“I’m not supposed to tell that to strangers,” she says.
I see she has the hot and cold attitude of a MacLaine. Hot chocolate one minute, snubbing you the next. “I’m no stranger, remember? I know your dad and your aunt.” I don’t mind working for her trust. It will be good practice getting a MacLaine female to see past my flaws. I stick out a hand to her. “I’m Sterling. It’s nice to see you again.”
She takes my outstretched hand with a giggle. “Elodie MacLaine.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” I say. I’m not above flattering this kid if it means getting closer to Adair.
“Everyone calls me Ellie,” she says seriously, “but I think you should call me Elodie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“You’re in business with my dad,” she says to me. “You talked about it at dinner.”
“I see.” I nod in understanding. “We have a formal relationship.”
“Yes. Are you in business with my aunt?”
“Does she always ask so many questions?” I say to Felix.
“You have no idea,” he says with a laugh. He pretends to focus on the pot of hot chocolate, making a show of acting like I’m not there, but I catch him stealing quick glances in my direction. He knows something. He probably knows where Adair has gone, but he’s not going to tell me. He pours two mugs of hot chocolate, drops marshmallows into one, and places them in front of us.
“Is this your favorite?” I ask, picking mine up.
“You ask a lot of questions for an adult,” she says pointedly.
“You’re not exactly shy,” I say to her.
“Scorpios usually aren’t,” Felix says. He holds up a finger when she reaches for her own mug. “Remember last time. We let it cool.”
“Your aunt is a Scorpio,” I tell her.
“I know.” She’s busy poking marshmallows like she can cool her drink faster if she plays with it. “We have a secret club.”
“Can I join?”
She appraises me for a second, and I can already tell that I’m coming up short. “Are you a Scorpio?”
“I am not.” There’s no point in lying to her. That won’t score me any points with her or her aunt.
She shrugs her tiny shoulders. “Sorry. Scorpios only.”
“I understand.” Elodie might be the friendliest member of the MacLaine family, but even she has the elitist streak necessary to call Valmont home.
“Can you tell your aunt that I was here?” I ask her.
She bobs her head. “I can do that, Mr. Ford.”
We’re back to formality. Honestly, it’s one of the best business transactions I’ve had in a while.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate, Felix.”
“I’d say any time…” He trails off.
“Understandable. I’m just going to pop up to her room.”
“If you want, but she’s not here,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m not lying to you.”
“Would you admit if you were?” I ask.
He tips his head, conceding my point’s valid. I don’t bother to argue with him on this. Felix and I aren’t likely to ever be best friends, and it’s not like I need him to show me the way. I wind my way up the narrow staircase that leads into the family quarters.
The first floor of Windfall is all for show. A foyer that could house a tennis court. A sitting room meant to host cocktail parties. An atrium that’s basically a ballroom. Upstairs is where the MacLaines live their lives, but that doesn’t make it much homier. I pause at the top of the staircase, remembering the last time I was here. It seems like a lifetime ago. I guess that’s because it was. Glancing to the corridor on the left, I see that they’ve taken down her mother’s art. I can only imagine how Adair felt about that. I suppose that wing of the house is occupied by Malcolm and his wife now. I don’t go that way. Instead, I take a right and find my way to the far side of the house. Adair’s room overlooks the gardens below. It’s not really a room. At least, not in the traditional sense. It’s practically a condo. A living area, two bathrooms, a bedroom, a reading room. I wander through each, but she’s not here, like Felix said. Still, she’s everywhere. A lot of things might have changed since I left, but there are pieces of the girl she was littered everywhere. The clues paint a picture of her life while I was gone. Books are piled unceremoniously on the floor next to her bed, on the desk overlooking the gardens, shoved into shelves built into the walls. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of them. She’s never bothered with alphabetizing. These books are read. These books are loved. Somehow, seeing that—knowing that part of her survived—reminds me that, as much as she tries to act like there’s nothing left between us, there’s too much to be ignored. We’ll always have this. This shared love. This shared language.
For one moment, I stand there, hands shoved in my pockets, and stare at all these pieces of her.
A different life flashes before my eyes. A little house with a covered porch and a wicker swing, somewhere far from here. Adair is tucked under a blanket on it, reading, I’m next to her with a book in my hands, and everything is right with the world. Some people want to believe in fairy tales. Those aren’t real. I believe in real. I want us to be real.
I shake off the sentimental bullshit. It’s not doing me any good to sit around and fantasize. That’s not what got me this far, and it won’t get me where I’m going. She’s not here. I shouldn’t be surprised. It was a long shot, no matter what Jack said. Adair has never felt at home here. It’s not the first place she would run. I used to know exactly where she would go. The trouble is that I don’t know where that place is
