Invidious Betrayal (25 page)

“You should sit,” Ian said. He pointed to a bench a few feet away. “I’m not sure how long we have to wait for our ride.”

Aria took a seat, but kept her eyes on Ian. He stood beside her, but was uncharacteristically tense.
Could he be sore from the fighting or is he nervous?
Aria was curious. She had never seen him nervous or emotional, except for when he spoke of his mother, and even then he’d composed himself rather quickly. He’d expressed some anger over the bad things that had happened to her and her family but it too was quickly controlled. Mostly he had been visibly calm in every situation she’d seen him in, but now he seemed nervous. His body was stiff, his fingers tapped at his leg, and his eyes looked stormier than ever.

“Is everything all right, Ian?”

The way Ian blew out his breath, it seemed as though he had been holding it. “I hope so”—he looked down at her—“because I don’t know where else to take you.”

The man Ian had spoken with minutes ago came walking up to them. “All right, young man, miss. I can take you to both out to the Morel’s now.” The man waited for Aria to stand, then led both her and Ian to his pickup truck parked in a side lot. Ian helped her get in the cab of the truck, placed their bags in the bed, then he used one hand to brace himself on the side of the open truck bed and jumped inside.

“Even when I was a young buck I could never move like that, the man marveled as he gawked at Ian. “Is he some kind of gymnast or something?” As he got in the truck he turned toward Aria with a raised brow.

“No, sir. He’s just athletic.” Aria pulled her seatbelt over her chest and attempted to relax
. Very athletic
, she thought to herself.

“My name is Dave.” He nodded. “It’ll take about twenty minutes or so to get there.”

“Thank you for the ride.” Aria smiled. She settled back and watched the scenery as Mr. Dave drove at a leisurely pace and engaged her in small talk. The town was beautiful, and a few times during the ride she was speechless as she took in its lush landscapes and simple yet lovely buildings. They rode past nice, mid-sized homes and a large church that had a wide set of stairs, a steeple, and bell tower.

Perfect for a wedding
, Aria thought wistfully.

“We have a couple box stores and shopping strips down that road there.” Dave tilted his head to the right as he drove. “Keeps the young folk happy, I’m told.” Aria nodded. He must have noticed her quiet mood—for the rest of the ride, Mr. Dave didn’t speak.

Aria looked over her shoulder through the cab window to see Ian leaning back against the tire hump with his eyes closed, the wind parting his short hair to and fro. She wondered again where they were going.

Ian opened his eyes, as if he knew she was watching him. They silently stared at each other, neither in a hurry to look away. It wasn’t until the truck slowed that she turned around and saw the white fence that seemed to go on forever on both sides of the road.

Mr. Dave turned onto a lane where there was a sign that read,
The Morel’s
. The street was lined with large trees that led down a long drive. A big, beautiful, country-styled modern house that was painted white with yellow trim sat at the end. A huge porch wrapped around the front and sides of the house, and Aria was sure it led to a spacious deck in the back. Mr. Dave drove around the semicircle driveway and stopped near the stone walk that led to the front porch.

“Here we are.” Dave smiled. “Would you like me to stick around?”

Ian opened the door for her as he said, “No, sir. Thank you for the ride.”

Aria waved as Mr. Dave rode off before turning to the front door of the house. Ian took a deep breath as if preparing himself, then walked up the porch and placed their bags down, off to the side. The door to the house was open, but the screen door was shut, giving a clear view of the inside of the house. The smell of food cooking wafted through the screen door. It was a hearty smell that made Aria want to taste whatever was cooking.

Ian shifted from one foot to the other. Aria seemed to feed off his nervous energy, taking a deep breath as he rang the bell. She had no idea what she was preparing herself for, but was pleasantly surprised when a little, caramel-skinned girl came running toward the door. Her long, yellow sundress and past-her-shoulders honey colored pigtails bounced as she stopped behind the screen. Her round face was bright, and her light brown eyes glittered when she peered at them.

“Hi.” She smiled, as she unlocked and opened the screen.

“Who is it, Mandy?” a sweet-sounding voice called out from somewhere in the house.

Mandy rocked side to side. “It’s Poppa and a pretty girl.”

“Why in the world is he ringing the bell?” the sweet voice asked.

Mandy turned away from them, but kept her hand on the opened screen. “Not old Poppa. It’s young Poppa, Grammy. He might not have his keys ‘cause old Poppa got them.”

A beautiful older woman with silver-and-black hair came out from behind a wall, wiping her hands on an apron. “What are you talking about, Mandy?” she asked, as she came toward the door. The woman froze in place when her eyes met Ian’s. Her shaky hand went to her breast as she stared at him.

After several seconds, Ian spoke, his voice cracking. “Hello. I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Francis Morel.”

Aria watched as Ian shied under the older woman’s inspection of him. In the short time she’d known Ian; she had never seen him act like this. Even when he’d met her father, he didn’t flinch or buckle under the pressure. He’d always struck her as a young man who was very confident. So she couldn’t fathom why he was so self-conscious now.

The woman dragged her gaze from Ian to look down at the little girl who’d been tugging at her apron. “Yes, Mandy?” she said, looking back to Ian.

“You have to be polite and ask them in.” Mandy beamed. Clearly the little hostess was proud of herself for mentioning something her grandma had forgotten.

The woman opened the screen wider. “Forgive me,” she said, moving to the side. “Please come inside.”

Ian moved so Aria could enter first, then he followed her. The inside of the house was absolutely stunning and spotless. It was an open floor plan; Aria could see the enormous kitchen that Martha Stewart would die for from the foyer, which was actually part of the living room. Only a small section of wall separated the kitchen and the living room. Another sitting area sat to the right of the living room and in front of the kitchen, which led to a quad of French doors that opened to a large patio deck and an in ground pool area. Most all the furnishings and cabinets were off-white, but vibrant colors were splashed throughout the large rooms, giving the house a clean and elegant country feel. Not knowing what to do, they just stood in the foyer while the woman continued to stare at Ian.

“I…uh, I am Mrs. Morel,” the woman finally said.

Those few simple words had waves of tension radiating off of Ian. Aria could see this meeting was uncomfortable for him, so she did the only thing she could to help him with whatever it was he was going through. Aria slid her hand into his. She was relieved to feel his fingers tighten around hers. The simple contact must have given him the strength to say what he said next.

“My name is Ian Howl. My mother’s name was Noemi Morel.” He sighed. “I think she was your daughter.”

It took several minutes for Mrs. Morel to let Ian out of the hug she’d pulled him into, and another twenty for her to stop crying, although she hadn’t stopped touching and looking him over. It was funny how he was okay with her hands on him even though his family wasn’t really into hugging or showing affection at all. Seeing the way her eyes lit up when he told her his mother’s name and who he was, it seemed Mrs. Morel could touch him as much as she liked.

Now Grammy, as Mandy called her, had the phone to her ear and again was telling someone to get to the main house. Ian had to assume the house he was in was the main house.

“Are you my poppa, too? My young poppa?” the girl asked him. Mandy sat on the floor in front of him while he was seated on the sofa. Aria sat in the sitting room next to the patio doors. They both had a clear view of the kitchen.

Ian shook his head, and that seemed to satisfy the little cutie. They watched Mrs. Morel as she made something for them to eat and drink, even though both he and Aria had told her that they didn’t want to be any trouble. Ian was great at multitasking–talking on the phone and playing Xbox while eating, but what this woman was doing while on the phone was art in motion. Ian would have offered to assist, but he burned toast on the regular. When Aria got up and went into the kitchen to offer her help, Ian gave Mandy his full attention as pride in Aria made him smile.

“You look like Poppa,” Mandy said with a shrug, then stood. She climbed up on his lap and stared at his face. Then she touched his cheeks with her tiny hands and frowned. “But your eyes are gray like Grammy’s. Grammy got pretty eyes, but I can’t have them. My daddy and momma say I got pretty eyes, too.”

Ian laughed, “I think you have very pretty eyes. Brown is my favorite eye color.” He tried not to look over at Aria, but found he couldn’t stop himself. She lifted her head at the same time he looked up at her and smiled. The warmth he got from her smile was instant. That was when he realized that Aria Cole had a lot of power over him, and to his surprise it didn’t faze him in the least.

Just as Ian turned his attention back to Mandy, a man came running into the house, yelling. “Emile, what the blazes is so urgent that you tear me away from a perfectly good game of—”

The man’s eyes fell on Ian and he didn’t finish what he was saying. There was no denying their resemblance even with his age. As Ian took in the older man, he decided this must be his grandfather, Mr. Morel.

“Oh,” the man said, looking at his wife for answers to questions he appeared incapable of voicing. “He, uh…” Mr. Morel raised his hand toward Ian, then paused before stepping forward, “You are…”

Ian sat Mandy on her feet and stood, extending his hand. “Ian.”

“He’s Noemi’s son, Francis,” Mrs. Morel sang out. New tears were brimming in her eyes.

Mr. Morel rubbed his hand over his head before taking Ian’s hand. They shook hands, then Mr. Morel, just like his wife, pulled Ian into a hug, patting him on the back. “You’re Noemi’s boy, my grandson.” he said in a voice shaky with emotion. Unshed tears glistened in the man’s eyes, and he had a look of bewildered amazement on his face.

Over the next hour, Ian was overwhelmed with meeting relatives he had never dreamed he had while Aria sat quietly beside him. Francois Jr. and Roxanne, who were Mandy’s parents, came in soon after Mr. Morel. Francois had his father, Mr. Morel’s, build, but his features were softer like his mother’s, and he had brown eyes. His wife, Roxanne, was a beautiful African-American woman with long, neat dreadlocks that were blonde at the tips. She had sultry eyes and a full, heart-shaped mouth; and their daughter Mandy was an adorable mix of them both.

Alexis, the elder Morels’ youngest daughter, and her husband Michael, along with their daughter, Selene, came in a few minutes after Francois and Roxanne. Alexis was tall and lean with straight, brown hair that flowed to her shoulders. Michael was tall as well, a good-looking guy who seemed to have a good nature. Selene was an elegant beauty just like her mother, Alexis. She was seven and thin, but her cheeks were full, like her baby fat hadn’t decided to retreat there yet. Her eyes were also brown, and her hair was cut very short on the sides, but her bangs flopped over her eyes.

Mandy explained to Ian that Selene was her sister and all the adults just nodded their heads, their wide-eyed smiling faces confirming that he should play along. The two girls looked nothing like sisters, but four-year-old Mandy wasn’t interested in the facts of nature.

They all seemed so nice and welcoming that Ian wondered why his mother had ever left this place. The town was beautiful and her family was a ‘real family’. It impressed him how the matriarch of the family was able to make a few phone calls and everyone converged without a grumble. He loved the way the women got into the flow of things and helped to prepare a family dinner like they must have done many times. He was equally impressed with the way the men corralled and entertained the children; and the way they interacted with one another was endearing and sometimes comical.

None of the men questioned him while dinner was being prepared, which Ian found curious. Most people would have delved right into trying to get his story, but these people didn’t. Ian listened to the men talk sports and current events, only joining in when they spoke to him directly. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of Aria, who looked right at home helping out in the kitchen, but Ian knew she was used to this type of life. He, on the other hand, felt like the odd man out.

During dinner, Ian enjoyed some of the best home cooking he had ever tasted. It was also an opportune time for him to find out about his family, so he listened. François Sr., who everyone called Francis, immigrated to America from France when he was a small boy. He’d met his wife during a heritage fair when they were young teens.