She shrugs. “There isn’t much to tell. I’m new in town. I’m a florist…”
“So tell me about that.”
“About…”
“What made you want to be a florist?”
For the tiniest fraction of a second, she hesitates. Then the slightest smile plays on her lips, and this look comes over her face. A little bit of a blush, a little bit of distance.
She’s remembering.
Not inventing. Remembering. There’s a difference. I’ve interrogated enough enemies to know it.
“My Nanna Div—” Her eyes dart to mine. “My grandmother. She bought me this bouquet once. I was really young at the time and I just loved the colors. I saw it in a window and… It sounds stupid, but I wanted it, more than I’d ever wanted anything. Even at that age, I knew it was different. And she went in and got that bouquet for me, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. That summer I collected all the wildflowers I could and tried to make them into arrangements. They weren’t very good, but, you know, it was my first taste of what you could do with them if you tried.”
I nod. “Sounds like your grandmother was a special lady.”
“She still is.”
“I’d like to meet her sometime.”
Rose laughs. “I think she’d like that too, she used to be a…” She trails off, and I file that little bit of information away for later. She was going to tell me something about her grandmother, and I’ll find out what it was. “W—what do you do, Mr. Volos?”
I almost chuckle at that. Like she doesn’t already know. She doesn’t even sound convincing, adding it on at the end because she just realized she shouldn’t know anything about me.
“I’m a businessman,” I tell her, listening as the heavy iron gates to my home swing open at our approach, detecting the automatic transmitter in the car.
“In what business, exactly?”
“Imports, exports, sales, financing, entertainment. I have a few interests.”
She could be fishing for information, but I don’t think so. She sounds genuine, and I like having her here. Just knowing she’s safely inside the gates, where I can protect her, lifts a weight off my mind that’s been there for two weeks since I first saw her photograph. I can’t explain it, but I need to know she’s safe.
The car takes the long curve around the driveway, pulling up outside the front door, and I watch as she turns to look out of the window, a look of surprise coming over her face as she gazes up at the building. Did she really not know what to expect when she came here? Wasn’t she briefed on everything about me, from where I live to what I like to drink?
Or is this all just part of her ruse? Part of her attempt to make me lower my guard?
“This place is huge,” she mutters. “I had no idea something like this existed in Detroit. How old is it?”
I consider for a moment, then decide to answer. “The house was built by my grandfather in 1930. He came to this country with nothing, a Greek immigrant. In five years he had enough to build this.”
Daniel stops the car, and Cassandra reaches for her door handle, but I grab her wrist and bring her hand back to her lap. She doesn’t object, but looks up into my face as I hold her. I see confusion. Trust, yes, but confusion too.
“You don’t lift a finger here,” I tell her, reaching with my other hand to stroke her shoulder.
“Your driver—”
“No.” I shake my head. “The only one who gets that honor is me.”
She nods wordlessly, and I reluctantly release my grip, pulling back and climbing out of the car. In three strides, I’m around to her side, opening the door before Daniel can get to it. I reach in, take her hand and help her to her feet.
“In the light, the gardens here are beautiful,” I tell her. “You were talking about wildflowers? There is a small wood that leads around to the rear of the property, that I don’t allow anyone to tend. It’s overgrown with every wildflower that takes root, with just a single path that leads through. The scents there are almost overpowering. My sister had a favorite tree, with a branch overhanging a patch of vervain—”
I hesitate. Why am I telling her this? Legally, she might not find anything on me here, but if Jackson finds out I still miss Artemis, he’ll find a way to twist it and use it against me. I can’t have that. I’ve probably already said too much.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Cassandra says.
“How would you? I didn’t tell you.”