Villa Blue (15 page)

“I told him—my father—I was sending someone from my team to negotiate the deal in London.”

“And how did he take it?”

“Not well. He demanded I leave tonight. After we hung up, I got word that the company jet is on its way to the private airport here on Parpadeo.”

“Oh.” Feeling the buzz of the morning wash away, she reminded herself that he was only there temporarily anyway. It didn’t matter for how long, did it? It couldn’t matter. He had a life and he had to get on with it. “It’s a tiny airport not too far from here. Well, nothing’s that far, I suppose. I’m happy to drive you whenever the plane gets here.”

“Thanks,” he said then wandered over to the base of the waterfall.

She’d watched his face set, his jaw tighten and wondered what it all meant. Brimming with more clashing emotion than she cared to consider at that moment, she walked to the Jeep to retrieve her board and paper, then returned and began sketching the man on the rock.

She certainly had a perspective about Aiden James, and she was desperate to paint out the hard fist that clenched in her chest at the thought of him leaving.

His mind was a jumbled mess and he wasn’t a messy man. He traveled with one bag no matter where he went, and went about life carrying very little to make a mess with. Plus, admittedly, he wasn’t in one place long enough to create messes. And he liked it like that, just like that.

At least, he used to.

The nagging grind of a conversation he was having in his head throbbed with thoughts. What if his father acquired Villa Blue? He knew the answer to that—it would be stripped and turned into a luxury resort. And what if his father didn’t acquire it but someone else did? Likely a similar scenario, or worse.

That loud grind in his head kicked up a few notches, grating against questions.

What if he bought Villa Blue? What if he renovated it but kept the integrity of the place intact? What if he could find investors to make it happen the right way—give it the repairs it needed, make improvements to the main structure and courtyard, enhance the business end of things, but kept it more low key than his father would?

Then he could visit on a regular schedule. He could stop by on the way to wherever, manage remotely when he wasn’t there.

Only that didn’t fit, didn’t jive with the image in his mind. He would’ve laughed if his head hadn’t been pounding—he was starting to sound like Ivy with all the imagery in his brain.

He liked being around Ivy, liked the way she saw life. It didn’t hurt that he wanted to rip her clothes off every time he was around her either. Those wide eyes, that full mouth, determined chin, all part of a petite little package that made him want to glide his hands over her, feeling her, consuming her.

He wasn’t ready to board a plane and leave Parpadeo. He wasn’t ready to leave Ivy—he was just starting to understand her.

And wasn’t she fascinating? Her mother had thrown some darts her way, sharp ones, and instead of bowing down or blowing up, Ivy simply lost herself in her art.

Aiden glanced at her, watched her as she painted. The unsmiling mouth, the furrowed brow, the squinting eyes and sunglasses tucked into the collar of her shirt. She was looking at him from a million miles away and yet, he decided, she was also zoning in on him in a way that made him feel naked.

Then he thought of her naked and decided he better think of something else fast. He was, after all, sitting near her mother.

“How are you two liking the island?” he asked Helen and Iris who were seated on the other side of the rocky curve around the waterfall.

Instead of responding, they each stood, stepped across the shallow edge of the pool, then took a seat on the set of rocks closest to him. Aiden could find a way to get along with anyone—it was part of his job—so he companionably dipped his feet into the cool collection of water to chill his thoughts, waiting while they settled into their new spots.

“Now that’s better than shouting at one another,” Helen said conclusively.

“This feels so good,” Iris closed her eyes as her face soaked up every ray of sunshine. “I haven’t gotten a real tan in ages. Like, by the sun. I always put on self-tanner otherwise I’d be super pale.”

Helen merely pursed her lips then went back to addressing Aiden. “So, you work in business, right? Business development, you said?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“And what brings you to the island because there can’t be much big business happening here. And you look like a man who deals in big business.”

“I’ve been looking into an opportunity for my father’s company.”

“You work for your father then?”

“I do.”

“Good man. It’s important for a child to learn from his or her father. Ivy’s father is a doctor, a surgeon. If there’d been a pre-med boarding school nearby, we’d have put Ivy in it. The girl just didn’t have a mind for medicine, but we certainly gave her the opportunities. Tell me, do you do well for yourself?”

“I do,” he told Helen, fighting back the urge to defend Ivy, to protect her from the terse jabs he hoped she didn’t feel from where she painted.

“Well, good for you. And your father? He’s a strong man?”

“Strong would be a good word to describe him, yes.”

“So, how long have you been dating my daughter?

He wanted to slide off the rock into the water. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know Ivy, but I’m afraid I have to leave this evening.”

The lines around Helen’s firm mouth deepened in disapproval. “You’re too strong a man for her anyway. You’ve got a strong lineage and so does she. She just turned out to be weak-minded for some reason.”

Aiden’s back went up and he started to correct her, but instead he shifted to watch Ivy approach.

“You know I’m not deaf, Mother. I can hear what you’re saying about me.”

“Nothing I said should be any surprise to you. I speak truth, the way it is. Nothing I said was rumor of any kind so you go back to doing whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Heat spread through Ivy’s body as she watched her mother’s hand flutter toward the spread of paints and paper. “You have no right coming here and insulting me.”

“I’m your mother,” Helen said firmly. “I have all the right I need.”

Frustration pooled in Ivy’s eyes and she pushed it back with every ounce of resistance she had in her. “You don’t know me or understand me, have never known or understood me. And that’s okay. It has to be okay, right? Because otherwise it hurts too much to know that my own mother doesn’t even want to know who I am.”

“God dammit, Ivy, stop behaving like some weakling,” Helen shifted off the rock and onto solid ground. “How’d you turn out like this? How? I raised you to be a strong woman, have a strong stance in life, but somehow you were born without a backbone, without oomph, and I’m sorry for that. I gave birth to you so it must be my fault, right? It’s my fault you weren’t strong enough to keep your husband, you’re not strong enough to face it and deal with it and get on with life. It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

A white-hot blaze erupted inside of Ivy. All the years of making peace with her mother, her family, scorched to a thin black crisp and anger spewed from the depths of her. “I may not be strong like you, Mom, but I’m strong like
me
. You gave me strength to be myself, to not be like anybody else, and if you can’t see that, that’s your issue, not mine.

“If you don’t love me for being me, then that’s your problem. If you can’t accept me for being me, for doing what I want, then that’s your problem too.” Tears spilled over now and Ivy quickly palmed them away, needing to get out the flaming flow of emotion that burned in her heart, to say what needed to be said.

“Greg loved me for who he thought I was, not who I really was, and that’s why our marriage didn’t work. And it’s okay because the truth is that I love my life right now. I’m happier than I’ve ever been and I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing. I wish with all my heart that you could accept that.”

“You want me to accept that you’re ruining your life? Taking a little time to get over your devastation is one thing, and that’s normal enough. But I’m your mother and I’ll be dammed if I stand by and let you toss away your potential because you’re happy being in hiding.”

“My potential to what?” Ivy’s chest heaved in frustration. “And I’m not hiding! I am living my potential, more than I ever have. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that I’m brave like you want me to be? Strong like you want me to be? Why can’t you see that I
am
those things? And maybe I’m not normal according to other people but why should I be? This is supposed to be
my
life according to
me
. Not my life according to anyone else.”

“This is not a life, Ivy Van Noten,” Helen’s voice thundered out. “You’ve become an embarrassment to this family, hiding away on some island, doodling all damn day. We raised you to contribute to society, to give to the world in important ways. We wanted more for you.”

Maybe for the first time in her life, Ivy’s voice deepened with all the strength she had in her and she turned herself inside out and simply roared. “I
am
giving to the world. I’m giving my heart, my soul, to everything I create, everyday. I’m giving from the truest part of who I am when I paint. I can’t argue that I’m saving lives, Mother, but I am sure as hell saving my own.”

Helen huffed, hands fisted at her hips. “When are you going to get back to reality?”

“This
is
my reality!”

Her mother didn’t back down—she was a woman with the fortitude to fight—and instead squared her shoulders. “Selfish is what that sounds like. You’re supposed to be a doctor, a lawyer, a wife, a mother, to serve on non-profit boards. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Says who? Who are these mysterious people who get together and tell all the people of the world how to live their lives, determining what’s normal and what’s not?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Helen repeated. “I, myself, could’ve gone on to design jewelry in my day. I had an eye for it, I was good at it. But I didn’t because it—”

“Wait, what did you say?” Stunned, Ivy studied her mother. “You wanted to be a jewelry designer? I had no idea.”

“Because when it was time to put my family first, I set it all aside because that’s what was right.”

“Right for
you
, Mom. Right for
you.
” The roiling heat, the deafening roar, settled into a low-flame burn. What remained on the surface were emotions reduced down to their purest, most potent form.

“Don’t play that game, Ivy. Only a recluse renounces society. I became a wife, and I’m proud to support my husband. I became a mom, raising my daughters, keeping a home. It was more important than my own selfish desires. I have a better life because I did what was right. There comes a time when you grow up, Ivy. And you, my dear, haven’t grown out of your selfishness. Instead you’ve become a recluse and, quite frankly, you’re an embarrassment to this family.”

Finally hearing words she’d always known, always felt, sent tears streaming down from Ivy’s eyes, over her cheeks. They fell fast from her face in a blazing surge. “Then maybe I don’t fit into your family anymore.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” Helen hurled the final blow then looked to Aiden, her mouth set. “You get us back to civilization. Now.”

Wanting nothing more than to return to her cocoon, Ivy crossed to her setup of paints and paper, and began packing them up, piece by piece.

As Helen stormed away from the waterfall toward the Jeep, Iris silently followed with occasional glances of apology to her sister.

Aiden lowered to where Ivy was, collected a cluster of pens and handed them to her.

She took them, shoved them in the bag, her hand shaking, her limbs feeling like water.

She needed to apologize to him for the ugly family display but she couldn’t find her voice. It was lodged in her throat and if she spoke, the unspoken would dislodge as well. So instead she stayed quiet.

He couldn’t help but glimpse the painting Ivy had taped to a board. In his defense she didn’t hide it. It was, unmistakably, a painting of him—his face, his eyes—and he was engulfed by life. The waterfall, the foliage, it surrounded him. And there he was, right smack in the center.

There was something odd about looking at a painting of yourself, he decided. It reflected more emotion, more clarity than a mirror. She saw things in him that he hadn’t seen in himself. Was that even possible?

It was possible because of the painter behind the painting. He’d never known such a perceptive woman inside of such a sexy package before. She had it all. Including a crazy family, he thought, sad for her.

And she saw him—beyond a businessman, beyond any titles or travels or bank accounts. She simply saw him. And in return, her family didn’t see her, which seemed like the shitty short end of a stick she was stuck holding.

She deserved to be loved, supported, cared for. The basics every human needs. How could her own family not see her for who she was? Even he saw it, and he’d only known her for a week.