d only arrived at the house last night, and yet he already knew the whereabouts of the chess pieces? Even
I
didn’t know the whereabouts of the chess pieces!