The Splendour Falls Read Online Free PDF Page B

dial all the way up to irresistible.
    Rhys cleared his throat. ‘If you’ll let me take that case, Sylvie …’
    â€˜Oh, heavens,’ said Paula, as if only now realizing we were standing in the loading zone. ‘We can talk just as well on the ride to the house. Do you want front or back?’
    â€˜Whichever,’ I said, letting her choose. She sounded so syrupy sweet on the phone, I hadn’t bet on her being such a force of nature. As she slid into the front passenger seat, I noticed that her khaki capris showed a few wrinkles from the drive, but it hadn’t erased the creases of careful ironing. This just kept getting better and better and better.
    Wheeling Gigi’s suitcase to the open trunk, I eyedthe back of my cousin’s head and lowered my voice to ask Rhys, ‘So, what’s with the soccer mom wagon?’
    It wasn’t the smoothest way to look for some hint as to whether or not Paula had kids. But I didn’t think it deserved the coolly sardonic look I got from Rhys. ‘Sorry I couldn’t manage a limousine, your highness.’
    I flushed, and pushed my sunglasses onto my nose, painfully aware that the prominent Dolce & Gabbana logo would seem to prove his point. ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said, matching his tone. ‘I would have settled for a Town Car.’
    Rhys responded with a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh as he stowed the last of my luggage, manoeuvring the heavy suitcase easily into the trunk next to the first one. The broad shoulders under his rugby shirt weren’t just for show, then. Where his sleeves were pushed up, I could see that his hands and forearms were corded with muscle, crisscrossed with the fading remnants of scratches and cuts.
    It had been so long since I’d felt anything other than miserable, it took me a moment to recognize curiosity when I felt it. ‘What did you say you were doing in Alabama?’
    â€˜I didn’t,’ he said, shutting me down, but with amusement, finding my perfectly logical question funny for some reason.
    I cast my mind back through our conversation, filtered through his digs about my diva dog, and realized it was true; he hadn’t said much of anything about himself. That was both frustrating and unnerving. How could I know nothing about him, but feel so familiar with the twitch of humour at the corner of his mouth,as if the expression had irritated and fascinated me for years?
    He closed the hatch while I was ruminating, and I found myself staring at a magnetic sign adorning the back of the car. It read: BLUESTONE HILL INN, CAHAWBA, ALABAMA. Under the lettering was a romanticized depiction of an antebellum-style house, overshadowed by a huge, blossoming tree.
    â€˜Bluestone Hill?’ I asked, trying to tie together the picture, the name, the word ‘inn’ with the scraps of things Dad had said about his childhood.
    Rhys put a hand on the top of the SUV and turned to me, as if I’d asked a stupid question. ‘Bluestone Hill. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the name of your family estate.’
    I ignored that as another gibe at my divaness, because if the Davises were some kind of landed gentry, surely Dad would have mentioned it. ‘I mean the “inn” part. Paula runs an inn? Is it a bed-and-breakfast or what?’
    â€˜It’s a work in progress, actually, but …’ He broke off and frowned at me, seeming genuinely baffled. ‘How did you not know that?’
    I shrugged uncomfortably, relaxing my jaw when it wanted to get tight and defensive. His disbelief was valid. Reasonable people took some interest in where they were going. Like I needed the reminder I wasn’t reasonable. Confronted with my ignorance, I felt worse than stupid for not asking questions. It seemed a little nuts, and since that night in the Park, that wasn’t something I said lightly, even in my head.
    â€˜I had other things on my