7

Villas and Pearls

Up close, the Villa is even more magnificent than I expected. Five stories of imposing wind-worn stone crouch on the side of the hill, holding on to the cliffside for dear life. It wraps around out of my sight. From the water’s view, I know that hidden edge is where it meets up with the walls of the ancient fortress. Plenty of room for us, our guests, Jack’s family, and of course, the staff.

Staff. Something else I’ll have to get accustomed to.

Like the terrace above, overflowing pots of petunias flank the front doors, two massive slabs of weathered wood thrown open in welcome. A wide grass-and-slate courtyard with iron tables shaded by jaunty striped umbrellas waits to our right. Ahead are stairs down to a second courtyard that looks out over the water. The only thing that feels off are the cameras, mounted on every corner. An elaborate, state-of-the-art security system enhances the feeling that we’re standing in front of a fortress.

It is impossible to take it all in, the sheer size and beauty of it.

I wander toward the patio, drawn to the water. The gray stone is warming in the sun and two cats—one calico, one tuxedo—nap on the ancient stacked stone wall overlooking the sea. The dogs bark at them, but I can tell it’s a game—the cats ignore them.

The view. The view. Roman kings and explorers and ancient witches had killed to possess this spot, to gaze at the sea, at the jutting knees of volcanic rock ringing the island. These conquerors would stand in this very spot and think themselves safe. They could see their enemies approaching, have days to make preparations. They thought they could never be overthrown.

All things, all people, can be conquered. I’m not silly enough to believe otherwise.

The beach below is raked clear of rocks and seaweed; there are chaise longues and umbrellas, though currently being stacked and lashed to the rocks in preparation for the storms to come. Two stone jetties abut each side of the beach, creating a natural cove. The Hebrides, looking even more imposing and elegant from afar, is back in full view, being serviced by the crew at the pier. The hydrofoil has put in at the other pier and people are wandering off, taking pictures or simply staring up at the Villa, then getting in line for the funicular that will bring those less inclined for a hike to the top of the hill.

It’s such a shame that everyone’s taken a week off to be with us and it’s going to rain most of the time. About as fair as getting your period for the wedding night. Ah, well. Life is cruel.

I scan the people disembarking for familiar faces. Most of our guests are friends Jack has collected over the years, and the Compton family. I’m expecting only my mother and stepfather, my sister Harper, and my best friend Katie. I don’t see any of them.

I’m not the type to surround myself with acquaintances. The curse of the introvert, Jack calls it. I don’t see it as a curse at all. I just don’t play well with others.

“It’s quite grand, isn’t it?” Jack asks.

“What? Oh, the Villa? It’s absolutely beautiful. But what did you want to tell me, Jack?”

He walks me to the stone wall. The calico blinks and yawns, and I run a hand down her silky back. The cat’s eyes slit with pleasure and she stretches two long front legs contentedly, claws unsheathed, purring like an outboard motor.

“That’s Rosa and the tuxedo is Nina. They’re my mother’s cats.”

“They’re beautiful.”

 

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