Giovanni "When I turned seventeen, I left. That's all," she says, completely avoiding my question. "I was old enough to take care of myself, and I did. I came to Las Vegas and I met Mrs. Adams who owned Wrinkles in Time and worked for her until she died. She left me the shop and I'm continuing her work. And her kids wish they could evict me and make real money on the building, but they weren't able to contest the will. That's about it in a nutshell.""And you donate about fifty percent of your profits to the homeless shelter a few blocks away. That's the reason you have the low rent agreement Mrs. Adams' greedy kids aren't thrilled about.""How did you know?""I heard the woman at the shop the other day and was curious, so I looked into it.""Looked into it? Why didn't you just ask me?""You're not so forthcoming, Sienna."She looks around again, then cocks her head to the side. "You don't have any photographs of family either, by the way," she says.I remember when she found the one
GiovanniThe next three days pass peacefully enough with Sienna accepting a ride to work and back. I've become obsessed with finding the password on the flash drive. Of locating anyone who had anything to do with those videos, including Sean Williams, who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.If she's realized the drive is missing, she hasn't said anything.She's settling in a little better. Maybe it was our conversation from the night before. I don't know, but she seems at least a little more at ease. She's still secretive, but knowing what I know, it makes sense she would be.I'm looking at her on the monitor in my office when the man who's been checking on her house brings me the stack of her mail. She's up at the pool on the rooftop.I intend to just hand it to her. Most of it is junk anyway. But as I absently flip through, something catches my eye.It's the envelope addressed to Little Bitch Whore.My eyes narrow.It's not stamped so it was hand-delivered.I lean b
SiennaI'm dozing when Giovanni's shadow falls over me."You're burnt," he says.He's like a giant, blocking out the whole of the sun."You need to put on sunscreen. Where's your sunscreen?" He crouches down to look through the straw bag I brought to the pool with me."Relax," I say, sitting up, straddling the seat. "It's here. And I did put it on." I find the tube of sunscreen under my towel and look down at my chest and he's right, I did burn. But it's not bad.He sits on the edge of the chaise and takes the tube, squeezes some on his hand and starts to rub it into my chest. He's been like this since he got back. Attentive. Sometimes overly so.And always watching me."Giovanni, stop. It's fine. It's not bad and I'm going inside anyway." I stay his hand, but he seems anxious. And I realize how totally out of place he looks up here in his suit while people are splashing around in the pool. Pop music is playing probably louder than he likes."I hate this fucking music," he says as if
SiennaWe're packed, flight booked and at the airport in record time.All he's said about his father is that he was buried yesterday. After that, he took a call which I assume was a secretary telling him she'd confirmed our flights and told me I had twenty minutes.Twenty minutes to shower and pack and leave for Scotland.And somehow, here I am, wet hair in a clip on top of my head, wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and the only sweater I have.Giovanni went into my tote to get my passport earlier, which makes me wonder how he knew it was in there at all, but I don't ask him. He's too distracted. Shocked maybe by the news.He's wearing jeans and a thin, charcoal, V-neck sweater with a sport coat. It's probably the most casual I've seen him."Flight leaves in fifteen minutes. They're holding it for you," Axel says as soon as we pull up along the curb at the airport.Giovanni is out and walking to my side with a leather duffel slung over his shoulder. There's a long line at the coun
SiennaGiovanni's hands are tight on the steering wheel. We bump along the road and after climbing one of the steepest hills, I see a lone structure in the distance. It's ten more minutes until we reach the long stone bridge that connects what appears to be an island, upon which the Adams house is situated, to the mainland.And I'm in awe."This is your...house?"He only nods once and when I glance at him, I see how his brows are knitted together.House.This house takes my breath away. It's not a house at all, but a fortress or castle, even. It must be hundreds of years old with stone walls that match the current color of the dark sky. And as we drive over the bridge, I wonder if we should, it's so old.I glance at Giovanni again and I see him differently. In Las Vegas, he's big. He's brutal. He's in command.Here, he's all of those things, but he's a Highlander first. Born and bred here. It's obvious now. Rough and rugged and fierce, but different.Less sophisticated, less polished.
GiovanniSienna is taking in every aspect of the house as I lead her through it. Her mouth is practically hanging open, but she doesn't realize she's seeing it at its worst.It's strange to come back to the house in this state. I knew what I was doing over the last several years, but to see it in person is more difficult than I realized it would be. It's run-down and old. Something that was once grand, reduced. Humbled.I guess that's what I was trying to do to them. To my father. My step-mother. Declan.I shove that pang of remorse down deep and lead Sienna up the stone steps to the second floor and to my father's rooms.Two maids are rushing in and out, carrying his things out.I push the heavy wooden door wide and gesture for Sienna to enter. She does, quickly scooting to the side to let another of the maids with an armful of clothing out.I don't recognize the things she's carrying but know they're my fathers from the colors alone. Our colors. Strange the things you never forget.
Giovanni"The Atlantic lies just beyond those cliffs. Climate's very different than Las Vegas," I clear my throat as I say."I've never seen anything like this," she says, turning to me, then scanning the room, the antique furniture that's been in my family for generations, the tattered rugs on the floor so necessary against the chill in these old stone estates.I walk into the second room, which should be a sitting room, but I see it's been converted into a huge closet stuffed to the gills with dresses and shoes and bags, all brand names I recognize. All wholly unnecessary and impractical for the Scottish Highlands. Many not even worn with tags still attached.This is Ann's work. Her pathetic legacy.I return to the main room, trying like hell to manage whatever the fuck is going on in my head and in my gut."There's a bathroom through here if you need it," I say, opening the door to find they had updated the bathroom with modern luxuries.Sienna walks toward me. "Are you okay?"I lo
Giovanni"Nice of you to join us," Declan says.I ignore him.Benjamin is sitting behind my father's antique desk and a man I don't recognize is standing beside him pointing to something on a document. He's introduced as Michael Smith, one of the attorneys of the estate.Declan watches me from his place at the far wall. He's leaning against it and has the bottom of his right foot resting on it. His arms are crossed over his chest and he looks so different to how I remember him. Older than he is.I wonder how he sees me.Last time I saw him he was fifteen years old. Benjamin has sent photographs over they years, but I threw most away.When my father married his mother and he became my brother, I was excited about the idea. I liked Declan, we were close, even.But that was when I'd thought he was my stepbrother, not a half-brother. We were friends before that, too. When my mother was alive.But with my mother's death, everything changed.And being back here, it brings back all those old