Their pace slowed during the conversation, and their feet crunched over the gravel path. The sun had quickened its descent toward the earth, leaving a bluish wash over the garden around them, enough to see James’s nod.
“What I didn’t tell you is how terrible I was to poor Daniel.” Ava winced. “All I could think of was how hurt I was, how lonely, how I had to uproot my life to accommodate his. Never once did I think about what he had sacrificed to care for me, a young man with this whole world ahead of him, saddled with a thirteen-year-old sister he didn’t know.”
“I really do think Daniel is a saint,” James interjected.
Ava playfully elbowed him.
He grinned.
“He was though,” she agreed. “One night, I was missing my mother and picked up The Secret Garden. In reading it, Mary was suddenly different in my mind. Not a spoiled girl, but a wounded one with a hard shell walled up around her. And I realized in my foul behavior, I was behaving exactly as she had.”
“Perhaps that is the draw of books.” James put his hand over hers. “To show us the way even when we think the path is too dark to see.”
Ava didn’t move her hand from beneath his, instead reveling in the connection of their touch as well as their minds.
A fountain came into view before an exquisite building aligned with columns and a grand, arched entrance. The windows were peaked at the top like the main door, all with such delicate carvings, it appeared to be made of fine lace, a combination of Indian influence with Moorish accents.
“It’s beautiful,” Ava breathed.
“You’ll love the inside even more.” James led her up the short flight of stairs and through the open door where the subtle notes of a piano trickled out into the night air. They found themselves in an octagonal room with hallways leading in four different directions. To the right and left were most impressive, with corridors of arabesque-engraved arches cascading down its length and what appeared to be pink marble columns running along either side.
James pointed upward. Ava dropped her head back as she gazed to the building’s cupola, which was also carved with arabesque and backlit with a glow of red.
“James.” A man’s voice interrupted Ava’s awed exploration as she turned her focus to the gentleman striding toward them.
“Walter.” James shook the man’s hand. “So good to see you again, old chap.” He indicated Ava. “Mr. Walter Kingsbury, allow me to introduce you to Miss Ava Harper.”
Walter took her hand and kissed it. “She’s even more charming than you said, James.”
Ava slid a look at James, who pointedly glanced up at the elaborate ceiling, obviously avoiding her judgment.
“Come, Miss Harper.” Walter offered her his arm, stealing her away from James. “My lovely wife will be most eager to chat books with you.”
“You have a beautiful home,” Ava said, wishing she could stand for an hour in that one spot to fully take in the full opulence of the palace.
“Monserrate isn’t mine.” Walter chuckled. “I’m minding the property for a friend.”
He led her and James into the dining room where a long table was prepared with centerpieces of exotic orchids and set with fine china rimmed in gold. Servers stood by at the ready, hands tucked behind their backs. The savory scents in the air promised a meal as decadent as the venue.
She and James were seated near the end of the table, her beside Walter’s wife and him beside a stout man with a German accent. Within minutes of sitting, they were served a delicious soup with bits of sausage and vegetables, then came roasted venison drenched in a thick brown gravy, the meat so tender, it fell apart under her fork. This was followed by a delicate cream meringue that was just sweet enough to be satisfying.