Chapter 126 Mordaine's wife
My heart hammered as our eyes locked.
Then his face relaxed in a smile. He had been talking about Hale, not Finn. He faced forward then and, with one hand on the steering wheel, fixed his own seatbelt while pulling out of the garage.
“Can you believe those two?” he tsked with a sneer. “They really carried out their threat of spending an extra day in Japan.”
I smiled quietly. Hale was right. Mordaine was the perfect companion when he was not pinning over his queen. Also, conversations with him were interestingly different.
It was not that I found the other men boring, not in the least, it was just that Mordaine was a living, breathing Google or Siri. He had the answer to every question, mostly from first-hand experience.
And as we descended into Hollywood with its colorful storefront and old theaters, he courted me into a discourse. By the time we were connecting to the interstate 405, I found myself debating with him like I used to with Hale years ago in his office.
“I’ll concede that Napoleon had his faults. He was human after all. But you historians cannot convince me that the same man who made it possible for the son of a barrel marker to become one of France's top marshals had anything but good intentions at the start of his rise.”
“Pity his good intentions led over 500,000 men to perish in the harsh winter.” He smirked dismissively.
“That's mean, Mordaine.”
He shrugged. “The truth can be mean. Trust me, I met the man a couple of times…”
“Of course you did.” I muttered under my breath, and he threw his head back in a rumbling laughter.
Then his shoulders relaxed, a wistful smile softening his features. “The eyes are the window to the soul, little wife. And whenever I looked in that man's unblinking eyes, I saw the spirit of a conqueror. He simply replaced the old courts he could not dominate with his own system that would always have him on top.”
I pouted, and that drew another laugh from him.
“I often find that recollection from a prejudiced narrator can be quite unreliable. He tore down your fancy French court, after all.”
He shot me a sideway glance, and I looked away. The car was heating up fast.
He reached forward and shut the heater off.
“I will never deny that I hated him. Immensely. Indirect rule was so much easier with royals than with these bloody politicians. Napoleon and his cronies messed that up for me. But on the flip side, I admired his tenacity.”
He honked at a car and drove around it. “Take it from this old dragon, though, Napoleon was not Saint Francis of Assisi for human rights.”
“You are achingly conservative.”
“And you are predictably leftist.“
Our eyes locked, and then I jerked my head away before he could see my smile.
“Away from Generals and their powdered wigs, I had my people invite you to Platinum Ascent.”
“What?”
“You are a frequent flier. It's ridiculous that you did not already have that access.”
“Tamar was planning to work on it.” I blinked, surprised. Even Mom and Dad were not members of any airline’s invite-only hospitality program. “Thank you,” I swallowed hard, “But that’s…”
“Too much?” He hijacked the sentence, steering the car towards the VIP terminal entrance. “For my wife?”
My cheeks heated up, and my gaze dropped to my lap. Whatever inspired this change in him was starting to get me nervous. He had always been generous, but this lavishness…
The car rolled to a stop, and I pushed the door open, shrugging his coat tighter around my shoulders as I climbed out.
I was moving towards the trunk when a porter sprinted past me, lifted the lid and drew my suitcase out. Only when he had it secured in his grip did he look up at me with a bright, professional smile.
Mordaine drove off without so much as a honk.
But right from the curbside, I started to feel the effects of my elevated membership. The suitcase was tagged immediately, and carried away without ceremony. Passenger processing rolled on like the airport had prepared to receive me, in particular. Hush tones, amplified privacy, and a long string of Mas.
“You never told me someone was interested in you.” Tamar walked into the upgraded lounge that was empty except for the old couple who sat quietly at the other end of the high-ceiling and glass-walled room.
“What?” My brow arched.
“You have an enthusiastic new sponsor.” She settled in the space beside me on the leather couch. “Rumors are that he would be buying Meridian House off the Millers the moment there's an opening.”
Her eyes fell on my purse between us, and she reached out to run her fingers over the alligator leather.
“For now though, higher ups require us to make Lys Grunder extremely comfortable in line with our latest investor’s request.” She stressed with an eye roll.
My palms were sweating, but I kept them crossed in my lap, and with the appropriate amount of interest in my voice asked, “Do you know who he is?”
The moment Mordaine claimed me as his wife in public, I could as well kiss the Grand Ascension goodbye.
Tamar’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “You have no idea who he is either.” She turned to stare into space with a contemplative nod. “Now, that's strange. No one knows his real identity.”
Then her head swiveled back to me, and leaned in. I blinked. It was a strange day when Tamar Villin would take to gossip.
“Sultan told me all the negotiations and meetings so far had been with a P.A. And when CEO had them dig, the only information of interest was a connection to Silver Summit Airways. But as you can already guess, that was a dead end.”
“That’s strange.” I infused as much awe in my voice without sounding unnatural. The owner of this airline was anonymous. Anonymous Mordaine.
“I do hope we do not have a stalker on our hands. Rich stalkers are the worst.” She rose to her feet, and then shrugged. “At least he is throwing cash around. Makes your life easier.”
“Could be a she.” I smiled. But she clacked her tongue dismissively. “Men are the foolish spenders. Do you need anything, honey?”
As she said this, those scrutinizing eyes traced my body like an x-ray, a slow journey from Mordaine’s coat still hanging from my shoulders to the French tipped toes peeking out of my heeled sandals.
And I saw the moment she noticed the diamond toe rings, winking under the light.
“Caroline.” I maintained the smile on my face till our eyes met again. “Caroline and Kade, please ask them in.”
She made no comments about the rings, or my friends, as she turned away. But not without one last glance at my toes.
My skin prickled with unease as she exited the lounge.
This unease morphed into foreboding when Kade and Caroline burst into the lounge, armed with questions. They settled onto the space on either side of me and launched into cross-examination.
Who could he be? Did I have a recent run-in with any man who struck me as a little insane? Maybe he appeared casual but was wearing an RO jombo. Did I visit my father’s golf club recently and was any old man particularly keen on a conversation?
I lied and lied till my voice began to sound strange in my ears. But just as they were about to throw in the towel, a concierge stepped into the lounge with two large bouquets of lilies.
I pointedly looked away, heart thudding. The smell of lilies was so…him. And I could not think about him without a blinding flash of memories of the last four days.
The concierge stopped before me, leaning in to whisper, “Special delivery, ma'am” as she handed the bouquets over.
“No cards?” Kade was sifting through the flowers with the scrutiny of an aged gardener. Caroline lifted one of them off me and brought it to her nose.
I was tempted to ask her to keep them, as I had received so many lately I was drowning in them. But such generosity was a gamble. If these were from Hale? He likely would not mind.
But Mordaine? I was not keen on watching my friend become dragon dinner.
“Fentone at last has a real rival.” She leaned forward to place the bouquet on a side table. “Be honest.” She turned her to me. “Your grandma helped, right?”
“What?”
“The things I would do if my Grandma was a witch.” She let out a dramatic sigh.
“I'm afraid you’ve lost me.”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s a charm. And while I do not think she would give it to just anyone,” she grabbed my hand. “Friends should count for something, right? This friend is desperate for a man. A rich man.”
I burst into a fit of giggles, but she looked serious.
“You insult me,” Kade rose from the couch, walked over to the buffet table, picked up a champagne flute and stared at it suspiciously.
“Oh, I do. I need a man, you don't count, darling.”
“And what is Kade, sweet Caroline.” I sang her name.
It was a running joke. Just like Ron Weasley never considered Herminone Granger a girl in their search for a date, Caroline counted Kade as one of her girlfriends even though he was anything but.