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“Even more dreaded this year.”
“Why?”
“Celeste is having her engagement party this coming weekend.”
Bryce didn’t look surprised by the announcement. “I assume Winston Durand is the unlucky husband to be?”
“That’s what I’m told.”
“Good. Both are self-obsessed narcissists. They’re perfect for each other.”
Livia smiled. It was nice to know that her cousin wouldn’t be ruining some decent man’s life.
“Unfortunately, I’m stuck going to the stupid party, along with whatever mysterious events my aunt has planned during my obligatory imprisonment at the Willows.”
Bryce nodded toward the pink box. “That explains the bakery pit stop.”
“This is just to get through the next few days. I’ll be back for more.”
“Doesn’t the Willows have a chef?”
“According to my aunt and uncle, he’s the finest in Louisiana, but I’ll be damned if I endure my relatives’ patronizing stares if I so much as nibble on a dessert.” The childhood trauma that had never healed cramped her stomach with dread. She would never forget the way her grandfather had scowled at her when she asked for a second slice of cake. Or his insistence that she complete one hundred morning laps in the pool to get rid of her chubby thighs. It’d been a deliberate attempt to humiliate her. “They are firm believers in women starving themselves for the sake of beauty.”
“At this point, they’ve just become an outdated joke.” Bryce rolled her eyes before thankfully changing the subject. “I hope you have some time to get together while you’re here. Maybe grab lunch or a drink.”
“I would love to,” Livia eagerly agreed, reaching into her satchel to pull out her business card. “Here’s my number.”
“And here’s mine.” Bryce reached into her back pocket for a small notebook and pencil. She scribbled her number on it before handing it to Livia. “Not nearly as fancy.”
“Fancy is overrated,” Livia assured her, tucking the paper in her satchel. “And promise you’ll call me whenever you have some free time. I’m going to need to get out of the Willows as much as possible. Otherwise, you’ll probably find me locked in one of your cells. Or a padded room.”
Bryce winked. “I promise to break you out.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
Livia turned away, pausing long enough to send her companion a wistful smile. “I’ve missed you, Bryce.”
Bryce smiled back. “Same.”
By late afternoon, Livia had unpacked her things and safely stored her pastries in the extensive suite at the back of the house. She didn’t mind being on the opposite side from the rest of the family. The more space, the better. And she preferred the view of the nearby wetlands. Beyond the line of weeping willows that marked the edge of the back lawn, the bayous loomed with a dark and sultry sense of forbidding danger, but they were at least honest. They were dangerous. Unlike the rest of the estate, which was lovely and graceful and perfectly manicured while hiding the fetid rot beneath the surface.
Plus, she couldn’t see the swimming pool from her vantage point. She might not remember much about her mother, but she certainly didn’t want to wake up every morning with a view of the spot where she jumped to her death.
Pacing from the massive bedroom into the attached sitting room, Livia abruptly headed out of her suite. The soft rose-and-ivory décor might be beautiful, but she felt like she was being smothered. Probably because she knew it had been picked out by her grandfather, who had never once asked her what she preferred when she visited. He assumed he knew best, and she should be overjoyed she was allowed to step foot on the hallowed grounds of the Willows.
She resisted the urge to creep down the back steps and instead boldly made her way down the double staircase that led to the large foyer with a black-and-white tiled floor and an enormous chandelier imported from Venice. There were several delicate tables with various urns and statues that were supposedly priceless antiques and a portrait of her grandfather over the main entrance to the formal salon.
Livia glanced up at the man who’d been such a dominant force in her life.
Henri Benoit had broad features with a prominent nose and heavy brows that were usually pulled together in a dark frown over his piercing blue eyes, and his silver-gray hair came to a widow’s peak, emphasizing his wide forehead. There was an arrogance in his expression as he glared down at the lesser beings who dared to enter his home.
She wasn’t sure if someone had intentionally put the picture in the foyer to keep out unwelcomed guests, or if her grandfather had actually liked the grim portrait. Probably both.
Shaking her head, Livia headed out of the double front doors and across the wide veranda. The white antebellum-style home had the mandatory fluted columns that held up the balconies that surrounded the second floor and large windows with heavy shutters that could be closed during the hottest part of the day. Or, God forbid, during a hurricane.
The main house stood proudly on the highest section of land, overshadowing the outbuildings that had either been converted into garages or a bathhouse for the outdoor pool or torn down completely to make room for the tennis courts.
